Omeros Quotes

But if I could read between the lines of her floor/like a white-hot deck uncaulked by Antillean heat,/to the shadows in its hold, its nostrils might flare/at the stench from manacled ankles, the co...

The sore on his shin/still unhealed, like a radiant anemone. It had come/from a scraping, rusted anchor. The pronged iron/peeled the skin in a backwash. (II.i.9-10)

But if I could read between the lines of her floor/like a white-hot deck uncaulked by Antillean heat,/to the shadows in its hold, its nostrils might flare/at the stench from manacled ankles, the co...

The rage that he felt against Hector/was shame. To go crazy for an old bailing tin/crusted with rust! The duel of these fishermen/was over a shadow and its name was Helen. (III.i.17)

This wound I have stitched into Plunkett's character./He has to be wounded, affliction is one theme/of this work, this fiction, since every "I" is a/fiction finally. (V.ii.28)

What the white manager mean/to say was she was too rude, 'cause she dint take no shit/from white people and some of them tourist—the men/only out to touch local girls; every minute--/was brushing...

The bearded elders endured the decimation/of their tribe without uttering a syllable/of that language they had uttered as one nation,/the speech taught their saplings: from the towering babble of t...

Although smoke forgets the earth from which it ascends,/and nettles guard the holes where the laurels were killed,/an iguana hears the axes, clouding each lens/over its lost name, when the hunched...

"Look, they climb, and no one knows them;/they take their copper pittances, and your duty/from the time you watched them from your grandmother's house/as a child wounded by their power and beauty/i...

Hector ran, splashing/in the shallows mixed with the drizzle, towards Achille,/his cutlass lifted. The surf, in anger, gnashing its tail like a foaming dogfight. Men kill/their own brothers in rage...