Aegean Edicts

The Aegean Edicts (4): Plucking the Silver Rose

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So this shall be the last of my Aegean Edicts of 2020. Strictly speaking Im not by the Aegean anymore, in fact I’m only about 50 miles from the Adriatic, but the contents of this essay were produced largely by the Aegean. I am currently in the delightful town of Ioaninna, perch’d by a lovely lake & ringed by mountains. Ioaninna has a place in English poetry, being the citadel where Byron met Ali Pasha in 1809 on his Grand Tour of Europe, in which visit to Epirus he bough the famous costume in which he would be painted & immortalised as the personifiaction of the Romantic poet (by Phillips, 1813).

A couple of days ago I walked here from the site of the oracle of Dodona; traversing country roads, photographing everything, admiring the changing constantly mountainscape & passing through delightful villages called Kostaniani, Liggos, Kontsika & Marmara, before zig-zagging down a steep sheer slope to the Ioaninna basin.

I’m here to type up Axis & Allies & to also complete my other epic poem, the Silver Rose. This is, in essence, the Odyysey to the Iliad that is my Axis & Allies. Begun in 1998, it is a sequence of 154 sonnets, like Shakespeare’s (but its not a competition), which are interspliced with odes. A symmetrical piece, it tells the story of my Childe Haroldean wanderings through Britain, Italy, Greece, India & America; with Sally Cinnamon playing the part of a modern-day Penelope.

One set of sonnets are entitled ‘Marching On Parnassus’ which were composed in 2010. Now then, on my Aegean tour – which didnt get that far really so entranced was I by Samothraki – I composed four new sonnets, which nudged & barged four of the weaker sonnets from 2010 out of the picture. I also intend to compose the Samothrakean mysteries, a five part poem that will serve as a counterpoint to the odes I’ve been writing these passed few years of British political tumult. I’m also adding one more to the latter odes, mentioning covid of course, & I think I’d like to write an ode on a massacre by the Nazis of a village – Lyngiades – which overlooks Ioaninna. Its position in the epic would reflect that of the Loss of Hope ode I wrote earlier this year. Heres the final ‘track listing’ so to speak, of the Silver Rose epic.

To an Englishman with Liberty
The Grand Tour
Return of the Rose
Bingo Lingo
Love at First Sight
Lancashire Rose
The Language of Birds
Political Odes
Rose Goes North
Loss of Hope
Junkie Fuc£s
Matty Grooves
The Lothiad
Haiku from Heather Lodge
The Proposal – Celestial Samurai
The Thistle & the Rose
The Lost Poem
Rosa D’argento
Upper Inferno
On Valentine’s Eve – The Art of Love
Marching on Parnassus
The Samothrakean Mysteries
Language of Flowers
Raj & the Rose
The Honeymoon

From An Englisman with Liberty (being)
1-The Bedroom Opera
2-Ballad of the Bataclan
3-Koprowski’s Curse
4-American Tinderwolves
5-The Insanity of Donald Flump

So these new sonnets & the two new poems will see another epic being concluded in Ioaninna – more or less at the same time, for I’m also uploading all the 100 cantos of Axis & Allies, while watching series 3 of Only Fools & Horses. Anyways, here’s the full & final version of the Marching on Parnassus series of sonnets for your perusal. Enjoy



During the long course of this poethood
My song has been prepar’d for one moment,
At last! to Grecia by my Muses sent
& in my heart I knew they always would!

Upon Italic plateauxs have I stood
Hoping to glimpse her shores through mountains bent
Between the mists, that shuffle innocent
From peak to peak, as only phantoms could!

As we are sailing to antiquity
Some laurel wreath to fix unto a brow,
Where oranges hang every second tree,
Antiquity seems almost here & now

As Greece, in rustic beauty, like a bay,
Before us spreads as breaks the cloudless day.


The sun is setting gold on Zacynthus,
The breeze is blowing freedom thro’ my hair
The waves at the beck & call of Phorcys,
Have dragg’d us ever closer to his lair.

O Cephalonia, Byronic isle!
Such promise holds mine animated mind
Beneath thy peaks I’ll spend some happy while,
Sensing, already, sights to stir my kind.

Am I some Telemachos coming home?
Or Eumea drifting in from Elis?
Or Phaecian vessel spurting thro foam,
Where in the hold slumbers Odysseus?

I am these things, & many more beside,
For they shall live ‘til poetry has died!


Until we meet again, Olympia!
When I shall raise my daughter to the height
A toddling flame
& as the morn-pink roses, would show her
The very scene & in the very light
I chose her name

My love, as I sit waiting for a bus
To Tropea or Pirgos, either way,
I think of thee!
Wondering if the future holds for us
A glitter-girl to please us in her play
Our bouncing bee

Who, when she’s sleeping looks as sweet as you
& laughing, me!


Where Autumn-tinted peaks rise glorious
I hitch’d a lift, a lorry-load of bales
Whose little houses sing their hearth-side tales
Old stories of this hoary, mountainous
Region, of most hardy handsome hunters
Fed by their ever-fattening females
Where taxidermy, of the arts, prevails
& portraits hang with pride for ancestors!

