November 9, 2015 by AdamAH

The Ancient Theatre of Epidaurus

It’s been a couple of months now since my trip to Greece, and I have finally managed to get through all (almost all) 4000+ pictures and videos from the trip. All I can say is, thank the gods for digital photography!

I promised to give you a tour of some of the sites that I visited on this trip, and so I thought I would start with ancient Epidaurus. If you missed the earlier post on the wonderful ceramic workshop in ancient Epidaurus, CLICK HERE.

This is the first in a two-part blog series on Epidaurus. Today we are going to take a brief look at the ancient theatre.

Cruising over the mountains to Epidaurus

I’ve been to this site several times in the past, but I never tire of it. Some places are like that, I suppose. You can visit them again and again, and each time you do you get a different perspective that adds to your overall impression of the site.

The theatre of Epidaurus is like that.

For the history-lover in me, going there is like visiting a wise old friend. We greet each other, sit back in the sunshine, reminisce and contemplate the world before us.

There is something comforting about going back to familiar places.

It had been almost ten years since my last visit to the theatre, and so I was looking forward to seeing it again. As we drove up and over the mountain range that separates the southern Argolid from Epidaurus, hot wind blowing through our open windows as the car whined up steep slopes and around precipitous hairpins, I wondered how much the site might have changed.

Plan of the Theatre of Epidaurus

It was the middle of the day as we drove up to the main entrance, the temperature knocking on 42 degrees Celsius (about 107 Farenheit). Needless to say, the lot was near empty but for a few rental cars and a tour bus.

I guess I’m one of the few who would drag their friends and family out to an archaeological site at the hottest time of day.

I parked our car in the shade of one of the many pine trees at the fringes of the lot and we got out, loaded with water, a snack, and the camera equipment.

As it turned out, there had been some major changes at the site. As we left the parking lot, we passed a massive snack bar with an outdoor café where exhausted, sweaty tourists sat beneath parasols slurping ices and bitter-sweet frappés.

We walked down the familiar path to main entrance, followed by the usual stray dogs who ignored the lounging cats amongst the flower beds of bitter laurels. We pressed on past the empty restaurants, dodging the waiters’ friendly ‘Yes Pleases’ until we reached the new ticket booth.

Tickets in hand, we marched through the new, automated admittance gates that scanned our stubs, and we were in.

Side entrance to the orchestra

I was glad to see that there were not many tourists, as on previous visits you could barely move.

When you enter the archaeological site from the ticket booths, you find the museum on your right, its wall lined with marble blocks covered in votive inscriptions from the sanctuary of Askeplios (more on that in Part II).

I don’t know why, but every time we visit this site we are always drawn to the theatre first. Perhaps it is more familiar, simpler than the archaeological site of the sanctuary opposite? You walk up the steep stone steps beneath scented pine trees and then, there it is!

What a view!

The theatre lies in the blinding sunlight all limestone and marble, rising up in perfect symmetry before you with the mountains beyond.

It’s always a shock to stand there and see it for the first time, this perfect titan, an ancient stage beneath a clear blue sky where the works of Euripides, Aeschylus, Aristophanes, Sophocles and so many more have entertained the masses and provoked thought in the minds of ancients for well over two thousand years.

In ancient times, one’s view from this vantage would have been blocked by the stage building, or scaena, but as it is today, you have a perfect view over the ruins of that building’s foundations.

The theatre of Epidaurus is considered the best-constructed and most elegant theatre of the ancient world. It was built in the 4^th century B.C by the sculptor and architect, Polykleitos the Younger, who also designed the Tholos in the sanctuary.

The theatre sat 14,000 spectators, and every one of them could see the stage and hear every momentous word that was spoken.

You don’t want to tumble down this aisle!

What I enjoyed about this particular visit to the theatre was the fact that, because there were no crowds, I was able to stand at the centre of the stage (the orchestra), and drop a coin so that my family and friends could hear it where they sat at the top row.

Then I spoke…

My voice was so loud in my ears, I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I was on a microphone, my voice amplified like I had never heard it before. But there were no electronics, just an ancient perfection of design that has set the standard for ages.

After that, I climbed up the long central isle to the top row to join everyone and sit down. It’s a long way up, but the top provides the perfect vantage point of the sanctuary and landscape surrounding Epidaurus.

We sat there, listening to the cicadas, taking in the view, and enjoying the dry, pine-scented air.

Looking north from the theatre to the sanctuary

I thought back to the performances I’ve seen there in years past. Over ten years ago, I saw Gerard Dépardieu perform in Oedipus Rex, and Isabella Rossellini in Persephone, both adaptations of the ancient tales by Igor Stravinsky. It was amazing to watch such wonderful actors giving a performance there, and it was obvious too that they were enjoying the space, the tradition they were taking part in.

The last play I saw at Epidaurus was a performance of Aristophanes’ Lysistrata, a comedy in which the women of Greece withhold sex from all the men in order to put an end to the Peloponnesian War. One thing is for sure, the National Theatre of Athens, which has been putting on these performances since 1954, puts on a great production.

Isabella Rossellini in ‘Persephone’

When you see a play at Epidaurus, the audience is also participating in an ancient tradition. How many people have gone before us, sat in those seats, laughed and wept at the drama being played out before them?

It’s difficult not to think about that when you sit in the seats of Epidaurus. Whether you are basking in the hot rays of the Mediterranean sun, or waiting for a play to begin as the sun goes down and the stars appear, Perseus and Gemini twinkling in the sky above, one thing is certain – you will never forget the moments that you spend there.

Next week, in Part II of this blog series, we’ll venture away from the theatre for a brief visit to the museum, and then on into the peace and quiet of the Sanctuary of Asklepios, a place of miracles and ancient healing.

Thank you for reading!

If you want to see a bit more of the theatre of Epidaurus, below is a short video:

October 27, 2015 by AdamAH

Beauty in the Land of the Dead

Elysian Fields by Carlos Schwabe, 1903

One of the many things that I truly love about writing historical fantasy is that the genre allows you stretch your imaginative wings, to envision and describe places that are not the usual destination. You can go beyond the castle wall or the villa peristyle to places that are often relegated to the remote locales reached only by the soul.

Heaven and Hell, the idea of a land where the dead go on to an afterlife of eternal bliss or torment, is something that is common to most world religions. There are, of course, many names for these places and they all differ a little. For the ancients, when it came to Paradise, that place where those who lived with virtue in life go to, it may have been called Aaru, the Egyptian Field of Reeds or for the ancient Welsh Britons, Annwyn, the land of eternal youth and plenty. The Greeks and Romans believed in the Elysian Fields and the Norse in Valhalla. They are places of peace, prosperity, happiness and honour.

