--------------------------------------------------- When Virgil Plays Cupid: My Amazon Experience as Diana Might Express it Of a long and arduous night followed by release --------------------------------------------------- This one was so enamoured of our quiver, Which takes for her a form rhetorical, She had a passage long and difficult And learned a lesson by experience: Sometimes an Amazon's most arduous task Is letting go her weapons when it's time. How do my charges manage with such skill To get themselves in these predicaments? It's either love or war, in this case love. It seems that Virgil, premier Roman poet, Commissioned by the Emperor Augustus, Set out to write a patriarchal epoch, Not to play Cupid; but by chance he did. He hurled his puissant literary spear Across some two millennia of time And hit her fair and square, where Cupid aims Or in a place that's close enough to that. Then two details most quickly sealed the deal: Her footracing and amazing inadvertence. We'll get more into that, but now let's make A quick assessment of this episode. When she began the _Aeneid_, Book Eleven, She knew quite well what she was getting into, And knew the shot was coming; there's no question. In other words, against all expectations, For once she wasn't taken unawares. As for the one who launched this fateful missile, Virgil is poesy's high general, A worthy hand so deftly to undo her, Albeit as if by purest accident. It was a fair and honorable wounding, And she herself exults in such a fate, Embracing it as sisterhood most perfect. 2 If she were Alice B. Toklas, one might say, Then Virgil could be called her Gertrude Stein: Not as a lover or a spouse domestic But as an autobiographer of sorts Displaying a portrait of another womon In which she yet can recognize herself And even say with wonder and affection: "If I were writing of my sundry mishaps, I might use language very near to this." As for her footracing which has now become For her a sacred ritual of love, She has been doing that for many years Following what she calls the "contact rule": At least one foot must always touch the ground, So that in fact it's walking and not running, But done quite fast with great exhilaration Although she'd win no earnest competition. There is one feat that she can rightly claim Which at the time she deemed a merry frolic But now does cherish as a sign of love. It seems that she was walking with some friends At night to tour a portion of her town Lit with bright colors for the holidays. Excited by the lights and decorations, Exulting in her speed, she then espied A horse-drawn carriage filled with revellers Proceeding at a slow and prudent pace. As she passed by, a reveller called out: "You're cheating! You're moving faster than we are!" Now looking back upon this pleasant exploit, In modesty and sisterhood alike She frames apt words a critic could invoke: "Sportswomon, tell me, what is so outstanding About this way to build your reputation: Relying on the slowness of a horse?" As to her inadvertence oft displayed This is not imitation to a fault, But rather it would seem a native talent. The day before, when walking through the rain To visit her physician, she reflected: "It's only fair this rain should hit and soak me: I have fair warning that I'm in its path And am not taken unawares. Now therefore, Let me show my Amazonian grit, Braving this storm and making my appointment." Steeling herself, she's in a racing mood, And quickens her steps to keep up her morale. After some walking in this faster mode She realizes, alas, there's something wrong. This isn't the route with which she is familiar -- But rather she is walking on a freeway Reserved for carriages all self-propelled! As Virgil might say, she noticed neither the sign Declaring "Freeway Entrance," nor the absence Of sidewalks and the changing traffic patterns. Now seeing her precarious position, And knowing she has contravened a law Of her republic, though without intent, She acts to remedy the situation, Returning safely to her licit route And hastening to reach her goal on time. 3 And now I'll tell the tale of her long night That happily ended not too long ago, About as dawn was breaking in her land. It was a small _supplicium_ of love, A sacrifice drawn out beyond due measure Because she was so wedded to her weapons: Her bow of rhetoric that so delights her And arrows of discourse arcing through the world. It helps to know that she's dimensionqueer, Or maybe dimensionfluid is the term. Each day and night she moves between the worlds With her circadian cycle as the passport. This isn't new, and she loves many sisters. Her passion to be friends with my Camilla Is natural, for sisterhood is precious. But she could use some patience and perspective As she's exploring things by trial and error. Each night she follows my Camilla's journey As told in Virgil's poem, more or less, Adapted to her needs and circumstances. First a few words of sisterly affection; Her body reclines now, yielding to the Earth; She loosens her grip on the reins of limbs and senses; And then the hard part, letting go her weapons So she may free herself