a wikipedestrian stroll
I read the following tweet:
"No one will remember* Poems about the monoliths, or at least a few of the good lines
* your fancy title,
* how many hours you worked,
* how busy you were.
People will remember
* The giant monoliths you have erected to your own majesty
So that got me thinking about Ozymandias. Shelley took the name from a Greek version (Ὀσυμανδύας) of the Egyptian throne name of Ramses II (also Ramses III) which was Usermaatre. Like the British, the Pharaoh adopted a new name on taking the throne.
In cuneiform, Usermaatre is 𒉿𒀸𒈬𒀀𒊑𒀀. It does not, as you would expect, mean "One who is a User inside the Matrix" but instead "the righteousness of Ra is powerful."
The big statue fragment of Ramses II hadn't arrived in the British Museum yet, but Shelley may have read about it in the newspaper, as it was slowly making its way there. The inscription comes from Bibliotheca Historica, written about 50 BC by Diodorus of Sicily. Across the Nile from Luxor is the Ramsesseum, where he reported that this inscription could be found: "King of Kings am I, Osymandias. If anyone would know how great I am and where I lie, let him surpass one of my works." Here are the feet of the statue of Ramses:
Shelley's friend Horace Smith wrote the following poem at the same time-- the two were having a friendly competition to see who could write a better poem on the subject:
In Egypt's sandy silence, all alone,
Stands a gigantic Leg, which far off throws
The only shadow that the Desart knows: --
"I am great OZYMANDIAS," saith the stone,
"The King of Kings; this mighty City shows
"The wonders of my hand." -- The City's gone, --
Nought but the Leg remaining to disclose
The site of this forgotten Babylon.
We wonder, -- and some Hunter may express
Wonder like ours, when thro' the wilderness
Where London stood, holding the Wolf in chace,
He meets some fragments huge, and stops to guess
What powerful but unrecorded race
Once dwelt in that annihilated place.
Of course this is reminiscent of MacCauley's New Zealander, the Maori from the distant future who visits the ruins of London, who is illustrated below by Dore. MacCauley may have gotten the idea partly from Shelley, who wrote:
"In the firm expectation, that when London shall be an habitation of bitterns, when St. Paul’s and Westminster Abbey shall stand, shapeless and nameless ruins in the midst of an unpeopled marsh; and when the piers of Waterloo Bridge shall become the nuclei of islets of reeds and osiers, and cast the jagged shadows of their broken arches on the solitary stream, some Transatlantic commentator will be weighing in the scales of some new and now unimagined system of criticism the respective merits of the Bells and the Fudges, and their historians."
I expect with the word "habitation" Shelley is referencing Isaiah 34, describing fallen Edom:
And thorns shall come up in her palaces, nettles and brambles in the fortresses thereof: and it shall be an habitation of dragons, and a court for owls.
Comments
A stone’s throw from Jerusalem
I walked a lonely mile in the moonlight
And though a million stars were shining
My heart was lost on a distant planet
That whirls around the April moon
Whirling in an arc of sadness
I’m lost without you, I’m lost without you
Though all my kingdoms turn to sand and fall into the sea
I’m mad about you, I’m mad about you
And from the dark secluded valleys
I heard the ancient songs of sadness
But every step I thought of you
Every footstep only you
Every star a grain of sand
The leavings of a dried up ocean
Tell me, how much longer,
How much longer?
They say a city in the desert lies
The vanity of an ancient king
But the city lies in broken pieces
Where the wind howls and the vultures sing
These are the works of man
This is the sum of our ambition
It would make a prison of my life
If you became another’s wife
With every prison blown to dust, my enemies walk free
I’m mad about you, I’m mad about you
And I have never in my life
Felt more alone than I do now
Although I claim dominions over all I see
It means nothing to me
There are no victories
In all our histories
Without love
A stone’s throw from Jerusalem
I walked a lonely mile in the moonlight
And though a million stars were shining
My heart was lost on a distant planet
That whirls around the April moon
Whirling in an arc of sadness
I’m lost without you, I’m lost without you
And though you hold the keys to ruin of everything I see
With every prison blown to dust, my enemies walk free
Though all my kingdoms turn to sand and fall into the sea
I’m mad about you, I’m mad about you.
— Gordon Matthew ‘Sting’ Sumner