Anubis, weighing the heart of the recently dead

Likewise, most traditions have a place to oppose Paradise – Hell. There is often an in-between realm as well, such as Purgatory or the Norse Hel. On their way to the afterlife, Egyptians’ hearts were weighed in the scales against a feather with Anubis looking on. For ancient Greeks and Romans, Hades was the land of the dead where souls could linger forever and Tartarus was the tortuous hell, the opposite of Elysium. To get to these places, the dead would have to cross the river Styx, ferried by Acheron who demanded his gold piece.

Acheron – The Ferryman

I am but mentioning a few traditions. There are so many, and every culture has its own idea as to what is good and what is unbearable in the afterlife. They’re not often described in detail because, well, most of the time those who go don’t come back to sketch it out.

This is where writing historical fantasy can really be a thrill to read and write. The beauty of it is that you can indeed explore Hades, or Valhalla or wherever you wish to go. The Land of the Dead can be whatever you envision it to be. As a literary device, it can allow you to visit the innermost hopes and fears of your characters, to have them interact with the dead, famous people, departed loved ones, or enemies whom it would otherwise be impossible for them to meet with.

Odysseus and Teiresias in Hades

Some authors have used the Afterlife or Underworld to great effect in their storytelling, and one that stands out in particular to me is Alice Borchardt, author of the Legend of the Wolf series. In The Silver Wolf, the first book of the series, Ms. Borchardt’s heroine, Regeane, journey’s through the temple of Cumae to the Land of the Dead. The descriptions of what the character sees and experiences are fantastic examples of how an author can unfurl the sails of creativity and imagination in these other realms. Few descriptions have had me so rapt by the images they portrayed.

She started down the aisle of the temple past the tall pylons that seemed like deadly trees spouting leaves of flames, on into the distant waste… A cry of sorrow so profound, so bitter, that it seemed beyond hope or even love. A desolate, lonely sound, the weeping of one condemned to wander forever without either consolation or rest.

Here one is introduced to the great sadness and horror upon entering the Land of the Dead. You read of souls who scramble about mutilated yet still fawning over their previous state of beauty or strength, of wraiths whose exposed bones will bleed for all eternity. The waste of the Land of the Dead is that in between place, neither Tartarus nor Paradise but a place for passing through, or staying in infinite limbo. After passing through the burning wasteland, Regean meets with her dead father who carries her across the river of fire, a sort of Styx boundary before she is able to reach paradise and seek the soul she needs, Daedalus. The scene between her and her father, who was murdered when she was a child, is very poignant. When she reaches Daedalus’ Garden, the place is full of beauty.

She found herself on a flagged path walking toward a distant fountain. The path was bounded by flowers. They bloomed everywhere, riotously indifferent to the season… Rank upon rank of velvety purple lavender, thick clary sage, clover white, yellow, and purplish red, hugged the path as a border… Other taller ones behind them lifted crisp petals twisted back, orange and scarlet as though they waited breathlessly for the sun. Behind them, twinning among the tall cypresses were the roses. Single, double, red, pink and white, and on their petals scattered as stars are across the night sky, lenses of dew catching the light of the rising sun and turning it into a thousand tiny rainbows.

The Silver Wolf – Alice Borchardt

Ms. Borchardt certainly has a beautiful view of paradise, a welcome reward after dragging the reader through the sad wastes on the other side of the river. One last beautiful moment occurs when Regeane meets Daedalus who is able to heal the person she has come to seek healing for. Meeting someone of past importance or fame has been used by others. Homer has Odysseus journey to Hades to see Teiresias, and Virgil writes about Aenaeas heading into the underworld to see his father Anchises. To hear the dead talk can be a beautiful or terrible thing, a sad remembrance of better times long past, of an age before the horrors of humanity. Daedalus remembers:

…many years ago, in my youth, I was born on Crete, that fair island set in a lapis sea. Ah, it was the earth’s morning then, and we were the first to taste her bountiful fruits. We tamed the wild grapes grown on the mountainsides. Soft tiny, purple globes, fair and round as a woman’s lips. Our fields were golden with wheat, bowing before the sea’s breeze. Long dead as I am, I can still taste the soft, white loaf that wheat made. Still scent the bouquet of the wine we drank with it.

This wistful soliloquy of Daedalus’ is beautiful and sad (and much longer than the excerpt above) and challenges the character, indeed the reader, to think on the deeds of the present, reflect on the outcomes of our actions and the actions of those around us. The dead have the benefit of great hindsight and living mortals would do well to take note. By granting characters a glimpse of the land beyond, the horror and the beauty, they can benefit from a perspective that can give them an advantage, a Deus ex machina to aid them in their hour of need.

Aenaeas in Elysium

This weekend is All Hallow’s Eve, or the sacred time of Samhain, the time when the veil is thin and the dead, our ancestors believed, roamed the earth. To our ancestors, the dead were not always to be feared, and the festival we now call Halloween (October 31st), was a time to celebrate.

How will you be celebrating? Do you fear the dead? Do you light orange talismans against them? Or do you use the time to contemplate the Afterlife?

As ever, this is a time of mystery, fear, and wonder. Whatever you do on October 31st, enjoy and be safe…

Thank you for reading.

If you are looking for a scary historical read this Halloween, you may wish to check out books I and II of the Carpathian Interlude series (IMMORTUI and LYKOI). Romans, Zombies, and Werewolves in the Carpathian mountains and the forests of Germania. It doesn’t get much scarier than that for a Roman soldier!

October 21, 2015 by AdamAH

‘Pompeii’ – A Poem by Jenn Blair

When it comes to the Roman Empire, few things fascinate us as much as the destruction of Pompeii and the host of archaeological treasures that have been preserved by Mt. Vesuvius’s pyroclastic eruption.

We’ve all read the books, and seen the documentaries, artistic recreations, and recent film that have attempted to bring this ancient city back to life. They help us to understand, and live safely through, one of the greatest cataclysms in Roman history.

Pompeii movie poster

When I think of Pompeii, some of the first things that come to mind are the frescoes of the newly-restored Villa of Mysteries, the Temple of Apollo in the forum, or the Great Lupanar, Pompeii’s largest brothel. The artistic and architectural treasures that have been preserved by the ash are myriad.

Fresco from Pompeii’s Villa of Mysteries

However, it is the people of Pompeii that haunt me most.

Unlike neighbouring Herculaneum, where the populace seems to have escaped, Pompeii’s ruins were littered with human remains.

Many of you will recognize the shades of these fallen Pompeians from the plaster casts that now represent them.

In 1863 the head archaeologist at Pompeii, Giuseppe Fiorelli, noticed unusual voids in the ash layer of the site. He realized that these voids contained human remains, and so devised the technique of injecting plaster into the spaces to recreate the forms of Vesuvius’s victims.

A Pompeian Family

These are the most haunting artifacts Pompeii has to offer: its people.

Today I have something very special to share with you.

My friend and fellow author, Jenn Blair, recently had a triad of poems about events that took place on February 3^rd, 1863 published in The Cossack Literary Journal.

