You Know You Have It Bad When Your Hyperfixations Start Appearing To You In Your Dreams

Iliad-related stuff about Alexander the Great (according to Plutarch):

- He owned a very special copy of the poem, annotated by his tutor Aristotle himself. He guarded the manuscript in a small, precious chest that once belonged to Darius of Persia, and slept with it - and his dagger - under his pillow every night

- When he was a young boy, one of his tutors liked to call himself 'Phoenix' (the name of young Achilles' mentor) and Alexander's father Phillip 'Peleus', while little Alex was obviously Achilles himself (he was literally obsessed with the guy, since he also believed to be his descendant from his mother's side)

- Speaking of which, Alexander visited and paid homage to said hero's tomb in the region of Troy with games and stuff, honoring his "blessed fate" since he had had "such a trusted companion [aka Patroclus] in life and a noble herald [aka Homer] in death." (some other sources say that Hephaestion was with him as they paid homage to the tombs of Patroclus and Achilles respectively. Plus the way Alex's grief after Hephaestion's death mirrors perfectly that of his fav hero would deserve its own post)

- During the same journey there, he got offered to see the mythical lyre played by his namesake, Paris (also known as Alexander in the Iliad), to which he replied something like "hell no I couldn't care less, let me see the lyre that Achilles used to play" lol

Classics: What is Lost in Translation

There's a lot of discourse on the faithfulness of retellings, but today I want to talk about the sources themselves. A lot of us engage with the classics in languages that are far from the ones that they were originally written in, and to do so we must do so through translations.

Translators are incredibly skilled people. When it comes to Greco-Roman works, most of them are Classicists who have dedicated their lives to the study of these. But, we should remember that no translation is perfect, by virtue of being translated. What does this mean? It is very rare, even in languages that are related to one another (think Romance languages, like Spanish, French, and Italian) for a word to have a direct translation that carries over every meaning and connotation of the original. This means that while there may be an apt word to take the place of the original, certain meanings can be lost in translation, especially when translating literature, where the choice of word in itself is an artform that can convey much more meaning than what's evident (wordplay, implications, rhyme, etc.). A translation should convey all of the original meaning of the work being translated, but what is the best way to do this? Is it through coming as close as possible to word-for-word faithfulness as we can, or by taking some liberties in favour of trying to expressing what the original author conveyed? This is a question that has been a topic of debate for as long as translations have existed, and people are divided on the answer still. Personally, I stand at a middle ground: faithfulness to the text is important, but oftentimes, it can result in us missing a lot of meaning, so a degree of liberties taken is acceptable if it does result in conveying that meaning. Let's also keep in mind that translations can become dated overtime! Language evolves as time passes, and with it, the meaning of words changes. Such being the case, what conveyed a certain meaning to someone a century ago may no longer do so for the modern reader. This also why translation from an older form of a language to its modern one may result in a loss too. Are all translations bad, then? Not at all! If you want to engage with a piece of literature that isn't in your language, you can and you should! The classics are classics for a reason, and I personally believe that everyone should know these works because they're wonderful and there's so many incredible translations of them out there! So, mainly, I just want people to be aware that not everything that we see in a translation may be entirely faithful to the source; we may never know exactly every single thing of what Homer intended to convey, because we're not his original audience, engaging with his work at the time that it was written, and in the language that it was written. Some translations come much closer than others and are praised as much more faithful, and you can find a ton of discussions online where the virtues and faults of one translation vs another are compared. I would love for people to be encouraged to look into different translations of works that they enjoy, because it's fascinating to see the differences in choices made by one translation and another. Translation is an art in its own accord, it takes incredible skill, and when reading a translation we're not just engaging with the work of the original author, but with the interpretation of a certain translator — viewing the classics through their eyes.

Ancient Roman bust (one of my favorites ever) recolored in 6 different shades by me

(Long post ahead)

"He's half of my soul, as the poets say" this, "Name one hero who was happy" that...

But like, can we talk about how beautifully tragic and tragically beautiful some of the original quotes from the Iliad are too?? And these are not even all of them!

"Oh, how I wish that neither the Trojans nor the Achaeans could escape death! If only the two of us survived, so that we could bring down the sacred walls of Troy together, the two of us alone..."

"But his mother hadn't told him about the tragic event yet; he wasn't still aware that the most beloved [philtatos] of all his comrades had died."

"As Achilles heard those words [about Patroclus' death], a dark, deadly cloud of anguish engulfed him; with both hands he grabbed plenty of dust from the earth, letting it fall upon his head and smear his marvelous face and clothes. He flopped down onto the ground, disfiguring his body with his hands, tearing the locks of hair out of his head. [...]

Meanwhile, Antilochus sobbed and cried silently, holding tightly still the hands of weeping Achilles, preventing him from grabbing a blade and slicing his own throat.

He let out a heart-wrenching cry, so loud that his mother heard him from the bottom of the ocean."

"What sweetness, what kind of relief is left for me, if my dear Patroclus is no more, him whom I cherished more than all my comrades, whom I valued as my own life, loved as my own soul? I have lost him. [...] And now I shall go find that killer [Hector], the man who deprived me of my dear life."

