I miss Odysseus: my heart is melting.
The suitors want to push me into marriage,
but I spin schemes. Some god first prompted me
to set my weaving in the hall and work
a long fine cloth. I said to all my suitors,
‘Although Odysseus is dead, postpone
requests for marriage till I finish weaving
this sheet to shroud Laertes when he dies.
My work should not be wasted, or the people
in Argos will reproach me, if a man
who won such wealth should lie without a shroud.’
They acquiesced. By day I wove the web,
and in the night by torchlight, I unwove it.
The Odyssey, Book 19 translated by Emily Wilson
As The Odyssey opens, crafty Penelope has held the suitors at bay for three years with her scheme. Setting the loom in the hall has allowed her to hide in plain sight, letting the men think that she is diligently working toward choosing a husband. One of her enslaved maids has ratted her out and the wolf-like suitors circle her son Telemachus to force a decision. Director Christopher Nolan’s film sets Penelope’s chamber behind what looks like a Shoji (Japanese sliding screen door) that allows her to watch the suitors’ unruly behavior in the Great Hall. In the film adaptation, the screened wall effectively hides Penelope, so the men seem unaware that their boorish behavior is on full display. At her loom, she keeps a guarded eye on Telemachus, who is in danger losing his line to the throne, and possibly his life if Odysseus does not return. Penelope is contained by the will of the gods, the laws of kings, and the assignment of her sex. Like her warrior husband, she subverts the power using the tools at hand — the protected space of her chamber, her labor at the loom, and her wily intelligence — to construct a shield, make a refuge, and ultimately control time. Penelope demonstrates the difference between being contained versus being confined. Even in a world where the gods and men would have her bound, her intelligence provides her with a means of escape.
Writing from Snake River Correctional Institution, Joshua Plourd describes his version of escape in On Writing: The True Gathering Place:
My most comfortable pen wrapped lightly in optimistic fingers, knowing there is no limit to the possibilities that can indeed manifest. This is where the walls give way. Feeling every curve and bend, this pen brings life to my deepest thoughts, only limited by the attempt to unveil the fractal pattern of the script within.
Richard Owens and Mitchell Adair draw detailed portraits of their childhood refuges from a river in Sacramento to a farmyard in the shadow of Mount Hood. This ability to recreate the feelings of those place are a comfort within confining concrete walls.
Consumes by Richard Owens, Deer Ridge Correctional Institution
… river cut a washed in unbroken streams
parting the coppery soils, revealing pock-marked mud banks, glades,
holes of wet soaked bullfrogs, massive, abandoned tadpoles …
The Backyard by Mitchell J. Adair, Snake River
At its center, the grass harbors an aluminum flagpole supporting an American flag that remains lit through the night. It is sheltered by a red single-story barn, pump house, and cottage that opens to an eastern view.
The world comes alive in language that twists along the riverbank or flaps in time to the summer breeze like a flag. Brittany Vogel’s childhood had very little refuge, as she described it in her letter to a younger self. Her life has been tough. A story told in workshop by Brittany is a mix of salty language, her wry point of view, and a heart full of tenderness for her son. This story recounts her mother’s generosity.
Good Deeds to be Remembered by Brittany Vogel, Coffee Creek
The bus came around the corner and I grabbed the bags and got on the bus. Then the group of homeless got on the bus, which never happened before. At the light the next thing we knew, the guy with the package of socks held them up and asked, “Who needs new socks?”
Tuesday one of our participants joined the workshop and said, “This is my favorite two hours of the month.” We arrange the tables to form a central open space, as if we are sitting around a firepit. Faces light up as we read, listen, compare notes. This is the ritual and a good story is the container. Christopher Nolan’s version of The Odyssey is fun, and the conversations that I have had with people about it have been lively. Every time I thought, well that’s not in Emily Wilson’s translation … I kicked myself for being snotty. Every version we have ever encountered of this 3000-year-old story has been reimagined, rescored, and translated for us. The epic was told, long before it was assigned a text. It is a story that comes alive in the voice of the teller. And so, we hand over our trust to the next author who weaves the warp over and under the weft to sing of ambiguous heroes and lost kingdoms, of the humanity of monsters, and the bravery of the nameless … and sometimes to meet the moment of the time, she may be required to undo a day’s work. | TDS
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