The Mornou Dam sits like a precious stone
Heart of a highland chain that god-like rings
This world where only poets dare to chance
& each of them, I sense, was once a throne
For spirits older than Olympic kings,
Where Cronos dined & Titans loved to dance.


As careful steps & aiming for the post
Must bring us ever closer to our goal,
Thro’ sharp-barb’d thorny burnett hack’d my feet,
Urg’d on by robins perch’d on pungent spurge,
Along an ancyent path of broken stones,
Which Idomenus trod before the truce’
I mountain-goated past four snarling hounds,
Stone-showers scatter, man’s best friend or nay!

The bravest follows at a wise distance,
A fine black bitch, til gladly I arrive
By Delphi’s walls, the troubadour no more,
Strange tortoise, with a home flat on my back,
Ready to rest, & write, & relish life
Upon same rocks where Orpheus once roam’d!


So, this is the heartbeat of poetry,
From holy Parnassus, uprising sheer,
These magi-waters of empyrean,
Pulse down from such a theatre of stone,
Them pouring thro’ the depths of my studies,
Where in a sketch I see gargoyle faces –
Perhaps by Hobhouse in Lord Byron’s ‘Life’ –
Who came up, too, to taste this ancient spring
Upon his very famous ‘Pilgrimage,’
While mine is ended here… I sup the mead,
Faint hint of minerals, revitalised,
I swear to all my Muses I shall be
A poet still, & if they ride with me
To Scotland, I shall build them temples there!


Napoleon, in Amiens, the crown!
Wrested from papal clutches, his own hands
Placed steel upon his brow, Corsican clown
No longer, but an emperor of lands!

I came upon a plain of dreams & steam
A spartan in my body, duty, rhyme
Where Leonidas & his polis cream
Defied the best of persia in their prime

On noble Kolonos a monument
Topp’d by a laurel wreath, I gladly felt
That thro the muses it was sent to me
As I before phoenician letters knelt

Bending the branch into a perfect ring
& crown’d myself, at last, a poet-king!


Zeusian eagles hover’d oer the folds
Where I collected firewood, meanwhile
Immersed in poesy’s pristeen reverie
Of lofty pitch & classical alludes
The constitutions of a younger vow
Lay fully realized – Olympus rose
Oer tree-green gorge where chaunt I to the gods
Pulses initial to a final form,
An hour of velvet wonder in my life,
Inspirational, talismanical,
Idyllic launchpad of a lofty muse,
Far from the heavings of society,
I cook wild stew in Castallian mead,
Flavour’d by mountain herbs, & cared for naught.


Last night we camp’d under wonderful stars
& today, what a day, what adventure,
With the sky never-ending above us
Oer mountains rising on swarms of wild olives.
But something, someone is missing
That someone I need to be kissing

I want to wake beside you every day
Tell you I love you, ask if you’re OK
Give you a hug when you’re gong to work
Or hide if you’re menstrual & going bezerk
For ye are the one thing I crave here the most
Ycamped on the crest of this ocean coast

You’re the music, lass, that livens my drumming,
Be patient, my love, I am coming.


There is a heat they call the burn of Greece
Beginning in July, by Autumn screams
Out in the day we English pray for peace
In shady spots as lava spurts & steams

By graffitis of Thessaloniki
Thin street cats treated priestlike as they prowl
From door-to-friendly door, such unsneaky
Hunts for meaty morsels; fresh, fair & foul.

Oer the labyrinth of Salonika
Hat soak’d in sweat, what buenavista won!
Olympus of gorgeous tectonica
Uprisen in the distance, legend spun

When, in the shadow of the Genti Koyle,
I sit wide gazing, still, like a gargoyle.


I found myself in Paradise a few miles shy of Sarti,
I’d headed there solely beacuse it rhymes with ‘Wild Love Party,’
A wee secluded nudist beach with pyres of burnish’d driftwood,
& thought I’d stay as gracious while as Thracian poets should.

Across the soft Singitic Gulf Mount Athos rose redeeming
All souls who gazed upon its shark immortally updreaming,
There Monkish men swam out to heaven seven times a day,
Libating skinsalt to exalted Thetis in the spray.

So I gazed on Aphrodite & I swoon’d before Athena
& then I saw Cassandra – I’ll die happy cos I seen her
The infinite projections of her body sent me blushing
Into a catacoomb of lust, libido wolves enrushing.

Deep in a rockshade’s softening I drank my surfcool wine,
Watching Cassandra frolicking voluptuous, divine!


Cerebral sunset
Gazing deep on Evening Star
She loves ME tonight!

Venus kisses earth
Samothrakean shoreline
Four in the morning

Venus beaming bliss
Voluptuous woman light
Reflected in waves

Venus melts away
Within a rainbow sunset
Ripening in pink

“We’ll always have this island…”
She vibrated thro’ the waves


I am a Celtic bard, turn’d Druid, on the island where adolescent Orpheus
Follow’d two wise Cabeiroi on long walks over rocks, thro’ woods, to waterfalls,
The first fall shaped like an Egyptian short-bow or Nile canoe flipp’d standingly
The second resode in a fabulous canyon, enportion’d into four stunning quarters
“These parts,” said dwarfish Eurymedon, “transfer flowing waters pool-to-pool –
As such, the natural rhythm of Human music distill’d thro’ four sieves must be.”
“Penetrate,” said Alkon, “the everliving sounds of Nature’s ageless realm,
Then transfer them to a wooden shaft, bewebb’d by varying strings of goatwire.”