The first of these poems is entitled ‘Pompeii’, and the first time I read it I knew I had to share it with you.

It takes us back in time to the excavations of Pompeii and gives us an intimate glimpse into the thoughts and feelings of Guiseppe Fiorelli:

February 3, 1863

Pompeii

The wells went dry. But they did not suspect, even then,

walking, to prayers, to market – swimming along in

strange morning light whose quality was already

changing. I kneel down and fish out the bones carefully,

with slender tongs, before pouring gesso in the hardened ash.

Some sculpt out of the air, but I persist in believing there are

forms already present, absences which are too telling-

a chance to become intimate with curdled hands or

even the downcast eyelashes of the woman and man

and child long ago cast down. Perhaps they will have

amulets and goddesses in arm, or perhaps they will

hold nothing, except themselves, that one last possession,

all limbs pulled in as if to ask the gods for respite now

that their small bodies inhabit even tighter boundaries.

Frescoes, vases, temples, carbonized loaves of bread: important.

But enough of artifacts. I want to see a living face.

Uncovering the Dead of Pompeii

I love this poem.

Having worked as an archaeologist, I remember getting excited about ancient people’s rubbish, about broken pots, coins, and crushed decorations, but in reading Jenn Blair’s poem above, I imagine the great sadness that must have descended on Fiorelli as he unearthed his plaster casts of the dead.

Uncovering the people of Pompeii was not like discovering an intentional burial, where the dead are at peace, surrounded by prized grave goods.

In Pompeii, when the bodies were unearthed, they appeared in pain and despair, “all limbs pulled in as if to ask the gods for respite…”

Pompeii and its disaster will, I feel sure, fascinate and haunt us for generations to come.

Vintage Postcard of Pompeii

Be sure to CLICK HERE to read the rest of Jenn Blair’s February 3, 1863 poems to find out what else was happening on that date as the people of Pompeii finally came into the light of day…

Thank you for reading.

Jenn Blair

Jenn Blair has published work in the Berkley Poetry Review, Copper Nickel, Superstition Review, Kestrel, Cold Mountain Review, Blood Orange Review, Tusculum Review, New Plains Review, Tidal Basin Review, Southloop Review, Clockhouse Review, and The Newtowner among others. Her prose manuscript Human Voices was a finalist for Texas Review Press’s 2014 George Garrett Prize. She teaches at the University of Georgia and lives with her family in Winterville, GA.

Be sure to check out Jenn’s poetry chap books too at the links below:

All Things are Ordered : from Finishing Line Press, and Amazon

The Sheep Stealer : from Hyacinth Girl Press

October 7, 2015 by AdamAH

Harvest Time – From Eleusis to Avalon

The Autumn Equinox has come and gone, and a giant ‘Blood Moon’ made its round of the earth. From the photos I’ve seen, it was spectacular.

Harvest time is here.

However, in the city, it’s a bit difficult to feel a connection to harvest, our rural roots having been eclipsed long ago by fast, urban living.

In a small effort to reconnect with the earth and our western ancestors who were bound to it, I thought I’d mention a couple of traditions around what has been, for thousands of years, an extremely sacred time of year.

Of course, this is the time of year for Thanksgiving (earlier in Canada than in the USA) when we sit around the table en-famille and stuff ourselves like the turkeys that grace our tables. And wine, oh yes, and lots of it for the oenophiles among us.

But where does all this come from? Not the pilgrims, I can tell you that.

Apart from this being the time of year when summer gives way to fall, when the length of days is equal to that of nights, this time of year is when crops were harvested and preparations made for the coming winter.

In ancient Greece it was the month of Beodromion and the festival Apollo, and the time for one of the most sacred rites: The Eleusinian Mysteries. The Mysteries were of course, in honour of the Goddess Demeter who was associated with crops, fertility, harvest and the protection of marriage. The Mysteries also honoured Persephone, Demeter’s daughter who would go to spend half the year in the Underworld with Hades. The time of harvest is associated with the death of agriculture and Persephone’s time away from her mother, the time Demeter would weep, wintertime.

The Goddess Demeter – Eleusina Museum

“Queenly Demeter, bringer of seasons and giver of
good gifts, what god of heaven or what mortal man has rapt away
Persephone and pierced with sorrow your dear heart? For I heard
her voice, yet saw not with my eyes who it was. But I tell you
truly and shortly all I know…
(from Hesiod’s Hymn to Demeter – Hecate to Demeter)

…But grief yet more terrible and savage came into the
heart of Demeter, and thereafter she was so angered with the
dark-clouded Son of Cronos that she avoided the gathering of the
gods and high Olympus, and went to the towns and rich fields of
men, disfiguring her form a long while.”
(from Hesiod’s Hymn to Demeter)

The cult of Demeter and Persephone existed for over one thousand years and Eleusis, one of the most sacred places of ancient Greece, was where the highly secretive ceremonies would take place in September and October. Sparse details about the ceremonies include bathing in the sea, sacrificing a piglet (not a turkey!), various sacred, secret objects, and a procession from Athens to Eleusis.

Symbols of the Harvest at Eleusis

The site of Eleusis is itself an amazing archaeological site that is well worth the visit if ever you have the opportunity. Apart from the vast complex of temples, and other remains, you can see the cave where Persephone supposedly descended into the Underworld, a door to Hades’ realm. Facing the dark entrance is a well, known as the “Tears of Demeter”, thus named because of the goddess’ weeping in that spot. It’s a very moving place.

The ‘Gate to Hades’ at Eleusis

Let us not dwell too long in ancient Greece however, for our Celtic ancestors in Europe also revered this time of year. To the Celts, harvest time was also known as Alban Elfed (Welsh for ‘Light of Autumn’), and the Feast of Avalon (Feast of Apples) among other names.

To the Celts, this was the time of year when the acorns fell from the sacred oaks and the last sheaf of wheat was cut by a young maiden. It was a time of reverence and thanks for the Earth’s bounty, a time to harvest once more, and to slaughter animals before the onset of winter. An offering of apples would often be placed on burials to symbolize rebirth, hence the Feast of Avalon, Avalon of course being the ‘land of apples’.

Harvest time, to the Celts, also preceded the sacred festival of Samhain which marked the end of the light of summer and the beginning of winter’s dark. Again, the cycle of light and dark, birth and death is an ever present arch-type, a cycle of which our ancestors were keenly aware and for which they had a deep respect.

The Isle of Avalon – Tor and flood (photo by Lynne Newton)

So, as we sit to our laden tables this autumn, perhaps we should tip a bit of wine to the goddess who wept for her daughter’s departure into darkness, and for the end of light. When the harvest moon shines down on us in all its luminescence where we live in a world of concrete floors and steel girders, think of our forest and field-dwelling ancestors. They looked up at that same moon for ages from the dark circles of their sacred groves, and gave thanks for all they had.

