At some point, I am sure I will return to my old artistic pursuits, but I've been enjoying the break. For now, I have been indulging in the written word, both as writer and reader. And for now, I am both Demeter and Persephone. Demeter, Greek goddess of the harvest, was grief stricken when her daughter Persephone (representing Demeter's muse of creativity) was abducted by Hades, lord of the underworld. The story goes that Hades tricked Persephone into partaking of pomegranate seeds, and that once she ate of fruit of the underworld, she could never again leave. Grief stricken and abandoning her work, Demeter neglected all living and growing things, which soon began to die. At Zeus' intercession, Hades consented to allow Persephone to return to earth for a part of the year, and thus each consecutive spring marks the return of Persephone, the return of the creative muse, when fruit and vegetation once again thrive and bloom, and mother and daughter rejoice at their reunion. The abduction of Persephone represents the loss of creativity, and her return its restoration. Demeter thus could not bring forth any creation while Persephone remained in the underworld. And so it is with creativity. When creativity is lost, we need to step away from it, grieve if we must, but allow ourselves time to reflect and wait patiently for its return. For return, it shall. In the meantime, I have been fully indulging my penchant for writing poetry, and while much of what I've penned ends up in the wastebasket, I have been able to pen a few poems that I actually like, and am grateful to be able to share them with you here.
When I was 13, my beloved grandfather presented me with a book called Who's Who in Greek and Roman Mythology, by David Kravitz. I still have the book, with the inscription on the first page in his bold red hand, "To Chikkoo (his pet name for me) From Suryanarayanan. December 14, 1981." I spent many long hours delighting in that book, reading of the antics, conquests, loves and follies of the pantheon of Greek and Roman gods. I delighted in knowing that the gods for all their godliness, were as human as we were. They raged with jealousy, fought and argued amongst themselves, and had many human-like character flaws: pride, vanity, avarice, selfishness, infidelity, to name a few.
One particular story that always fascinated me was the story of Echo and Narcissus. Echo was the nymph that was in love with Narcissus, and Narcissus, the youth who loved only himself. As punishment for his vanity, he was made to fall in love with his own reflection, and died wasting away gazing at himself. He was turned into a flower by the gods after his death, hence the legend behind the beautiful Narcissus flower. Narcissus was appealing enough, but I was more fascinated with Echo. Why couldn't she speak to him and tell him how she felt? In fact she was able only to echo his speech, to tell him what he wanted to hear, the sound of his own voice. How sad it is when we as women become the Echo of a man. How freeing and affirming it is when we speak our truths and claim our voices. That is what this poem is all about. It's called I, Narcissus. And though it's written in Narcissus' words, it's reminder enough of why Echo deserved her own voice.
I, Narcissus
mirror'd image
reflects all I see.
this rare beauty
granted me.
crystal reflection,
thou pool of perfection
bound am I to thee,
admiring and admired for eternity.
neither nymph nor goddess
I entrust with this heart,
be she fair of face
or immortalized in art.
in this mirror'd likeness
lies all I esteem
O vainglory!
I submit to thy dream
no Echo to sway me
from all that I cherish
I heed not her plea,
though here I perish
I gaze at myself
passing life's finest hour
and leave in my wake
one perfect flower.
Below: Echo and Narcissus by John William Waterhouse, 1903