The tuning came to Taleisin via Hyksos & Herulian savants,
In whose own turn traditional taught me its secrets as I was dreaming
That night I dozed under Cadair Idris, when half-winds in the early morning
Disturb’d my sleep, compelling rais’d arms to offer my guitar to the chorus
Of morning birds; to tweak the pegs – a note here, half a note there, just a smidge
Of a twist on that string… with a soft strumm’d chord I stunn’d the forest to stillness!

Hiked up the slopes to Lyngiades this morning from Ioaninna – the view back to the town across the lake is stunning, but what’s more emotional is the monument to the women & children slaughtered by the Nazis in 1943 in retaliation for losing a high-ranking officer in an ambush to local Greek partisans – after a few days they found a baby still suckling his dead mother’s milk (see photo).

It was on the return down the rock-scruffy steepnesses that I began to ruminate once again on the Silver Rose & its conclusion – which led me to compose one final poem to slot into the ‘From An Englishman With Liberty’ series at the end of the sequence. So here it, is entitled ‘The Farewell to the Rose,’ a poignant moment for this poetical alter-ego has been with me since 1998, on & off; but then again I did always like the sound of ‘The Rose Goes Global…’

The Farewell to the Rose

I shone in the silvery starlight
As I serv’d up these verses for thee
My rose has now frozen to snow-white
For the artists, forever, are free.

I leave you an Odyssey’s odes’ worth
& sonnets a Shakespearean par,
With Milton & Byron & Wordsworth
My posterity’s epic shall spar

Yes its been such a hectic adventure
Tho of course cream’d with moments of calm
Reconstruct it with songs that I sent ya
WMy book plac’d on a perch in your palm

Like a sheet of old music before thee
As you play your violas or flute
& as you release me all syllably
Please remember me, my roseate repute

That swore, by this temple, he will remain
The gallantest guy on the glide
For I was the one who rode Sylvermane
Thro’ the age when dear analogue died

Take a valentine’s rose from my pocket
Pressing petals of silvery sheen
To be kept in a book or a locket
Or hung up where my poetry’s been.

Damian Beeson Bullen
September 7th, 2020

The Aegean Edicts (3) : Finishing an Epic Poem

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The wine that led to this morning’s hangover

Today I ended Axis & Allies. I’m happy to now declare myself to the world as an epic poet. Whether I’m any good I shall leave to all our posterities. I began the day drunk but determined; packed a wee bag of food from last night’s campfire – a jacket potato & some chilli left overs – emptied the remnants of the wine into a plastic bottle & began my hike. It was tough at first, but step by step I began to wake up, assisted very much by a dip in the Jesus Falls. I spent an hour just reviving there, watching a beautiful dragonfly sit on a rock, then go for a wee fly, then return to the same spot, then repeat the whole hypnotic sequence again.

I then began my climb up the Gria Vathra – to the source of the river Gria. At first the path was easy, but it soon broke out into open rock climbing. It was a fond moment, for when I began Axis & Allies in 2001 I used to go scrambling up the wee cliffs at Happy Valley, Tunbridge Wells, while composing A&A.

A sketch of me, early 2001 just before I began to study for A&A

I’d actually started two years ago, when I’d invented the Tryptych form in Brighton one October evening, composing two stanzas for my Waterloo poem, composed the following Summer. Here’s the first of them which still stands as the invocation to A&A.

There is a glade in an ancyent forest
Where glittering pools of molten azure
Assail ripe sense… insliding, moonbeam-bless’d,
Soul bathes in blissful dreamtimes gleaming pure;
Attended by
My nine naked maidens,
Vulvaean lullaby lilting thro’ love gardens.

She harps a song, she summons stars,
She waltzes round the waters,
She treats these sainted battlescars,
She paints a floating lotus,
She strums her summergold guitars,
Loxianic daughters!
How lovely & how livid floods thy light,
What verses & what wonders must I write?

They ring & weave thro’ tryptych tones,
Sing rich enchanted chime,
Soft music hones their mystic moans,
& so… my all must rhyme…
With hopes of flashing heroes up Parnassus slopes we’ll climb!

Finishing the first 10,000 lines, Summer 2002

After completing Waterloo, it was while travelling on a train between Bognor & Arundel, just after the floods of 2000, that I was hit by the concept of a 10,000 line epic on World War Two – 500 tryptychs in total. The bulk of these were composed in & from my base in Tunbridge Wells the following year. My composition period ran through the events of 9-11, which I also wrote tryptychs, about along with some about the birth of Rome & others on my first tour of India.

By 2006 I was then knitting all the parts together – from Troy to the modern day – & completed these on the islands of Marettimo & Malta in the early parts of 2007. From there I had four major bursts of creativity in 2008, 2011, 2016 & finally, the final 37 stanzas composed on my recent tour of the Aegean.

