Poetry at the Post-Pécs: Roman Limes, An Almond Tree

[Record no oiled tongue, diary]

Note the almond
Tree overmuch with fruit. The almond
Pressed is oil sweet.

From the the ancient city of Aquincum,
the borders of Pannonia, across the limes,
the limits of the Rome, onward
to the Carpathian Basin of Pécs,
we traveled—
thirty-some seekers
of the ruins.

…Do you hear?
That pulse?

A whirl of images
the press of heat
the cool of blue
and the tree
of almonds…
dropping nuts
like bones.

In store the game of this land.

Poetry at the Post-Budapest: Meditations on Marcus Aurelius

“Marcus Aurelius Rose”

From the five good emperors
I have learned that there were five good emperors,

A trip to Aquincum, the ruins of an ancient city in Budapest, can lead one to other places. For me, the road circled back Marcus Aurelius, the Roman emperor who perhaps wrote a part of his book Meditations at Aquincum

“Whatever happens to you has been waiting to happen since the beginning of time. The twining strands of fate wove both of them together: your own existence and the things that happen to you.” (V. 8, trans. Gregory Hays)

“Soon you’ll be ashes or bones. A mere name at most—and even that is just a sound, an echo. The things we want in life are empty, stale, trivial” (V. 33, trans. Gregory Hays)

Remnants of antiquity remind me of the brevity of life. Breathe it in …hold it. And, then read this lovely poem by Lisa Jarnot.

From the window blinds, from the sun decayed,
from the heart, a brimming record braised and turned