Thank you for reading.

September 28, 2015 by AdamAH

The Art of Greek Ceramics – A Look at ‘Ceramotechnica Xipolias’

I have a weakness for souvenirs.

Whenever I travel, I like to purchase something that reminds me of my evanescent days abroad. I don’t mean tacky, mass-produced rubbish that wasn’t even made in the country I visited.

I like to purchase something that is made locally, by local artists, with care and attention to detail.

One of the places I visited on my recent trip to Greece was ancient Epidaurus, home to the magnificent theatre, and the Sanctuary of Asclepios, one of the great centres of healing in the ancient world. I’ve been to this site a few times before, and never get tired of it. More on ancient Epidaurus in a later post.

It was a scorcher of a day on the archaeological site, the cicadas whirring, the smell of pine and wild thyme in the air. After a few hours, we left the site with one more stop in mind: the ceramic workshop and store, Ceramotechnica Xipolias.

Ceramotechnica Xipolias, Ancient Epidaurus

Now, in Greece, there are many stores that sell pottery. It’s one of the tourist staples. However, there are few places where you can see the actual workshop, and speak with the artists.

I visited the Ceramotechnica Xipolias on my first visit to Epidaurus years ago, and have returned other times. Their museum replicas are some of the best around, they are generous with their time, and they don’t pressure you to buy while browsing.

Hand-painted Geometrical Period replicas

I always look forward to stopping there and picking up a new piece…or a few. This place, to me, is like a candy shop to a child. I missed it on my last visit to Greece, so it was time to go back!

Ceramotechnica Xipolias has been run by the Xipolias family since the mid-seventies, and it is a testament to the quality of their work, and the friendliness of the people that it is still going strong.

When we pulled up in our car, it was during the afternoon lull, or siesta. The place was quiet, dark even, and I worried that we had missed the opening hours.

Ceramics for everyday use!

Luckily, the door opened and the lights flickered on to reveal rows of welcoming shelves chock-full of history. Some music came on, and out came Dimitra Xipolia, the proprietor, and one of the nicest people you’ve ever met. She greeted us warmly and invited us to look around.

So we did. I felt giddy as I walked among the rows of museum replicas of the Geometric, Minoan, and Mycenaean periods. The work was fantastic, so detailed, so accurate, and very affordable. I started making my mental list right away!

Hand-painted Minoan and Mycenaean Period replicas

After a few minutes of browsing, Dimitra invited us to see how a Pythagoras cup works. I had never heard of a Pythagoras cup before, so I was thrilled to see how it worked. Dimitra told us that apparently, Pythagoras wanted his students to have equal measures of wine in class, so he invented this cup with a sort of rise in the middle and a line around the edges.

Students were to fill their cups only to the line, and so, get equal measures. But, if a student got greedy and filled it passed the line, all of the contents would leak out a hole in the bottom of the cup and onto the floor! I’m not sure of the exact science behind it, but it was fun to witness.

A variety of Pythagoras cups!

After that, we spoke with Dimitra about Ceramotechnica Xipolias, and she explained that all their work is made and painted in-house, by family members, and that all the paints, clay etc. are non-toxic.

After always being so careful about avoiding toxic products, I found it shocking that these lovely mugs, cups, dishes, pitchers, and so much more, were perfectly safe for everyday use, even safe for children! In addition to being non-toxic, Dimitra explained that their work is also dishwasher and microwave safe.

Ceramics ready for painting!

Once I heard that, my mental list got bigger, not just because of the beauty and quality of the work, but also because back home, it’s very difficult to find such non-toxic quality at an affordable price.

I picked out a few pieces, including what I’m calling my ‘writer’s mug’ for coffee. I love the scenes of the ancient world that are painted on their products, as they provide me with a lot of inspiration as I work. But there are also many unique pieces on display, not just historical replicas.

One of my purchases – I love my ‘Writer’s Mug’!

After I chose a few pieces, Dimitra invited me to walk around. In the pictures that are part of this post, you can see the area where the painting is done, the massive kilns where the pottery is baked, and the potter’s wheel where the clay is shaped into numerous designs reminiscent of the ancient world.

Where the ceramics are painted.

Our time at Ceramotechnica Xipolias was not just about picking up a few souvenirs. It was about learning and appreciating art and ancient ceramic making techniques. Our visit was about tradition, and with such a warm welcome, it also felt like a visit with friends.

I’m glad to say that all of our pieces made it back home without a crack, thanks to Dimitra’s expert wrapping.

The kilns – ovens where the ceramics are baked

When we have people over now, these works of art are also centrepieces of conversation. Our friends ask about the fantastic olive dish we have on the table, or the mythological scenes on our new cups. And that’s when I talk about the people who made them.

A potter’s wheel

In this age of mass produced-everything, it’s refreshing to hold a product that is handmade with precision, care, and artistry. It’s also of utmost importance these days to support local artists and industry, in Greece and around the world.

I asked Dimitra if they ship around the world, and they do, with a guarantee that if something breaks in transit, they’ll replace it. With the holiday season around the corner, perhaps this is something to consider when shopping for your favourite history-lover or philhellene.

You can check out Ceramotechnica Xipolias’ work on Etsy, Facebook, and on their website at www.xipolias.gr. On the website there are just a few examples of the fine work they do. As you can see in my photos, they have a lot more on offer. If you place an enquiry via the ‘Contact Us’ tab to let them know what you are looking for, I’m sure they’ll be more than willing to accommodate.

Giassou for now!

Thank you for reading.

September 22, 2015 by AdamAH

End of a Summer Odyssey

Greetings readers and fellow history-lovers.

Well, I’m back from my adventures across the sea, and I had an amazing, blessed time.

I tried to keep you all up-to-date via the Instagram feed, but my Peloponnesian connectivity was a bit dodgy.

Needless to say, I’ve got a tonne of pictures and some video which I’ll be sharing with you over the coming months.

The ancient theatre of Epidaurus

I didn’t get to all the sites I wanted to see, but I did manage to visit the ancient theatre and agora of Argos, which I’ve wanted to see for years. I also made return visits to the theatre of Epidaurus, as well as the Sanctuary of Asclepios there. In Athens, I made a return visit to the Acropolis, and the new museum which was amazing.

Feeling good after lunch by the sea

Normally, I would have taken in many more sites, but this trip was more about family and friends for me. That said, just driving across the landscape in Greece, or swimming in the turquoise sea, is not only inspiring, it’s also a form of research. This ancient landscape, especially in the Peloponnese, remains relatively unchanged, from the incredible light and colour, to the flocks of goats and sheep bounding up mountainsides, to the whirring of cicadas in the dry, pine-scented heat. You step back in time in rural Greece.

The Temple of Olympian Zeus in Athens, as seen from the Acropolis

I’ll share my experiences of the sites and more with you in future blog posts.