The last stanza was completed at the Gria Vathra itself, where I made the above film in which the very last line of poetry came to me. I was also visited by the spirit of my grandmother – it was an overwhelming, tear-draining sen sation. I think she was proud of me, as if she was attending my graduation ceremony. Here is that final stanza in full;

With groggy noggin, nine o clock, drunk still,
My steps besober’d up Poseidon slopes,
Wild dragonflies in escort hill to hill,
A spirit free from toil that here elopes
With muses nine
Naked in pools & falls
Inviting me to dine on melons, wine & rolls.

With breakfast done the climb began
Force following the shadow
Of something more than that young man
Who started this years ago
From path to rock I laughed & ran
The joyous gigalo
‘This way,’ say Clio & Calliope
Perch’d on steep stone, strumming ukelele.

He dove into that perfect pool
With bed of Autumn leaves
Sat on a stool of granite cool
He elegant recieves
One final line of poetry, what tapestry he weaves.

It was an apt place to finish. Legend has it that Poseidon crawled out of the sea to perch upon Mount Saos – which towered high above me on the climb – in order to watch the Fall of Troy across the Aegean Sea. A metaphor perhaps, for an epic poem to rival the Iliad, if I may be so bold.

So what next? Well, I have started to put the 100 cantos online, where you can also find an abridged version I made available to buy in book form. But the poem is now ready to be read in its entireity. 900 tryptychs divided into 100 cantos. I hope to have it all available for perusal soon enough, & Greece seems the perfect place to do it.

Damian Beeson Bullen

The Aegean Edicts (2): Reconstructing the Samothrakian Mysteries

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The Argonauts sail towards the isle of Samothrake: Electra’s island grows larger, guarding the secret of the Thracian rites of the Kabeiroi and other gods… Thyotes the priest meets the Argonauts and bids them welcome to the land and to the temples, revealing their Mysteries to his guests. Thus much, Samothrace, has the poet proclaimed thee to the nations and the light of day; there stay, and let us keep our reverence for holy Mysteries. The Argonauts, rejoicing in the new light of the sun and full of their heavenly visions, seat themselves upon the thwarts and depart from the island 

Valerius Flaccus: Argonautica

O Samathraki, what a joy! Where have you been all my life. I got here via Thessalonika on an A/C coach for 30 euros to the port of Adrianopolous. Then it was a 14 euro ferry to the island, which on the approach really feels like you are crossing over to Arran. I’ve been staying at the municipal campsite for almost a fortnite: its like a musical festival in the woods by the sea, but without any music stages or stalls – its quite the young team but they all think I’m in my 30s so I’ve blended in well enough!

Samothraki is an island of oak trees, pebbly beaches & waterfalls; & in these twelve days I’ve managed to climb most of Mount Saos -the highest mountain in the Aegean – an eight hour mission, just halting shy of the 1.611 metres ‘Fengari’ (moon) summit, followed by some canyoning in the rocky gullies back to Therma. My favorite pasttime, tho, is the morning ritual of walking to Therma, having some coffees, then spending an hour in the hot sulphuric springs, from where I’d buy fresh bread & take the meandering back roads to the campsite. Very conducive for literary thought!

My adhoc campsite ( a work in progress)

So why Samothraki? Well, I was drawn here by a profound personal identification with Orpheus – possibly the first poet AND musician in history. A pilgrimage to one of his old haunts should provide much materielle for an Aegean edict, & so it has proved. So let us begin with what we know about Orpehus, & with me being a bona fide euhmerist, that means he would have been most definitely real.


He first came to prominence among the Rhodope Mountains of Thrace, now mostly in modern Bulgaria, strumming his magical creations on an equally magical lyre. Pindar called him the Father of Songs, his voice being so sweet and powerful that he could charm wild animals, divert rivers & even lull the rocks to sleep. He was also said to be one helluva wise king, accredited with teaching humankind a long list of subjects such as healing, prophecy & astrology. Diodorus Siculus gaves a good account of him;

Since we have mentioned Orpheus it will not be inappropriate for us in passing to speak briefly about him. He was the son of Oeagrus, a Thracian by birth, and in culture and son-music and poesy he far surpassed all men of whom we have a record; for he composed a poem which was an object of wonder and excelled in its melody when it was sung. And his fame grew to such a degree that men believed that with his music he held a spell over both the wild beasts and the trees.

And after he had devoted his entire time to his education and had learned whatever the myths had to say about the gods, he journeyed to Egypt, where he further increased his knowledge and so became the greatest man among the Greeks both for his knowledge of the gods and for their rites, as well as for his poems and songs.


A single literary epitaph, attributed to the sophist Alcidamas, credits him with the invention of writing. He was also the official bard of Jason on his quest for the Golden Fleece, & it is probably through him the story was recorded for posterity. A more positive literary accreditation comes thro’ Diogenes, who claims Orpheus to be the author of a cosmogony on the course of the sun and moon & a poem on the generation of animals and fruits. Then there are the Orphic hymns, of which Pausanius writes;

His hymns are known by those who have studied the poets to be both short & few in number. The Lycomedes, an Athenian family dedicated to sacred music, have them all by heart, & sing them at their solemn mysteries. They are but of the second class for elegance, being far excelled by Homer’s in that respect. But our religion has adopted the hymns of Orpheus, & has not done the same honour to the hymns of Homer.