from her tired body, Bringing her closer to my dear Camilla And also to her many other sisters; Meanwhile, her earthly frame repairs itself. But letting go her weapons is the catch, Especially my quiver she adores: The arrows of internal conversation, That archery intuitive of phrases Echoing back and forth within her mind. This daughter of debate and disputation Loves to craft words, to shape and then reshape them As if she were live-blogging her transition From this world to another; or composing A pamphlet on the things she sees and feels. Her focus still is on the world she's leaving, To win some battle of communication, When she should be abandoning herself To each new stage and moment of the journey, And to her sisters' love that well protects her, Including that of my most dear Camilla. All night she lay there, hour after hour, Oft seeing things of wonder and of beauty, But weighted by the burden of her body, A body quite exhausted and depleted, Not so ideal for her continued presence. Here Virgil's text may shed a certain light On my Camilla and this younger sister. In this one's roadmap, first she must relinquish Her weapons, then untangling self from body. But that's not Virgil's order, for he writes: _Paulatim exsolvit se corpore_, "Little by little, she freed herself from her body" While grasping yet her weapons so beloved, Relinquished only in the line that follows. Like my Camilla, this one grasped her weapons, Especially her quiver of narration As if she were both Virgil and herself: _Paulatim_, "little by little," tells the story. She wandered in a world of inner landscapes, Colors and shapes inviting and alluring, But aimed at them as targets for her bow, Her arrows seeking narrative descriptions. But that is Virgil's task and not Camilla's, Nor hers, who follows on her kindred journey, And like her sister, must release her weapons. Another word of Virgil may be helpful: That word is _indignata_ which can carry At times a sense of "angry" or "indignant," But also "reluctant," which may fit these sisters. Of course my dear Camilla was reluctant To leave this world in youth's delicious flower And in the midst of her exultant battle, Now an impending rout she could not save, Though still awhile she grasped my bow and quiver. Places as beautiful and more awaited, But still it was so hard to leave the battle. For this one, I perceive that the reluctance Came from a love of what is called midrash, A pastime for this Hebrew Amazon Of parsing texts and weaving them together -- Again my quiver of internal discourse. Half in another realm, yet in her body, She floated above a city and reflected That if there were some planted fields below, Or gardens if some leeway is allowed, And bodies of water -- lakes or ponds or rivers -- Then she was sharing in a mystery That tied her yet more closely to her sister! For in Book Seven of this same _Aeneid_, Virgil relates how my most dear Camilla Seemed able with her feet so swift and agile To run across a field of planted wheat And do no damage to the crop; or cross The flowing sea and not immerse her feet. Virgil's subjunctive is as if to say Not that she did these things, but almost could. Now this one, as she toured that pleasant city, Floating above it, moving without effort, Reflected as she gazed at forms and colors: "Of course my sister can perform these feats, Constrained no longer by an earthly body, Even as I am doing at the moment, A footracer claiming talents far more modest When bound by laws terrestrial. And here I am not bound by any contact rule; Both Camilla and I alike are free To travel as we please for sheer enjoyment. What footracer would not delight in this?" Yet even while she basks in love and freedom, She feels her body's weight and long fatigue, A ravelled fabric not so well for wear. The night is nearly done, and still my quiver Remains quite firmly in her grasp, though Nature Implores that she at last should let it go. Near dawn, this wisdom finally prevails, And she lets go her weapons of narration Knowing that all the wondrous things she's seen Are hers to enjoy, as likewise my Camilla's. She is content to leave the night's long battle; Her limbs relax, and Nature takes its course. Now in the sweet extremity of peace She finds repose, traversing many states According to her nature. She is free, And may this little journey well refresh her. From here she will continue in her path And in good time step through the gates of Fest, Met by the greeting "Exspectata Domus." Margo Schulter 15-18 October 2016 NOTE: This poem is warmly dedicated to my wonderful sister Marcie Killian Connally, and her incredible partner Dalton Connally ("The Professor"), a precious sister and genderqueer Butch sibling. The Latin words _Expectata Domus_ mean "Welcome Home," the greeting used for each womon who stepped through the gates of Michfest (1976-2015), which for me has become both an inspiration for my Amazon spirituality, and a source for a larger concept of Fest, or _Festa Festarum_ ("Fest of Fests"), which for me means a spiritual reality reaching beyond, although including and embracing, the known physical universe.