As for the book I had planned on finishing, well… let’s just say that the goal I had set myself was unrealistic. I managed to finish about a third of Heart of Fire, and I’m happy with that. Here’s why:

For the first half of the trip, I was getting up at about 7 am every morning to write outside for a couple of hours, but, as the ‘schedule’ began to fill with visits from dear friends and family I hadn’t seen in a long time, it became harder to squeeze in the writing time. Worse, I began to stress about getting that writing time!

Theatre and agora of ancient Argos

That’s when I had an epiphany.

I realized that my vacation was slipping by, and that I was wasting my precious time worrying and not relaxing. After all, isn’t that what vacations are for?

I also remembered that, in the past, I wasn’t trying to squeeze in writing while on vacation. I was always absorbing the history, the sights, the smells, and the feel of the world around me.

The Wine-Dark Sea

The writing was always something that came afterward, when I was missing the places I had been to, reviewing my mental tapes of the entire odyssey. I forgot that I would have an acute case of the ‘Aegean Blues’ after my trip, and that this would be something I could use well after the fact.

So, about half-way through my trip, I stopped worrying and began to absorb and enjoy much more. I wrote when I could, but I just let it go if the day was not conducive to it – plenty of time to write afterward.

Detail of the Erectheion on the Acropolis of Athens

I’m happy with what I’ve written of Heart of Fire so far, though as often happens when writing historical fiction, there are a few research gaps I need to fill in. That’s fine, as it keeps me immersed in the period.

This was a wonderful holiday and it reminded me what a lovely country Greece is, the land, the sea, the history, the people. I miss it already, and I can’t wait to go back.

Sunset in the Olive Grove

I’m struggling now, back in my cubicle. Honestly, who wouldn’t? But I’m writing full speed ahead.

On Friday, I finished the first draft of an Eagles and Dragons series prequel novel which I have kept secret till now (more on that to come!). It’s called A Dragon among the Eagles.

Now, I’m going to stay put in the year 396 B.C. and Heart of Fire, until the story is completed.

That’s the update for now.

Thanks for following along, and thank you for reading!

August 10, 2015 by AdamAH

It’s Time for Research, Writing, and History!

I’m going on vacation for the next few weeks, but you can see my daily posts here:

[instagram-feed]

I’ll be taking a pause from the blog until mid-September, but I won’t be off the radar.

I’ve set myself a challenge.

As part of my vacation abroad (you’ll have to follow the Instagram photo stream above to see where I am!), I’m hoping to write a full, first draft of my next book, tentatively titled Heart of Fire.

I may be mad, but I’ve got the research done, and the story outlined. So, we’ll see. If the Muses are with me, I may feel the olive crown resting lightly on my brow. If not, well, it will have been a good experiment.

But I’m determined to get this done, and I’d like you to all follow the journey via the pictures above. If you’re on Facebook, you can ‘Like’ the Eagles and Dragons Facebook page too, since the photos will be flowing directly to that (as well as Twitter) from Instagram.

I just hope I have connectivity where I’m going! What I do know is that there will be history, and beauty, and all the things that inspire a good story.

I’ll try to post a daily picture of a site, an inspiring view, a writing spot and more. I’m also going to try and get some video footage which I’ll be using in the coming months.

I can’t wait to share the adventure with you, and get stuck into the magnificent story I’ve got banging around in my head.

So, stay tuned, and enjoy the rest of your summer.

Cheers, and thank you for reading!

August 5, 2015 by AdamAH

Facing Fear with the 300 Spartans

Hear your fate, O dwellers in Sparta of the wide spaces;

Either your famed, great town must be sacked by Perseus’ sons,

Or, if that be not, the whole land of Lacedaemon

Shall mourn the death of a king of the house of Heracles,

For not the strength of lions or of bulls shall hold him,

Strength against strength; for he has the power of Zeus,

And will not be checked till one of these two he has consumed.

The Pass at Thermopylae

Thus spake the the Oracle at Delphi, long ago, as recorded by Herodotus, the ‘father of history’, in Book 7 of The Histories. This was the prophecy that was given prior to the Greek stand at Thermopylae in which 300 Spartans and 700 men of Thespiae made one of the most heroic stands in the history of the world. Roughly one thousand Greek hoplites defended the pass known as the ‘hot gates’ (photo above) for three days against an army of about 1 million under Xerxes of Persia. This is a deed of heroism by which all others have been measured in western history ever since, and it echoes across the ages, unspoilt, radiant, despite politics and the greed of much lesser men.

Why is it that this single event in western history is revisited again and again? What do we get out of it today when our lives are so very different from those of 480 B.C.? There are probably several answers to that question, but for myself, it’s summed up in one word: Inspiration.

I know, “there he goes again, on about inspiration. Totally corny.”

Not to me. Inspiration, whether conscious or unconscious, is highly individualistic. I’ve stood on the battlefield of Thermopylae, and though there is a motorway running through it, and the sea has silted up for kilometers, the place casts a spell. It’s not the impressive modern monument to Leonidas of Sparta and his men that I find moving, but rather the little hillock on the other side of the road where the Spartans made their last stand, where they died for what they believed in, for their way of life.

Temple of Apollo at Delphi, home of the Oracle

It’s difficult for the modern mind to grasp this concept, no doubt, and out of misunderstanding, or perhaps fear, many might dismiss this as something that happened long ago. These men and their king volunteered for death, and they shall never be forgotten. They lived strongly, true to themselves. They’ve been celebrated through history to the modern age. Artists, filmmakers and yes, writers, have paid their tributes.

I remember seeing a picture of American troops in Afghanistan, sitting in the sand reading copies of Gates of Fire by Steven Pressfield (sadly, I couldn’t find the picture again to share with you). I think of what reading that book must have done for their morale; I can only guess, but I suspect that it inspired in them something of a will to fight on and face their fears. This is completely separate from the politics around our sad and current state of war and the reasons for it. There are few Leonidas’ in history.

I know I’ve written about this before, but Thermopylae has come to mind again as I’m reading a wonderful book by historian Michael Scott, entitled From Democrats to Kings: The Brutal Dawn of a New World from the Downfall of Athens to the Rise of Alexander the Great.

Scott’s book brings the world of ancient Greece after the Peloponnesian War into stark contrast with those days of honour and glory during the Persian invasion of Greece. It never ceases to blow my mind that a society (or polis, people, cultural group etc.) can achieve such magnificent glories, pleasing to the gods themselves, and then proceed with ease to piss it all away.

The make matters worse, Athens, Sparta, and Thebes each in their own turn, for years after, went to the Persians, cap in hand, to ask for aid in fighting their fellow Greeks! If there were any veterans of the Persian wars left, they must have been shaking their aging heads in shame at what was happening around them.