At Dutch Bobs campsite, with Dylan from Dublin and the three Georges

With Orpheus as my inspiration, & Samothraki my base, let us search thro’ the annals for the moments which they tally, beginning with the following interesting passage by Diodorus Siculus;

Some historians, and Ephoros is one of them, record that the Daktyloi Idaioi were in fact born on the Mt Ide which is in Phrygia and passed over to Europe together with Mygdon; and since they were wizards, they practised charms and initiatory rites and mysteries, and in the course of a sojourn in Samothrake they amazed the natives of that island not a little by their skill in such matters. And it was at this time, we are further told, that Orpheus, who was endowed with an exceptional gift of poesy and song, also became a pupil of theirs, and he was subsequently the first to introduce initiatory rites and Mysteries to the Greeks.

We get the idea here of Orpheus being taught a series of ‘initiatory rites and mysteries’ which had come to Samothraki via Phrygia, in modern-day Turkey. It is the purpose of this Edict to attempt at least a partial reconstruction, or reimagining if you will, of the long-lost, highly secret Samothracian mysteries, of which Diodorus Siculus said;

The details of the initiatory rite are guarded among the matters not to be divulged and are communicated to the initiates alone; but the fame has travelled wide of how {the Kabeiroi} appear to mankind and bring unexpected aid to those initiates of their who call upon them in the midst of perils. The claim is also made that men who have taken part in the mysteries become both more pious and more just and better in every respect than they were before.

The chief object of the Samothrakian mystery rite is to make somebody ‘more pious and more just and better in every respect than they were before.’ The initiate will also have some kind of protection laid on by the Kabeiroi whenever these dieties are summoned to help. We also learn from Diodorus that Orpheus was an initiate into the Samothrakian Mysteries, being taught it by the Kabeiroi themselves;

On top of Mount Saos with Bonb n Dylan

In the course of a sojourn in Samothrake they [the Kabeiroi] amazed the natives of that island not a little by their skill in such matters. And it was at this time, we are further told, that Orpheus, who was endowed with an exceptional gift of poesy and song, also became a pupil of theirs, and he was subsequently the first to introduce initiatory rites and mysteries to the Greeks.

What Orpheus learnt on Samothraki would form the basis of early Greek religion – so pretty seminal stuff really. There is a nice section in the third century BC ‘Argonautica’ by Apollonius Rhodius, which shows Orpehus in connection with the rites.

The Argonauts beached this ship at Samothrake . . . Orpheus wished them, by holy initiation, to learn something of the secret rites, and so sail on with greater confidence across the formidable sea. Of the rites I say no more, pausing only to salute the isle itself and the Powers [the Kabeiroi] that dwell in it, to whom belong the mysteries of which we must not sing.

Again we sense the superstitous fear of recanting the rites; some folk got struck by lightning & stuff, so, the fear was genuine. Luckily for me I’m in no position to retall the Mysteries as they were, but only as I conject. I’m relying on getting something wrong, or missing something out, to survive my personal sojurn on Samothraki. But anyway, without further ado, lets see if we can reconstuct at least some of the essence of what the Samothakian Mystery was all about.

The physical evidence of the Mystery ceremony can be found at the Sanctuary of the Great Gods on Samothraki, a sprawling religious pan-centurial site which contains the three sacred precincts which the initiate had to move through in order to complete the Mystery procession. These were the preliminary Myeses, the Telete & the Epopteia. One schol of thought states that after a prosective initiate had been prepared in the Sanctuary’s Sacristy, the Myesis took place in the Anaktoron’s main hall, followed by the Telete in the inner adyton at the building’s north end. Once this concluded, the mystai (initiates) could proceed to the Hieron where they acquired the higher degree, the epopteia. Another school of thought prefers to place the initiation in the recently excavated Hall of Choral Dancers.

I visited the Sanctuary this morning, getting there at 8 to have the place to myself & get into the zone. They key element to the visit was discovering teh theatrical circle of the entry complex that connected to the old city – Paleopili – whose cyclopean walls stretch up mount Saos – extremely beautiful. From here the initiates would descend along the paved sacred way into the holy valley for the Mystery itself. It was on such an occasion that Alexander the Great’s father, Philip II, met his mother, Olympias. With the Mystery procession being divided into three seperate parts, we are looking for the general outline to three different aspects of the Samothrakian Mystery. These are actually findable, tho’ contained in scattered texts.


In his ‘Exhortation to the Greeks’ the second century AD Christian writer, Clement, pretty much divulges the theatrical contents of the first part of the mystery.

If you would like a vision of the Korybantian Orgies, this is the story. Two of the Korybantes (Kabeiroi) slew a third one, who was their brother, covered the head of the corpse with a purple cloak, and then wreathed and buried it, bearing it upon a brazen shield to the skirts of Olympus. Here we see what the Mysteries are, in one word, murders and burials! The priests of these Mysteries, whom such as are interested in them call ‘Anaktotelestes’, add a portent to the dismal tale. They forbid wild celery, root and all, to be placed on the table, for they actually believe that wild celery grows out of the blood that flowed from the murdered brother .

