Quotes from Herbert Mason

Gilgamesh was called a god and a man; Enkidu was an animal and a man. It is the story of their becoming human together.

He looked at the walls, Awed at the heights His people had achieved And for a moment -- just a moment -- All that lay behind him Passed from view.

You have known, O Gilgamesh, What interests me, To drink from the Well of Immortality. Which means to make the dead Rise from their graves And the prisoners from their cells The sinners from their sins. I think love's kiss kills our heart of flesh. It is the only way to eternal life, Which should be unbearable if lived Among the dying flowers And the shrieking farewells Of the overstretched arms of our spoiled hopes.

Everything had life to me,' he heard Enkidu murmur, 'the sky, the storm, the earth, water, wandering, the moon and its three children, salt, even my hand had life. It's gone. It's gone.

Friendship is vowing toward immortality and does not know the passing away of beauty (Though take care!) because it aims for the spirit. Many years ago through loss I learned that love is wrung from our inmost heart until only the loved one is and we are not.

Don't moralize at me! I have no love For images, old gods, prophetic words. I want to talk to Utnapishtim! Tell me how.

Even the gods Cowered like dogs at what they had done.

What we finally do, out of desperation ... is go on an impossible, or even forbidden, journey or pilgrimage, which from a rational point of view is futile: to find the one wise man, whomever or wherever he may be; and to find from him the secret of eternal life or the secret of adjusting to this life as best we can.

You are a human being now, not like them [the animals].

He entered the city asked a blind man if he had ever heard the name Enkidu, and the old man shrugged and shook his head, then turned away, as if to say, 'It is impossible to keep the names of friends whom we have lost

It could go on for years and years, And has, for centuries, For being human holds a special grief Of privacy within the universe That yearns and waits to be retouched By someone who can take away The memory of death.

Gilgamesh was king of Uruk, A city set between the Tigris And Euphrates rivers In ancient Babylonia. Enkidu was born on the Steppe Where he grew up among the animals. Gilgamesh was called a god and man; Enkidu was an animal and man. It is the story Of their becoming human together.

He imagined the gazelles raising the dry dust Like soft brush floating on the crests of sand.

They fell like wolves At each other's throats, Like bulls bellowing, And horses gasping for breath That have run all day.

Humbaba's] sound is like a flood's sound Slowly forming in the distance, Then enveloping all other sounds

As if some faces could be doorways in To life one has an image of But never sees. The vista was A strange and beautiful Release

All that is left to one who grieves Is convalescence. No change of heart or spiritual Conversion, for the heart has changed And the soul has been converted To a thing that sees How much it costs to lose a friend it loved.

But my hand was too small to do the gathering. [Epic of Gilgamesh, p. 79]

Gilgamesh] pushed his people half to death… And left his people dreaming of the past And longing for a change. They had grown tired of his contradictions.

I think love's kiss kills our heart of flesh. It is the only way to eternal life, Which should be unbearable if lived Among the dying flowers And the shrieking farewells Of the overstretched arms of our spoiled hopes. -Book III

It is an old story But one that can still be told About a man who loved And lost a friend to death And learned he lacked the power To bring him back to life. It is the story of Gilgamesh And his friend Enkidu.

The only nourishment He knew was grief, endless in its hidden source Yet never ending hunger.

It is that inner atmosphere that has An unfamiliar gravity or none at all Where words are flung out in the air but stay Motionless without an answer, Hovering about one's lips Or arguing back to haunt The memory with what one failed to say, Until one learns acceptance of the silence Amidst the new debris Or turns again to grief As the only source of privacy, Alone with someone loved.

She spoke as to a child who could not understand All the futility that lay ahead Yet who she knew would go on to repeat Repeat repeat the things men had to learn. The gods gave death to man and kept life for Themselves. That is the only way it is. Cherish your rests; the children you might have; You are a thing that carries so much tiredness.