Maybe that is another reason the battle of Thermopylae is still celebrated. Not only was it a strategic and symbolic victory, it was also a selfless act. It was simple, and it was true. Leonidas ignored the politics that threatened to hold him back, and marched to certain death.

The Spartans at Thermopylae – Illustration by the great, Peter Connolly

Many will say that this simply doesn’t apply to them, for they’re not soldiers fighting in a war on some foreign field. True, granted, though for many today, that is a reality. However, some past events, deeds, transcend all else, including war, and are applicable everywhere. We all face our own struggles day to day, and must meet whatever it is we must meet on our own, on our personal battlefields.

For a youth, that battle might be the fear of exams or being bullied in school. For an adult, it could be facing that daily commute to go to a job that is anything but inspiring. It might be not having a job at all, or failing to achieve one’s dreams or goals. A new mother may fear yet another day inside with the same routine, over, and over and over again. A family too may be dealing with the looming spectre of an allergy or something worse. However small and insignificant these things may seem, they are our own battles, fears, and it’s crucial that we fight on daily.

No doubt that Leonidas and his men each wrestled with some measure of fear, perhaps of loss, of not being remembered, of failing their way of life. But they overcame their fears, and though they died, they raised the bar of human achievement to heights we can only now dream of, but for which we should never cease to aim. And now, they grace our canvases, our screens, and our pages.

In closing, let the words etched upon the memorial stone at Thermopylae echo in our minds…

Memorial inscription on the hill where the Spartans made their last stand

Ω ΞΕΙΝ ΑΓΓΕΛΛΕΙΝ ΛΑΚΕΔΑΙΜΟΝΙΟΙΣ ΟΤΙ ΤΗΔΕ ΚΕΙΜΕΘΑ ΤΟΙΣ ΚΕΙΝΩΝ ΡΗΜΑΣΙ ΠΕΙΘΟΜΕΝΟΙ

‘GO TELL THE SPARTANS PASSERBY,
THAT HERE OBEDIENT TO THEIR LAWS WE LIE’

Inspiring!

Thank you for reading.

July 27, 2015 by AdamAH

Pythagoras’ Golden Verses – For a Good Life

There has been a lot of negativity in the news these past weeks, mostly directed at Greece and Greek people. Many comments, including from high-profile public personages, have been outright prejudiced.

Don’t worry. I’m not going to get into politics, who’s right, and who’s wrong, and how only the bankers seem to be winning anything.

Ok, I slipped there. Sorry.

With all the hatred and vitriol floating around the Web, I needed to go back to something uplifting, something ancient.

I went back to a bit of research I had done on Pythagoras and the Golden Verses. These are a series of seventy-one rules for living that were popular from antiquity and into the middle ages. It is presumed that these verses were what dictated the way of life for Pythagoras and his followers, known as Pythagoreans.

Most people today think of mathematics when they hear the name of Pythagoras, the Pythagorean Theorum having haunted many a youth in their school days, especially those not inclined to enjoy arithmetic. Myself included. I still shudder to think of it.

Pythagoreans’ Hymn to the Rising Sun – 1869 Fyodor Bronnikov

What many may not know is that Pythagoras was also a philosopher and mystic who influenced later philosophers, including Socrates and Plato.

Pythagoras was from the island of Samos which he left in c.531 B.C. to settle in Croton, southern Italy (then, Magna Graecia), where many ancient Olympic champions hailed from. In Croton, Pythagoras established a religious community. They believed in reincarnation and refused to offer sacrifices to the Gods, though they believed in and worshiped the Gods. If you think about that for a moment, that last point was pretty revolutionary for the time.

Pythagoras died in Metapontum (in modern Apulia, Italy) in c.497 B.C., and from then the Pythagoreans spread throughout the Greek world to spread his teachings, the Golden Verses among them.

The list of Golden Verses is quite long so I won’t list them all here. To read the entire list, check out this Wikipedia link.

To offset the negativity that seems to plague the world of late, I thought I would share a few of Pythagoras’ Golden Verses that stand out to me.

1 – First worship the Immortal Gods, as they are established and ordained by the Law.

5 – Of all the rest of mankind, make him your friend who distinguishes himself by his virtues.

7 – Avoid as much as possible hating your friends for a slight fault.

11 – Do nothing evil, neither in the presence of others, nor privately;

12 – But above all things respect yourself.

13 – In the next place, observe justice in your actions and in your words.

18 – Support your lot with patience, it is what it may be, and never complain at it.

19 – But endeavour what you can to remedy it.

20 – And consider that fate does not send the greatest portion of these misfortunes to good men.

27 – Consult and deliberate before you act, that you may not commit foolish actions.

32 – In no way neglect the health of your body;

33 – But give it drink and meat in due measure, and also the exercise of which it needs.

35 – Accustom yourself to a way of living that is neat and decent without luxury.

40 – Never allow sleep to close your eyelids, after you went to bed,

41 – Until you have examined all your actions of the day by your reason.

42 – In what have I done wrong? What have I done? What have I omitted that I ought to have done?

43 – If in this examination you find that you have done wrong, reprove yourself severely for it;

44 – And if you have done any good, rejoice.

66 – And by the healing of your soul, you will deliver it from all evils, from all afflictions.

69 – Leave yourself always to be guided and directed by the understanding that comes from above, and that ought to hold the reins.

Pythagoras of Samos

There you have it. A bit of wisdom whispered to us across the ages. Whatever we glean from Pythagoras’ words, we can be sure that a life lived with kindness, charity, introspection and honesty is indeed a good life, and something to be grateful for.

Thank you for reading.

July 21, 2015 by AdamAH

Ancient Everyday – Time for a Bath

Showering, bathing and generally keeping clean is something that we take for granted today. For most people, washing is part of the daily routine.

If you look at the Middle Ages, this was not the case. In fact, medieval people were pretty filthy. This isn’t surprising as bathing was considered a sin by many.

This wasn’t the case for ancient Romans, thank the gods.

As we do today, the Romans bathed and washed regularly, and as with going to the toilet, bathing was yet another very social activity for Romans.

Throughout the Roman Empire, public and private baths were common, owing something to the situating of bath houses over hot springs, and their ingenious use of aqueducts which brought water into the cities over great distances.

Baths and bathing complexes, of course, varied widely in size and the level of sophistication, whether the small pools and tubs of private balneae, or the massive imperial complexes called thermae. Whatever the size, there were some common attributes to most public baths across the Empire.

The Apodyterium

Ruins of an ancient apodyterium

This was a sort of changing room where visitors to the baths would undress and leave their clothes in niches in the walls, not unlike today. Slaves were in attendance to give out towels and take care of your items. However, not unlike today, theft was common in the apodyterium, so wealthier patrons brought their slaves along to carry their possessions for them.