"She found her beloved son laying down with his arms wrapped around Patroclus' body, crying bitterly. And so did many other companions weep around him."

"You shall all die a bitter death by my hand, each one of you shall pay for what you did to Patroclus, killing him by the ships while I was not there."

"But I will never forget Patroclus, not as long as I live, not as long as I'm steady on my limbs. And even in death, in the realm of Hades where the dead are forgotten, the memory of my beloved comrade will live for all eternity."

[Patroclus' ghost appears to Achilles in a dream]

"You're sleeping, Achilles: have you forgotten about me? You cherished me while I was alive; are you going to neglect me now that I'm dead? [...] Give me your hand, I beg you. For once my body is properly burned, I shall no more come back from the realm of Hades. No more shall we take sweet counsel as we did when I was alive, the two of us alone, away from our comrades. A terrible Fate has caught me, one I was predestined to since birth, and it will soon be your turn to fulfill your destiny, and die by the walls of Troy. So I am asking just one more thing of you, I beg you, grant my wish: don't let my bones be separated from yours, Achilles. Let them rest together, just as we grew up together in your house [...] I would like one single urn to bring together my ashes and yours; the golden urn your mother gave you."

[And Achilles replies]

"Why, my beloved soul, have you come to me, why are you giving me such orders? Of course, I'll obey, I will do everything you wish. But now, come here, come closer to me. Let me hold you: and let us forget about our sorrows by holding each other, at least for a short while.

Thus he spoke, and immediately tried to reach out to him: but he couldn't. The soul slipped away from his grasp, screeching and disappearing back inside the earth, dissolving into smoke. Achilles' hands clasped involuntarily, and he stood up, full of surprise and pain. He felt the urge to cry again."

(I did my best, personally translating the quotes from the original Greek text like the literature noob I am lol. bye I'm going to cry again in peace now)

The soon-to-be best of the Greeks, the short-fated hero. The grief of his people.

She had given birth to her own sorrow; but all she could do was cradle it gently in her arms.

They're taking him away from me. Away from our bed, where he rested still next to me, to lay him onto a new, unknown one.

Why are they taking him away from me? What if he feels cold, trapped all alone in that pitch-black, bottomless bed?

What if he starts shaking, what if the words "I'm cold" suddenly fall from his angelic lips, and I'm not there to cover him up?

He needs warmth, he needs to be held tightly and caressed! But this time, they're not letting me sleep by his side.

Is he going to sleep a lonely, endless night without love?

Will that cold, hard wood be soft and warm enough for him?

(no because I just found this thing in my notes app from an old note I wrote at like 3am and now I'm crying and sobbing like??)

Caught between Doom and Retribution 🖤

(I'm obsessed with their hot springs bath portraits help)

Imagine this: a young, mighty king has just conquered some faraway regions in the East, so he and his men decide to celebrate one night.

Still a bit tipsy after the celebration, the conqueror goes to attend the dance competition held in his honor: the winner turns out to be a young eunuch of extraordinary beauty, praised generously and crowned by the king himself.

Seeing the two of them so close, the men and all the others start applauding from the stands, and they all start shouting in unison: "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!"

The king, amused, does not object: he smiles and wraps his arms around the beautiful dancer, whom he kisses gently on the lips among the cheers of his men.

No, I did not just come up with this. It's a small historical anecdote. And the king in question is none other than the GOAT Alexander the Great.

Well, time to ramble about the Iliad again even tho no one asked, yay! This time it's about language: there's one specific expression which I'm kind of obsessed with, and it's φίλη κεφαλή (phìle kephalè).

So, phìle is the feminine form of the adjective phìlos (the word where philtatos comes from), which obviously means "dear", "beloved": but by extension, in the Homeric language especially, it means "something that belongs to someone". Which actually makes sense because it's basically implied that if something belongs to someone, it has to be something dear to them. And this is mostly used with body parts (like, instead of saying "my hands", in Homer you'd find something along "the dear hands" and so on.)

And that's where kephalè comes in! The word literally means "head". In the poem there's a lot of talking about heads: chopped heads, disfigured heads, pierced heads, and so on. But many times, metaphorically, it can also mean "body" or "life". Why? Because, since the head is the most important part of one's body, it is the essential part in order to live. And of course it's "dear" to you, because otherwise you'd be dead.

So what happens if you put the two words together? You basically get an affectionate form of address, which could be translated to "my dear head", but most precisely "my dear life".

In the Iliad, when Achilles learns of Patroclus' death, he states to have loved him "like his own head" (kephalè is the word he uses), and right after, he refers to Hector as the man who killed his phìle kephalè...

Because the head is to the body what Patroclus is to Achilles: the most important and precious part of himself. And now that he's lost him, he feels as if Hector had killed a whole part of himself, the one that kept him alive. Because his head has been literally torn away from him.

Also in another passage he refers to Patroclus as ηθείη κεφαλή (hethèie kephalè), where hethèie basically means "sweet", "beloved", "worthy of honor". And once again the "head".

I'll stop rambling for now, but this stuff was just too beautiful not to be talked about?? (and for me not to hyperfixate over it)