If we are to recreate a mystery, some people, a number undetermined, need to be presiding over proceedings & call themselves the Anaktotelestes. We also need to tell a stoy of two brothers turning on another brother, then carrying his head on a shield to Olympus – possibly in penitence or perhaps as a votive offering. I’m not so sure we need to include the celery, but there’s enough detail there to paint a good opening section of this intiatory tryptych.


Its an interesting feature of the Greek language that if you rearrange the letters of EPOS – Epic of the testosterone-fuelled Illiad kind – you get PEOS. Continuing with the penis theme, the Cabeiri were famous for recovering the phallus of Zagreus, which had been dismembered by the Titans, & establishing it in the shrine of their Mysteries. This piece of theatre should then constitute the second sction of the tryptych – so where there was a head on a shield in the first part, there is a penis in a casket in the second, kinda thing. Its very much like the grail ceremonies ascribed to 12th & 13th century Templars, & there could very well be a connection.

Zagreus was worshipped by later followers of Orpheus & seems to be a Dionysian figure, born of the union between Zeus & Persephone. The story goes that he had his tackle hacked off by the Titans, only for it to grow back at a later date. Herodotus himselef gives us some great background.

The Korybantes are also called by the name Kabeiroi, which proclaims the Rite of the Kabeiroi. For this very pair of fratricides got possession of the chest in which the virilia of Dionysos [Zagreus] were deposited, and brought it to Tyrrhenia [i.e. Lemnos], traders in glorious wares! There they sojourned, being exiles, and communicated their precious teaching of peity, the virilia and the chest, to Tyrrhenians for purposes of worship.

So here we have an account of the Kabeiroi worshipping the penis of Zagreus/Dionysis which was placed in a chest. The second part of our mystery should tell the story of how they found the chest & the penis. Simple Mystery Play stuff, really, straight from the Towneley manuscript.



The final part of the ceremony involves a story between Hermes & Persephone, which if we connect with the orgiastic nature of the Mysteries leads to only one workable plausablity. This would be something like Hermes & Persephone getting it on big time & then the initiates joining in the party. Herodotus tells us;

The Athenians, then, were the first Greeks to make ithyphallic images of Hermes, and they did this because the Pelasgians taught them. The Pelasgians told a certain sacred tale about this, which is set forth in the Samothrakian Mysteries

The Athenians received their phallic Hermae from the Pelasgians, and those who are initiated in the mysteries of the Cabeiri will understand what I am saying; for the Pelasgians formerly inhabited Samothrace, and it is from them that the Samothracians received their orgies.

Looking elsewhere in the classical ouevre, we find a sacred legend spoken of by Cicero, which states that Hermes was the son of Coelus and Dies, and that Proserpine desired to embrace him. So we can now create a general outline of the entire Samothrakian Mystery.

Part 1: Two brothers – the Kabeiroi – kill a third & carry his head to Olympus on a shield.
Part 2: The Kabeiroi discover the castrated penis of Zagreus & place it in a chest.
Part 3: Persephone seduces Hermes & all the initiates join in & form an orgy.

This would the followed by the initiate becoming initiated, ie taken under the wing of the Kaberoi. Aristophanes intimates that the mysteries were particularly calculated to protect the lives of the initiated. Herales & Alexander the Great were both big fans & put their successes down in no small part to their initiations into the Samothrakian Mysteries. An example of the Kabeiroi protecting an initiate can be found in the vita of our very Orpheus;

There came on a great storm and the chieftains the Argonauts had given up hope of being saved, when Orpheus, they say, who was the only one on ship-board who had ever been initiated in the Mysteries of the deities of Samothrake, offered to these deities prayers for their salvation. And immediately the wind died down Diodorus Siculus


Alcohol is the definitive lubricant to orgiastic behaviour, & it seems the Samothrakian ritual orgy was no different. In the lost play, Cabiri, by Aeschylus, the two gods welcomed the Argonauts to their island and initiated them in a drunken orgy. So we’re gonna need booze, & lots of it!


Now then, who will be playing out the mystery for our initiates. Well, besides the presiders of things, the Anaktotelestes, we’re gonna need three Kabeiro & a three nymphs. The 5th Century BC mythographer Akousilaüs the Argive, calls Kadmilos the father of three Kabeiroi, who in turn are the fathers of the Nymphs called the Kabeirides. Pherecydes states that there were three Nymphai in total, and that sacred rites were instituted in honor of each triad.

According to Herodotus, the Cabeiri who were worshipped at Memphis in Egypt resembled the dwarf-gods (Pataïkoi) whom the Phoenicians fixed on the prows of their ships. So maybe that means our Kabeiri will need to be a little short, or even boys, which is gonna be a bit weird at an orgy, right? That the Kaberoi were boyish is suggested Pausanias.

The Amphisians also celebrate Mysteries in honour of the Boy Kings as they are called. Their accounts as to who of the gods the Boy Kings are do not agree; some say they are the Dioskouroi, and others, who pretend to have fuller knowledge, hold them to be the Kabeiroi.

The Korybantes

Pherecydes also tells us that the Kyrbantes/Corybantes had taken up their abode in Samothrake. Strabo has a lovely passage about the Korybantes

They poets invented some of the names by which to designate the ministers, choral dancers, and attendants upon the sacred rites, I mean Kabeiroi and Korybantes and Panes and Satyroi and Tityroi. 

