My dear Telemachus, <br /> The Trojan War <br />is over now; I don't recall who won it. <br />The Greeks, no doubt, for only they would leave <br />so many dead so far from their own homeland. <br />But still, my homeward way has proved too long. <br />While we were wasting time there, old Poseidon, <br />it almost seems, stretched and extended space. <br /> <br />I don't know where I am or what this place <br />can be. It would appear some filthy island, <br />with bushes, buildings, and great grunting pigs. <br />A garden choked with weeds; some queen or other. <br />Grass and huge stones . . . Telemachus, my son! <br />To a wanderer the faces of all islands <br />resemble one another. And the mind <br />trips, numbering waves; eyes, sore from sea horizons, <br />run; and the flesh of water stuffs the ears. <br />I can't remember how the war came out; <br />even how old you are--I can't remember. <br /> <br />Grow up, then, my Telemachus, grow strong. <br />Only the gods know if we'll see each other <br />again. You've long since ceased to be that babe <br />before whom I reined in the plowing bullocks. <br />Had it not been for Palamedes' trick <br />we two would still be living in one household. <br />But maybe he was right; away from me <br />you are quite safe from all Oedipal passions, <br />and your dreams, my Telemachus, are blameless.<br /><br />Joseph Brodsky<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/odysseus-to-telemachus/
