Song of Jane

My crappy attempt at a tribute to my mother, written in iambic pentameter in the style of translations of the Greek epics she loved, as an introduction to my story "Nobody Believes Cassandra."

I speak of brown eyed Jane, who bore me, child

of Dot and Charlie, she who was both fierce

and gentle. What a woman she was! Few

there are who are her like, a lioness,

her body broken, turned against her, such

long years, and yet she never was restrain’d

in her protection or her care for those,

her children, grandchildren, or any of

the ones she loved. Her greatest passions, all

her life, included all the works of Hom-

er, both the Iliad and Odyssey,

and most of all her love for him-- Odys-

seus, the trickster, genius, man of ma-

ny twists-- a complicated man. Oh, no

young fan girl ever stanned as hard, though well

she knew this king of Ithaca was kind

of a real asshole. Oh, the ancient Greeks

were deeply problematic. This, she well

knew, yet still did she love. She studied all

the classic works of ancient Greece, but held

beloved old Mycenae, ancient name

of Greek civilization. Trojan War,

the roles of women, all of that. She wrote

a book, then rewrote, wrote again, revis-

ing endlessly, her own work never meet-

ing her own standards This she did until

her sickness, diabetes, stole her strength.

In course of time it claimed her, carrying

her soul off to Elysium. And so

I grieve.

But i am not here speaking now of her

ambition thwarted. No, this tale was dreamt

of by the ones on Tumblr: teaboot, e-

lidyce, and korben six oh oh, and oh,

so many others, posting here, these fans

who in a thread became as Muses. Their

ideas intrigued me. The moment i

read over this full thread, i wished with all

my heart to share it with my mother. That,

no one can do. But in her memory

i can at least set out to write this tale.

i think that Jane my mother would have loved

to read it. Ever she encouraged me

to write. (Of course, she never did see me

cheese iambic pentameter as I’m

doing now.) I with all my heart wish she

were here to argue with me, give me ad-

vice, just to read this tale, at all. I hope

I have written a thing that would have plea-

sed her.