The Tityroi, by the way, were flute-playing, rustic daimones in the train of the god Dionysos. A future director could chuck them in alongside some satyrs if they wished, but our main focus are the Korybantes, of whose activities at the sacred rites Strabo saying they were;

Subject to Bacchic frenzy, and, in the guise of ministers, as inspiring terror at the celebration of the sacred rites by means of war-dances, accompanied by uproar and noise and cymbals and drums and arms, and also by flute and outcry

We can now see the Korybantes as a backing band / dancing troupe. There is an ode said to have been composed by Orpheus himself which really brings the Korybantes to life;

‘Tis yours in glittering arms the earth to beat, with lightly leaping, rapid, sounding feet; then every beast the noise terrific flies, and the loud tumult wanders through the skies. The dust your feet excites, with matchless force flies to the clouds amidst their whirling course.

We also have accounts by later classical authors which any future director or choreographer of this recreated Mystery should get their head around. Nonnius provides some poetical & brilliant details, who is followed by Strabo, whose equally poetical description should also be taken into account.

The helmeted bands of desert-haunting Korybantes were beating on their shields in the Knossian dance, and leaping with rhythmic steps

The oxhides thudded under the blows of the iron as they whirled them about in rivalry, while the double pipe made music, and quickened the dancers with its rollicking tune in time to the bounding steps.

Lions with a roar from emulous throats mimicked the triumphant cry of the priests of the Kabeiroi Nonnius

The instruments… are mentioned by Aiskhylos for he says… ‘stringed instruments raise their shrill cry, and frightful mimickers from some place unseen bellow like bulls, and the semblance of drums, as of subterranean thunder, rolls along, a terrifying sound Strabo


It is now time to introduce the Earth Goddess, Demeter, into the mix. Pausanias tells us:

I must ask the curious to forgive me if I keep silence as to who the Kabeiroi are, and what is the nature of the ritual performed in honour of them and of the Meter (Mother).

Demeter is an interesting addition to the Mystery, & thro’ her we get a little more, tho quite garbled, information. Pausanius again;

Demeter came to know Prometheus, one of the Kabeiroi, and Aitnaios his son, and entrusted something to their keeping. What was entrusted to them, and what happened to it, seemed to me a sin to put into writing, but at any rate the rites are a gift of Demeter to the Kabeiroi.

Here the names are wrong – Prometheus & Aitnaios – but they are two males together like the Kabeiroi should be. From here we can ascertain that Demeter entrusts them with an object, which has to be the penis of Zagreus. It is also interesting that the rites are a gift, so we kinda have to mention that & have the Kabeiroi say thanks – probably in some kind of opening prologue.

So here’s the final outline of the Mystery, which Id like to actually compose while I was on the island.


Three Kabeiroi
Three Kabeirides
Demeter possibly, tho she may just be invoked

There will also be the presiding Anaktotelestes & nine Korybantes to provide the music, when, ‘subject to Bacchic frenzy, and, in the guise of ministers, as inspiring terror at the celebration of the sacred rites by means of war-dances, accompanied by uproar and noise and cymbals and drums and arms, and also by flute and outcry.’

Part 1: Demeter introduces the Mystery. Two brothers – the Kabeiroi kill a third & carry his head to Olympus on a shield.
Part 2: The Kabeiroi discover the castrated penis of Zagreus & place it in a chest. The wine starts to flow in the name of Zagreus/Dionysis.
Part 3: Persephone seduces Hermes & all the initiates join in & form an orgy. Demeter is thanked.


To finish, where would be the best place to put on this Sweet Little Mystery. Well, Samothraki of course, & its famous site of the Sanctuary of the Great Gods. The most famous artifact ddiscovered there was the 2.5-metre headless marble statue of Nike, now known as the Winged Victory of Samothrace, dating from about 190 BC.  It was discovered in pieces on the island in 1863 by the French archaeologist Charles Champoiseau, and is now in the Louvre in Paris. The Winged Victory is featured on the island’s municipal seal.


The Sanctuary of the Great Gods is to be found at Palaeopoli (“old city”), the ruins of which are situated on the north coast of Samothraki. Considerable remains still exist of the ancient walls, which were built in massive Cyclopean style. The museum was closed when I went along, but I wondered if they still had the bowls mentioned by Diodorus Siculus

The Argonauts, they say, set forth from the Troad and arrived at Samothrake, where they again paid their vows to the Kabeiroi and dedicated in the sacred precinct the bowls which are preserved there even to this day

The Aegean Edicts (1): The Tomb of Achilles – early clues

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Sat on a rock, reading Homer, eating grapes

Literary essays from a pilgrimage to Troy

With the world some weird kind of pagan ritual lockdown, I thought it a better time than most to head off the beaten tracks & go searching for the fabled burial mound of Achilles & his best pal, Patrocolus. Since Schliemann digging Troy out of Hisalrik Hill in the 19th Century, the idea that Achilles fought & died in the Troad moves from phantasy to possibilty – the next two stages are plausable & probable, but we’re not there yet.

emily smithson.jpg
Emily seeing me off on my travels at the Smithson Farm, Burnley

So, leaving rainy Edinburgh behind I caught a train to Burnley for a pleasant couple of weeks family time – the first in months with train after train from edinburgh being cancelled on me. Then it was off to Manchester airport & a 6AM flight – I spent the overnighter chatting to a homeless guy who sleeps there, recently turfed out on the streets again about the same time medical staff were ordered to pay hospital parking again!