The Palaestra

A palaestra in Pompeii

The palaestra was the workout area where some patrons would exert themselves before going into the baths themselves. Just as people hit the gym today, so the Romans exercised on the sands of the palaestra by wrestling, boxing, lifting stone or lead weights, and other activities. The scene here would have been one of competition, of grunting, and sweating. It could get pretty loud, as attested to by the Roman Seneca:

“I live over a public bath-house. Just imagine every kind of annoying noise! The sturdy gentleman does his exercise with lead weights; when he is working hard (or pretending to) I can hear him grunt; when he breathes out, I can hear him panting in high pitched tones. Or I might notice some lazy fellow, content with a cheap rub-down, and hear the blows of the hand slapping his shoulders. The sound varies, depending on whether the massager hits with a flat or hollow hand. To all of this, you can add the arrest of the occasional pickpocket; there’s also the racket made by the man who loves to hear his own voice in the bath or the chap who dives in with a lot of noise and splashing.” (Seneca in AD 50)

Roman Women working out

But the palaestra was not just for men. In ancient Rome, women too were permitted to exercise and stay fit. One famous mosaic shows a group of women engaged in exercise on the palaestra floor, though this was probably done at a different time, or in a separate area from the men.

The Tepidarium

Tepidarium, Chedworth Roman Villa, England

After the exertions of the palaestra, patrons would then move to the first room of the baths proper, the tepidarium. As the name implies, this was the ‘warm’ room where one could begin to heat up and start sweating. In some cases, the tepidarium had a warm water bath in which bathers could submerse themselves, but in other instances, it was just a room of warm air, thanks to the underground, and in-wall heating from the system of hypocausts that were used to heat the baths.

The tepidarium was often highly ornate too. Men and women could lounge and talk business, gossip or anything else while being rubbed down with oils which the Romans used instead of soap. Once they were warm enough, and the oils had started to go to work on their pores, bathers moved to the next room.

The Caldarium

Hypocausts beneath the floor of the caldarium at Bath, England

The caldarium was the hottest room in the bath complex, located as it was directly above the hypocaust furnace. This was the equivalent of the modern sauna where patrons would be more still, sweat, and scrape the mixture of oil and dirt from their skin with a tool called a strigil.

Roman strigil set with container for oil

The caldarium had a basin with cold water for patrons to wet themselves with, but also a hot pool if they wanted to soak some more. The heat from the caldarium is what brought the dirt to the surface and aided with the cleaning of their bodies in concert with the oil that was rubbed on.

The Frigidarium

Frigidarium in the Baths of Diocletian, Rome

The frigidarium of a Roman bath complex

After the tepidarium and caldarium, it was time to close the pores and revive, and what better way to do this than by jumping into a cold pool of water.

Welcome to the frigidarium! One can imagine the echo of people’s squeals as they landed in the cold water, the shock running through them in a great wake-up call. Some of the larger bath complexes would also have included a swimming pool at this stage, in which patrons could swim a few laps.

The frigidarium was not a room patrons would spend too much time in. Who would want to when the next step is so enjoyable?

Massages, Food, and more Socializing

After having made his/her way through the various rooms of the bathing complex, many Romans would opt to get a massage. Either they had their own slaves oil them again and work away at their muscles, or they would have one of the bathing complex’s massage slaves work on them.

What better way to work out the knots owed to debates in the Senate house, fights on the battlefield, haggling in the imperial fora or other activities than to have fragrant oils massaged into your newly cleaned skin.

I tell you, the Romans knew what they were doing with this ancient toilette ritual! I’m relaxed just thinking about it.

After the massage, and dressing again in the apodyterium, some of the larger complexes had tabernae attached where patrons could go and eat, have a drink, gamble a bit at games, and most importantly, socialize.

Layout of the Antonine Baths of Roman Carthage (modern Tunis)

That’s the interesting thing about public baths in the Roman Empire; they weren’t just facilities intended to curb public health issues by keeping the populace clean and hygienic, they were also the community centres, or community hubs, of the ancient world.

They were a bit of an equalizer too. In the Colosseum or Circus Maximus, the rich might have had the better seats with cushions, but in the thermae of the Empire, when naked, everyone was standing on equal footing.

The magnificent ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, Rome

The magnificent ruins and gardens of the Baths of Caracalla, Rome

So, next time you visit your, gym, local pool, or community centre, remember that you are participating in a highly social activity, owed mainly to the ingenuity of the Romans.

Thank you for reading.

For a bit more information, check out the video below from the series What the Romans Did for Us, with Adam Hart Davis. In this episode, he looks at Roman baths among other things related to Roman luxury!

It’s been a couple of months now since my trip to Greece, and I have finally managed to get through all (almost all) 4000+ pictures and videos from the trip. All I can say is, thank the gods for digital photography!

I promised to give you a tour of some of the sites that I visited on this trip, and so I thought I would start with ancient Epidaurus. If you missed the earlier post on the wonderful ceramic workshop in ancient Epidaurus, CLICK HERE.

This is the first in a two-part blog series on Epidaurus. Today we are going to take a brief look at the ancient theatre.

I’ve been to this site several times in the past, but I never tire of it. Some places are like that, I suppose. You can visit them again and again, and each time you do you get a different perspective that adds to your overall impression of the site.

The theatre of Epidaurus is like that.

For the history-lover in me, going there is like visiting a wise old friend. We greet each other, sit back in the sunshine, reminisce and contemplate the world before us.

There is something comforting about going back to familiar places.

It was the middle of the day as we drove up to the main entrance, the temperature knocking on 42 degrees Celsius (about 107 Farenheit). Needless to say, the lot was near empty but for a few rental cars and a tour bus.

I guess I’m one of the few who would drag their friends and family out to an archaeological site at the hottest time of day.

I parked our car in the shade of one of the many pine trees at the fringes of the lot and we got out, loaded with water, a snack, and the camera equipment.

As it turned out, there had been some major changes at the site. As we left the parking lot, we passed a massive snack bar with an outdoor café where exhausted, sweaty tourists sat beneath parasols slurping ices and bitter-sweet frappés.

We walked down the familiar path to main entrance, followed by the usual stray dogs who ignored the lounging cats amongst the flower beds of bitter laurels. We pressed on past the empty restaurants, dodging the waiters’ friendly ‘Yes Pleases’ until we reached the new ticket booth.

Tickets in hand, we marched through the new, automated admittance gates that scanned our stubs, and we were in.

I was glad to see that there were not many tourists, as on previous visits you could barely move.

When you enter the archaeological site from the ticket booths, you find the museum on your right, its wall lined with marble blocks covered in votive inscriptions from the sanctuary of Askeplios (more on that in Part II).

I don’t know why, but every time we visit this site we are always drawn to the theatre first. Perhaps it is more familiar, simpler than the archaeological site of the sanctuary opposite? You walk up the steep stone steps beneath scented pine trees and then, there it is!

The theatre lies in the blinding sunlight all limestone and marble, rising up in perfect symmetry before you with the mountains beyond.

