"...The Greeks used to call it the Pontus Euxinus, or the hospitable sea—which is pure Antifraza* given the brutal storms that slam into those open waters without any islands for cover, not to mention the fog and currents that make navigating it a total nightmare...."
*Antifraza...describing something using its exact opposite, an ancient rhetorical device similar to litotes, specifically when a word is used in a way that flies in the face of its literal meaning. If you express a concept by negating its opposite, it’s essentially akin to irony.
Up until now, my understanding was limited to blinding, killing, or sacrificing captives. Now, I’ve stumbled upon the fact that their prisoners were actually their primary export.
"This Megarian and especially Milesian colonization of the Black Sea has a very specific flavor: the cities scattered across this massive territory functioned as trading outposts, largely isolated amidst barbarian tribes with whom they had to maintain peace through tribute. However, the natural wealth of these distant lands fueled a thriving trade: iron, lead, and copper from Thracian mines, timber from the North America, dried and smoked fish from the great estuaries, Thracian and Skitian slaves, and finally, most importantly, grain from the fertile plains of central Russia—that was the main commodity the Greek fleets sought out in the markets of the Pontus Euxinus."
Francois Shamoux, Greek Civilization in the Archaic and Classical Periods
Are you actually certain the Skitian tribes are considered Greek? I have my doubts. Herodotus gives them quite a bit of space in his writing, but I'm not sure if he's referring to all Skitian tribes or just specific ones—either way, they were performing human sacrifices... every hundredth prisoner or so 🙂
They did all sorts of wild things, look at this...
2) The Skiti gouge out the eyes of all their slaves who provide the milk they live on, and this is how they prepare it. They take bone pipes—which look remarkably like flutes—insert them into the hindquarters of a mare, and blow into them. While some are blowing, others milk her. They claim they do this because the blowing causes the veins in the mare to swell, causing her to release the milk. Once they are finished milking, they pour the milk into large wooden vessels where donkeys gather around the container to churn it; they then collect the cream that rises to the surface, considering it the best part, while dismissing the liquid underneath as inferior. That is why the Skiti blind every captive they take. They aren't farmers; they are nomads living off livestock.
Herodotus, History (Book Four)
Herodotus called them bald men (I don't think he particularly liked them🤣).
32) It’s not like the Scythians or any other folks from those regions have much to say about the Hyperboreans—except maybe for what the Isedonians claim to know. Personally, I doubt even they have the full story; if the Scythians knew anything substantial, they surely would have passed it down, just like they tell us tales about those one-eyed giants. But we get our information about the Hyperboreans from Hesiod, and even from Homer in the Epigoni—assuming, of course, that Homer actually penned that specific piece.
33) Now, the people living on Delos seem to be the most informed. They claim that the Hyperboreans used to wrap their votive offerings in wheat straw and send them off via the Scythians. From there, these gifts were passed hand-to-hand from one tribe to the next, traveling all the way west until they reached the Adriatic Sea, then heading south into Hellas. They first landed in Dodona, moved toward the Gulf of Mali, crossed over to Euboea, and worked their way through city after city until they reached Charian—though they apparently bypassed Andra entirely. Once they hit Charian, the locals would ferry the goods to Ten, and the Thebans would take them to Delos. That’s the story, anyway—that these offerings made it to Delos this way. Originally, the Hyperboreans sent two young women to carry the gifts; her names were Hyperocha and Laodicea. To ensure their safety, the Hyperboreans sent five of their own citizens along as guards—people who are known today as "Persians" and who receive immense respect on Delos. Since the Hyperborean messengers weren't returning, the people grew anxious about sending travelers out only to have them vanish. So, they started leaving the offerings wrapped in wheat straw at the border and asked their neighbors to pass them along. Legend says these gifts eventually trickled all the way to Delos. It reminds me of how the Thracians and Paeonians operate—they wrap up their offerings when making sacrifices to Artemis; they never do it without that wheat straw.
34) I am certain that is how they handle it. As a tribute to the memory of those Hyperborean girls who died on Delos, the local men and women cut locks of their hair. Before a wedding, women will cut a strand, wrap it around a spindle, and place it on the tomb—which sits just to the left of the entrance to the Temple of Artemis, right under an olive tree. The young men of Delos wrap a lock of hair around a green branch and leave it there too. That is the level of honor the Delian residents show these women.