Greek graffiti – Thessalonika

Anyway, I’m leaving the UK to get away from all that, so off I tripped to Thessalonika on a plane full of mask-wearers. I stayed in the steep old town a couple of days – full of hundreds of street cats who apparently are fed by all & sundry & get routine visists from the vets. From there I went to Sithonia, the middle finger of the Chalkidki peninsular, with Mount Athos – the holy mountain – rising gloriously across the bay. I’d set off walking at 6.30 AM, at sunrise, & got as much as I could in while the sun wasnt yet blazing – its reached the late thirties most of the week.


First campsite – VouVouro

There’s also a lot of blooming steep bits! Anyway, as soon as I’d get tired I’d settle att the nearest campiste – VouVouro was nice & also the latest one – Paradise Beach – a few k north of sea-girt Sitra, where I am writing this now over some strong double greek coffees & uploading the video below. Trust me, Paradise, is, well Paradise, & they even let me DJ on the beach after I imposed my audition on them – they were loving my skills!

Mount Athos at sunrise

The video basically has me blethering on about a series of clues latent within Book 23 of the Iliad – Patroclus tear-stained funeral & mourning games – which give some interesting pointers for a would-be investigation into the site, being;


‘The Acheans withdrew to the Hellespont’

In recent years a theory hasd arisen that Besika Bay – to the west of Troy – is where the Greeks landed their ships. Homer clearly states it was to the north, by the Hellespont. Two stalwart contenders for the tomb have been the burial mounds of Kum Tepe & Kesik Tepe, both facing the Hellespont. However, archeology at the sites has only ever gone back as far as the 6th Century BC, meaning the real tomb is out there, elsewhere.

Kesik Tepe


There is a dead tree stump, an oak or a pine, rotted in the rain, & it is flanked by two white stones. Theroad narrows at thi spoint, but the going is good on both sides of the monument, which either marks an ancient burial or must have been put up as a turning-post by people of an earlier age.

Homer is here describing the mid-way point of a chariot race. The trunp will be long gone, of course, but the two white stones might well stand in the same spot still. Homer also describes the turning-point as being ‘far away on level ground,’ giving us further detial.


Antilochus, that veteran campaigner, saw a place where the sunken road gre narrow. It ran through a gulley…

Between the beach & the turning point Homer is describing a narrowing of the road.


There is one final clue found in Book 24, in which Priam goes to plead with Achilles to stop drafgging his son Hektor’s body about & leaving it the dogs. On the way we learn that once the old king of Troy & Hermes (in disguise) ‘had driven past the great barrow of Ilus & stopped their mules & horses for a drink at the river.’

So thats plenty of info to start visualzing what to look out for when I get to the area. Also helpful is the fact that the Bronze Age coastline was apparently much closer to Troy than it is today, making my job that little bit easier. I’ll also be studying the rest of the Iliad for my clues – I’m reading it backwards at the moment actually, I find the first few books a bit haevy & stifling, & I want to retain my excitement about the project, to be frank.


I shall finish the first of my Aegean Edicts with a couple of sonnets from my time so far in Greece. In the morning I am heading to Alexandroplis & from there by ferry to the island of Samothrace, arriving at sunset & within spitting distance of the Troad. Its good timing really, the Greek government this week has gone mask cracy making folk wear them in hotels & hostels & all public space. I think a rugged island away from all the world’s worries is the best place to be right now.




There is a heat they call the burn of Greec
Beginneth in July, by Autumn screams
Out in the day we English pray for peace
In shady spots as lava spurts & steams.

In the labyrinth of Saloniki
Street cats handsomely treated as they prowl
Door to friendly door thro sweet, unsneaky
Hunts for meaty morsels; fresh, fair & foul.

Adventuring against the mid-day sun
Sauntering slow slopes up to Genti Koyle
Hat soak’d in sweat, what buenavista won,
From Mount Olympus, between sea & soil

The coast drove east to Chalkidiki’s hand,
Three-finger’d, into blue Aegean fann’d!

Enter a caption


I found myself in Paradise a few K shy of Sarti
I’d headed there solely beacuse it rhymes with ‘wild love party’
A wee secluded nudist beach with pyres of burnish’d driftwood
So thought I’d stay a gracious while as Thracian poets should
Across the soft, Singitic Gulf Mount Athos rose redeeimng
All souls who gazed upon its point immortally updreaming
As monkish men swam out to heaven seven times a day
Libating skinsalt to exalted Thetis in the spray
I gazed on Aphrodite & I swoon’d before Athean
& then I saw Cassandra I’ll die happy cos I seen her;
The infinite projectison of her body set me blushing
Into a catacoombe of lust, libido wolves uprushing,
Then in the rockshade softening I drank my surf-cool wine
Watching Cassandra frolicing, voluptuous, divine.