The Wreck of the Myconus

Jeff––Saturday

For those of you who might be wondering, no that's not me at the top of the blog. I just sort of feel like him at the moment. :) 

As you may recall if you read my post last Saturday, Mykonos is the target of a lot of eye-popping news coverage. None of that has abated, indeed if anything it's more intense and widespread. Or to put differently, it's everywhere.  So much so that I'm tired of writing/talking about it.  That's why I decided that for this week's post I'd step back and offer a broader perspective on what all this means for the Mykonos I've known for nigh on 40 years. 

 

 That's when I came up with the brilliant idea of doing it as a parody of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow's, "Wreck of the Hesperus." That turned into monumental time suck. Worse still, I can't say it's my best work, but a least the meter is correct--I think. 

For comparative purposes here's a link to Longfellow's original masterpiece. Please don't offend his memory by preferring my wreck to his masterpiece.:)

Here goes:

 

It was the island Myconus,

      Across the sultry sea;

That the father had taken his little daughter,

      To bear him company.

 

Blue were her eyes as Aegean Seas,

      Cheeks the rose of dawning day,

Her bosom white as freshly cresting waves,

      Slashing all that’s in their way.

 

The father stood tall beside his child,

      Not a word passed his mouth,

As the island’s future his mind did show

      Growth West, East, North and South.

 

Then up and spake his dear daughter,

      Of places built on fame,

"Take care on your plans for yonder port,

      For I sense a hurricane.

 

"Uncontrollable and maddening.

      Unleashing harms yet to see.”

The father heard nothing to change his stripe,

      Certain of what best to be.

 

So, bolder still, his plans found wind:

      Gales from the PR beast

Brought hordes on to the promised show,

      And millionaires rose like yeast.

 

Then came the grand financial storm,

      That tapped the state its strength;

Greece shuddered and paused, most fearful indeed

      Of a crisis of length.

 

"Come hither! Countrymen!” called out the father,

      “And do not tremble so;

For Myconus can weather it all

      As we shall the world show."

 

He wrapped his promise in boastful pride,

      Tied with PR ballast   

That Mykonos drew the mega-rich,

      And those who wish to blast.

 

"Father! For whom do the church-bells ring?

      Please say, what may it be?"

"They ring for one who has passed away

      On a busy road to the sea.”

 

"O father! I hear the sound of guns,

      Oh say, what may it be?"

"Someone in distress.” “But who can live

      In such a place as we?

 

"O father! Can you not see the light,

      Oh say, what may you see?"

But the father answered never a word,

      As if frozen was he.

 

He stood alone, all stiff and stark,

      With his face turned to the skies,

As if praying for what next to say

      To her fixed questioning eyes.

 

Then clasping her hands before him she asked

      “Mistaken were we

Attracting profiteers to the Rave,

      Caring not for the Mykoniati?”

 

Piercing through the midnight dark and drear,

      Her query brought him round to know

Just how his vision had led to this: 

      A time of Fear, Stress and Woe.

 

And now ever-gloomy gusts of news

      Sound in from the mainland

With tales of the crisis spawning crime and

      Mega profits on rock hard sand.

 

The answers were right within his grasp,

      He beheld a dreary trek,

And a change of course and likely crew.

      But for now all hands on deck.

 

There is much to do to right the ship.

      None is soft, none is cool,

But far worse is to surrender.

      To the horns of a raging bull.

 

It’s not a time for shrouds, or dice. 

      The past has gone by the board;

It is time to focus on the future.

      “Yes, it’s time,” Father roared!

 

“We’ve harmed both our land and beaches.

      Seen fisherman set aghast,

At the loss of once abundant catch,

      Brought in with each netting cast.”

 

Tears welled as he made his confession.

      She saw them in his eyes.

What to say to a life now regretted?

Daughter knew only to rise.

 

Such was the wreck of the Myconus,

      The fault of many not one!

“There is still time to save us, Father,

       For evil has not yet won.” 

 

––Jeff, with thanks to HWL