In Rowan Williams' poem, the Druid says:
Well. People come, like you, he says, looking for secrets.
What we learned from Pythagoras. For a consoling echo
of your sweet doctrine from the untouched caves
of us poor primitives. (Leaning to me.) Do you like
what I've to show you? On his open hand
a knife, bone-handled, stained and smooth.
Your logos is a child, he says, chattering to itself,
while it plays on the sand. I am a swimmer.
I am a salmon and a seal. My streams
are made of many fluids, dark swaying planes
on which I travel still as sleep; or where
I leap like silver. The sea. Rain on the skin,
and sweat. Tears and the river over stones,
my blood and yours, the tide that beats below the skin
or in the pulsing from the severed vein,
or from my organ, or from yours, or else the urine
from the hanged man, jerking among the leaves
whose motions speak to me. Over these waves
I learn to skim my hand, and in these wells
my tongue explores, drinks words.
Of course, if you are asking what a real Druid said to the real Posidonius, there's no way to know the answer to that question. Posidonius' History was lost, and the only way to tell what was in it is by reading Strabo's Geography, and guessing what he may have lifted/paraphrased from Posidonius.
2006-06-23 06:34:08
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answer #1
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answered by X 7
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