by Brett Rutherford
Adapted from Meleager, The Greek Anthology, vii, 417
Gadara in Syria, more Greek
than Greece itself, sired me.
Hail, island of Tye, my nurse!
I, Meleager, Eucrates’ son,
made my own way in epigrams;
Graces brought me to Menippus,
whose satires inspired me. Say
if you will I am only a Syrian.
What of it? Stranger speaking
and reading Greek, are we not one?
Sprung from Chaos,
one common tongue
unites us. Now I am old,
and with a shaking hand
these words inscribe. Age
found me; Death sneaks about.
Speak a kind word for me,
won’t you? I’m of an age
to have the ear of Heaven,
should I accord to wish you well.
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