In ancient times, one’s view from this vantage would have been blocked by the stage building, or scaena, but as it is today, you have a perfect view over the ruins of that building’s foundations.

The theatre of Epidaurus is considered the best-constructed and most elegant theatre of the ancient world. It was built in the 4th century B.C by the sculptor and architect, Polykleitos the Younger, who also designed the Tholos in the sanctuary.

The theatre sat 14,000 spectators, and every one of them could see the stage and hear every momentous word that was spoken.

What I enjoyed about this particular visit to the theatre was the fact that, because there were no crowds, I was able to stand at the centre of the stage (the orchestra), and drop a coin so that my family and friends could hear it where they sat at the top row.

Then I spoke…

My voice was so loud in my ears, I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I was on a microphone, my voice amplified like I had never heard it before. But there were no electronics, just an ancient perfection of design that has set the standard for ages.

After that, I climbed up the long central isle to the top row to join everyone and sit down. It’s a long way up, but the top provides the perfect vantage point of the sanctuary and landscape surrounding Epidaurus.

We sat there, listening to the cicadas, taking in the view, and enjoying the dry, pine-scented air.

When you see a play at Epidaurus, the audience is also participating in an ancient tradition. How many people have gone before us, sat in those seats, laughed and wept at the drama being played out before them?

Next week, in Part II of this blog series, we’ll venture away from the theatre for a brief visit to the museum, and then on into the peace and quiet of the Sanctuary of Asklepios, a place of miracles and ancient healing.

Thank you for reading!

If you want to see a bit more of the theatre of Epidaurus, below is a short video:

I am but mentioning a few traditions. There are so many, and every culture has its own idea as to what is good and what is unbearable in the afterlife. They’re not often described in detail because, well, most of the time those who go don’t come back to sketch it out.

This weekend is All Hallow’s Eve, or the sacred time of Samhain, the time when the veil is thin and the dead, our ancestors believed, roamed the earth. To our ancestors, the dead were not always to be feared, and the festival we now call Halloween (October 31st), was a time to celebrate.

How will you be celebrating? Do you fear the dead? Do you light orange talismans against them? Or do you use the time to contemplate the Afterlife?

As ever, this is a time of mystery, fear, and wonder. Whatever you do on October 31st, enjoy and be safe…

Thank you for reading.

When it comes to the Roman Empire, few things fascinate us as much as the destruction of Pompeii and the host of archaeological treasures that have been preserved by Mt. Vesuvius’s pyroclastic eruption.

We’ve all read the books, and seen the documentaries, artistic recreations, and recent film that have attempted to bring this ancient city back to life. They help us to understand, and live safely through, one of the greatest cataclysms in Roman history.

However, it is the people of Pompeii that haunt me most.

Unlike neighbouring Herculaneum, where the populace seems to have escaped, Pompeii’s ruins were littered with human remains.

Many of you will recognize the shades of these fallen Pompeians from the plaster casts that now represent them.

In 1863 the head archaeologist at Pompeii, Giuseppe Fiorelli, noticed unusual voids in the ash layer of the site. He realized that these voids contained human remains, and so devised the technique of injecting plaster into the spaces to recreate the forms of Vesuvius’s victims.

These are the most haunting artifacts Pompeii has to offer: its people.

Today I have something very special to share with you.

My friend and fellow author, Jenn Blair, recently had a triad of poems about events that took place on February 3rd, 1863 published in The Cossack Literary Journal.

The first of these poems is entitled ‘Pompeii’, and the first time I read it I knew I had to share it with you.

It takes us back in time to the excavations of Pompeii and gives us an intimate glimpse into the thoughts and feelings of Guiseppe Fiorelli:

February 3, 1863

Pompeii

The wells went dry. But they did not suspect, even then,

walking, to prayers, to market – swimming along in

strange morning light whose quality was already

changing. I kneel down and fish out the bones carefully,

with slender tongs, before pouring gesso in the hardened ash.

Some sculpt out of the air, but I persist in believing there are

forms already present, absences which are too telling-

a chance to become intimate with curdled hands or

even the downcast eyelashes of the woman and man

and child long ago cast down. Perhaps they will have

amulets and goddesses in arm, or perhaps they will

hold nothing, except themselves, that one last possession,

all limbs pulled in as if to ask the gods for respite now

that their small bodies inhabit even tighter boundaries.

Frescoes, vases, temples, carbonized loaves of bread: important.

But enough of artifacts. I want to see a living face.

I love this poem.

Uncovering the people of Pompeii was not like discovering an intentional burial, where the dead are at peace, surrounded by prized grave goods.

In Pompeii, when the bodies were unearthed, they appeared in pain and despair, “all limbs pulled in as if to ask the gods for respite…”

Pompeii and its disaster will, I feel sure, fascinate and haunt us for generations to come.

Thank you for reading.

Be sure to check out Jenn’s poetry chap books too at the links below:

All Things are Ordered : from Finishing Line Press, and Amazon

The Autumn Equinox has come and gone, and a giant ‘Blood Moon’ made its round of the earth. From the photos I’ve seen, it was spectacular.

Harvest time is here.

However, in the city, it’s a bit difficult to feel a connection to harvest, our rural roots having been eclipsed long ago by fast, urban living.

In a small effort to reconnect with the earth and our western ancestors who were bound to it, I thought I’d mention a couple of traditions around what has been, for thousands of years, an extremely sacred time of year.

Of course, this is the time of year for Thanksgiving (earlier in Canada than in the USA) when we sit around the table en-famille and stuff ourselves like the turkeys that grace our tables. And wine, oh yes, and lots of it for the oenophiles among us.

But where does all this come from? Not the pilgrims, I can tell you that. Apart from this being the time of year when summer gives way to fall, when the length of days is equal to that of nights, this time of year is when crops were harvested and preparations made for the coming winter.

Let us not dwell too long in ancient Greece however, for our Celtic ancestors in Europe also revered this time of year. To the Celts, harvest time was also known as Alban Elfed (Welsh for ‘Light of Autumn’), and the Feast of Avalon (Feast of Apples) among other names.

Thank you for reading.

I have a weakness for souvenirs.

Whenever I travel, I like to purchase something that reminds me of my evanescent days abroad. I don’t mean tacky, mass-produced rubbish that wasn’t even made in the country I visited.

The theatre of Epidaurus is considered the best-constructed and most elegant theatre of the ancient world. It was built in the 4^th century B.C by the sculptor and architect, Polykleitos the Younger, who also designed the Tholos in the sanctuary.

My friend and fellow author, Jenn Blair, recently had a triad of poems about events that took place on February 3^rd, 1863 published in The Cossack Literary Journal.

But where does all this come from? Not the pilgrims, I can tell you that.

Apart from this being the time of year when summer gives way to fall, when the length of days is equal to that of nights, this time of year is when crops were harvested and preparations made for the coming winter.