35) They also tell us that before Hyperocha and Laodicea, two other Hyperborean girls, Arga and Opia, traveled through those same lands to reach Delos. They had come to offer a tribute to Ilithyia to ensure easier childbirth. Word is that Arga and Opia arrived alongside the gods themselves, and they were honored accordingly. Women gathered offerings for them, celebrating them with songs composed by the Lycian Olen; it was from them that the islanders and the Ionians learned to sing these hymns, mentioning Arga and Opia and gathering gifts in their name. (This Olen from Lycia also composed several other ancient songs still sung on Delos.) As for the ashes from the sacrificial meat, they would take them from the altar and sprinkle them over the tomb of Arga and Opia. That grave is located just east of the Temple of Artemis, near the resting place for guests arriving from Keji.
Oh, bless your heart. Honestly, when I first stumbled onto this forum, I was all politeness and decorum—I practically bowed to everyone. But after two years of coexisting with the various psychopaths lurking around here? Well, look what’s become of me. Take it or leave it, darling. That’s why I occasionally retreat to my own little corner of the internet, where I’m the only resident psycho. But fine, you sweet, naive thing—I’ll allow you to stick around and let yourself go, since you seem so hell-bent on it.
Aaron Fox19 says: And regarding what you just said—just so we're clear, I actually typed those words; I didn't just mindlessy scroll through them—you're basically admitting you're consistent...
I’m not going to shower you with compliments, but I’m certainly not walking away either...
It doesn't mean I'm "consistent," it just means I actually had enough spare time to type out five whole lines.🙄 Abu Dhabi, you are truly a pain in the ass. Did you even go to school today? Does your family know you spend your time chatting online with complete strangers?
Alright, you flatterer—since you’re being so sweet, I suppose I’ll give you a little breakdown of the verse that kicks off this poem...
"Our ship sat off the coast of Jan Majen, just like it had before near Iceland, all day long. I grew to love that island because it was first sighted by a Dutch sailor—a man who had very little luck in his life—several hundred years ago. And when he finally returned to his homeland, he searched for that island three times over, again and again. But he never saw it again; he never found it."
(M. Crnjanski, Hyperborean, 1966.)
Consider this poem my gift to you for the "timeless oasis" (🤣) comment. And just so we're clear, I actually typed this out myself—I didn't just copy-paste some junk from the internet.
Trace
I want: that after the dreams no trace of me remains upon your body
That you carry away from me only sorrow and white silk and a gentle scent...
of paths covered in pale leaves from the sycamores.
(M.C.)
Now, go on to Abu Dhabi. It was lovely having you visit, but go ahead and keep exploring the rest of the forum. 😉
Alright, alright, let’s not have a meltdown just yet. I don't know where you came from or who sent you here in the first place.☕
Look, I didn't name the thread, and frankly, the title doesn't even matter. Sometimes I just hang out here—that’s really all there is to it.
Don't get hung up on the title; "elitism" is a totally relative concept. For instance, if you ask me, anything that possesses actual substance—rather than just being shallow, mindless content meant for instant consumption—is elite by today's standards. The poets present here, who represent the absolute pinnacle of the language, have been elite cultural fixtures for a hundred years now. And, staying with my point about redefining things, the poems mentioned here qualify as elite content simply because they possess a very specific, profound depth.
You’ve seriously lost the plot here, friend—you're talking absolute nonsense. If your logic is that everything labeled OFF is just "off," then you should be able to see this for what it actually is: pure, unadulterated OFF elitism. Having Rastko Petrović on an American forum... now that would be something. 👏
One of my favorite literary critics—someone I was actually quite enamored with back in the day—wrote her entire doctorate based on his novel. This is getting way too personal for me, so honestly, just get lost.
What on earth possessed you to wander in here and drop your first couple of posts right out of the gate?🙏
It’s all a mystery, my friend—pure mystery... the elites have vanished into thin air, and OFF is strictly for the common folk🙂—and I mean the real bottom-of-the-barrel types from just across the border.
Never! 🙂 You’re the only star in my life, 🙂 and besides—is it really necessary for me to start a scene just so people like West can sit around and enjoy someone else's drama? 🙂
Zachary Bailey3, did you actually finish all those meds? You really have to stay consistent with the therapy—don't go making things harder for yourself later...
I’m dedicating this one to all the victims of blatant racism who lost their lives in the heat of an online argument.
My thanks go out to everyone who actually respected a standard, decent question—regardless of how they chose to vote. I want to give a special shout-out to Duke, who displayed some truly enviable political maneuvering and tactical skill to ensure the progressive forces secured the win.
If you ever find yourselves back at square one on the old thread, just drag yourselves over here.
