The brothers’ related banter…
John: Can I read, can I read a poem to you?
Hank: Read me a poem John!
John; Hank, today’s poem comes to you from George Bilgere. You liked the funny poem last week so much that I thought I would read you this one. You’ve heard it before, but boy do I like it. It’s called The Return Of Odysseus. You’re familiar with The Odyssey, right Hank?
Hank: Mmm yeah, I’ve heard of it. Did they make it into a movie? Was it a movie?
John: The Too Long; Didn’t Read version of The Odyssey is that after a number of years at war, Odysseus goes home, but it takes him, like, 20 years to go home, hence it being an Odyssey. Alright Hank so here is The Return Of Odysseus by George Bilgere.
(Reads poem)
John: The Return Of Odysseus by George Bilgere. One of my favorite poems largely because of it’s last word, “In the great halls and courtyards of my house.” Not my home, not my palace, my house. The least pretentious word he could have chosen in that moment. Beautifully, beautifully written poem. Just couldn’t be better start to finish, and I thought that you’d like it Hank, because you like a good funny.
Hank: I do! I find that maybe funny poetry is the right entrance for most people. It seems to be for me.
John: Alright well don’t worry, I’m gonna get very sad and serious next week.
Hank: OK. Make me feel things, John!
tumblr
Click to read poem
When Odysseus finally does get home
he is understandably upset about the suitors,
who have been mooching off his wife for twenty years,
drinking his wine, eating his mutton, etc.
In a similar situation today he would seek legal counsel.
But those were different times. With the help
of his son Telemachus he slaughters roughly
one hundred and ten suitors
and quite a number of young ladies,
although in view of their behavior
I use the term loosely. Rivers of blood
course across the palace floor.
I too have come home in a bad mood.
Yesterday, for instance, after the department meeting,
when I ended up losing my choice parking spot
behind the library to the new provost.
I slammed the door. I threw down my book bag
in this particular way I have perfected over the years
that lets my wife understand
the contempt I have for my enemies,
which is prodigious. And then with great skill
she built a gin and tonic
that would have pleased the very gods,
and with epic patience she listened
as I told her of my wrath, and of what I intended to do
to so-and-so, and also to what’s-his-name.
And then there was another gin and tonic
and presently my wrath abated and was forgotten,
and peace came to reign once more
in the great halls and courtyards of my house.
John Green Reads Poetry 