…from the quills of the dead white poets
Osip Mandelshtam 1891 -1938
I can’t sleep. Homer, and the taut white sails. I could the list of ships read only to a half: The long-long breed, the train of flying cranes Had lifted once the ancient Greece above. The wedge of cranes to alien far frontier -- On heads of kings, as foam, crowns shine -- Where do you sail? If Helen were not here, What Troy then means for you, Achaeia’s people fine? And Homer and the sea are moved by only love. Whom must I listen to? Homer is silent yet, And blackened sea with roar comes above, Sunk in triumphant noise, head of my sleepless bed.