Tuesday, May 6, 2014

Troy--Ray Bradbury

The Trojan Horse into Troy
by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo

by Ray Bradbury

My Troy was there, of course,
Though people said, Not so
Blind Homer’s dead. His ancient myth’s
No way to go. Leave off. Don’t dig.
But then I rigged some means whereby
To seam my earthen soul
Or die.
I knew my Troy.
Folks warned this boy it was mere tale
And nothing more.
I bore their warning, with a smile,
While all the while my spade
Was delving Homer’s gardened sun and shade
Gods! Never mind! cried friends. Dumb Homer’s blind!
How can he show you ruins that ne’er were?
I’m sure, I said. He speaks. I hear. I’m sure
Their advice spurned
I dug when all their backs were turned,
For I had learned when I was eight:
Doom was my Fate, they said. The world would end!
That day I panicked, thought it true,
That you and I and they
Would never see the light of the next day -
Yet that day came.
With shame I saw it come, recalled my doubt
And wondered what those Doomsters were about?
From that day on I kept a private joy,
And did not let them sense
My buried Troy:
For if they had, what scorns,
Derision, jokes
I sealed my City deep
From all those folks
And, growing, dug each day. What did I find
And given as gift by Homer old and Homer blind?
One Troy? No, ten!
Ten Troys? No, two times ten! Three dozen!
And each a richer, finer, brighter cousin!
All in my flesh and blood
And each one true
So what’s this mean?
Go dig the Troy in you!

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