The Classics Magazine
Contents: Introduction
Isabella Juricek
Bella Whicher
Hi! We're the Classics A-level students and this is the first issue of our new classics magazine. We're so excited to be able to bring to you a fantastic complication of entries from the classics competition that was held in July this year. Special congratulations to Charlotte Mak in l5p who was the winner of our competition with her superb short story. 2nd place goes to Eshaal Walyani and Amy Zhang for their brilliant entries
Look out for more classics news and events coming soon!
From Claudia (editor) and The Classics Team
A Poem of Classical Myth by Isabella Juricek
Medusa
These next two entries take inspiration from the story of Medusa. In mythology, Medusa was a woman cursed with a writhing head of snakes by Athena, following an affair between Medusa and Poseidon in Athena’s temple Simultaneously, her gaze turns whoever she looks upon into stone and later the Greek hero Perseus was charged to kill the ‘monster’ of medusa. The best known version of this tale comes from the Roman poet Ovid, who describes Medusa as a ‘beautiful maiden seduced by Posiedon’. However, this story is narrated solely by Perseus, silencing Medusa’s voice completely and, in this vein, many modern interpretations see medusa as a victim of rape at the hands of Poseidon, and wish to rewrite the narrative from her perspective.
Medusa: A Reimagining - Jess Johnston
There once lived Medusa, A saviour of souls. Her snakes brought back life, To unfortunate ghouls.
But she was forgotten, Disappeared with time. No one remembered Medusa in prime.
People became terrified of her hissing snakes. Her heart was filled with hate. Her eyes were filled with poison. She would decide everyone ' s fate. When people stared at her head of hair, She stared back. And they died. Dead.
When Perseus killed her, she sighed. No more death.
By Jess Johnston 3M
Medusa: the lies behind the legend - Izzy Blanchard
You’ve heard my story Poor, oppressed Medusa, tricked and mistreated by the gods and heroes because she dared catch the eye of Poseidon. Forced to hide on a foreign island, cursed with powers and loneliness. Or maybe I’m a villain, who lured heroes to their doom before turning them into stone. Whatever the case, here’s another version of the story. MY story.
When I was born to my sea deity parents, Phorcys and Ceto, I came forth with 2 blessings and a curse. My curse wasn’t my beautiful snakes or my flesh-to-stone power, those were my blessings. No, my curse was being born a girl. And worse, in my parents eyes, a girl who wasn’t even immortal, like them and my two older sisters, Stheno and Euryale.
Disgusted, they abandoned the three of us at a temple in the Parthenon, the Erecthion, a joint temple where I met my adoptive godly parents-who I consider my REAL parents, Athena and Poseidon, who only ever agreed on one thing: my siblings and I had to be protected from the world. They flew us to live on the island of Sarpedon, where they nurtured and cared for us throughout our childhood. Poseidon taught us how to fish and run and swim, while Athena taught us maths, languages (Latin AND Greek!), logic, and, most crucially, how to control my power, effectively turning in on and off at will. When each of us came of age, we weren’t shipped off like prize horses to marry some rich old men, we weren’t sent to live in a temple forever, no! On our age-day, we were each allowed to go out into the world and see the wonderful world that we had been protected from since birth. Stheno hid her wings and went to Syracuse, and learnt the teachings of her hero, Archimedes, who said she was his best student. Euryale hid her wings and went to Thespis, who trained her into a one woman showstopper I tried to meet my heros, but time and time again my snakes would burst out from my linen cap and I would be chased out and declared a monster.
Medusa: the lies behind the legend
My parents, siblings and I all hated this This blind discrimination, based purely on my looks. But what they hated even more was when those horrible, sexist idiots tried to hurt me. They attempted to kill me, cut off my snakes and even gouge out my eyes to use their flesh freezing powers. Eventually, a boy named Perseus came on a quest to prove himself and kill me. He came closer than all others, until my parents bewitched his senses with the help of their friend Achlys and her Mist Shaken, they devised a plan A terrible, brilliant plan Using their influence: their priests and priestesses, their networks of followers, they spread a tale so disgusting and cruel it had to be believed. In this tale, they were the cause of my sadness and Perseus was the perfect hero who saved humanity from the great evil that was me, Medusa. Hypnos convinced Perseus that he had killed me, and gave him a head modelled by Hephaestus with the power to turn all who viewed it to stone. So great was their love for me, their care, that they sullied their own reputations, made themselves the villains of my story, when they were, in fact, the ultimate saviours. So, this is me setting the record straight.
Love is not sappy, or cringy, it is powerful
Never assume anything based on looks Try hard and put in effort-good things will happen
The truth is hard to find and even harder to believe Everything must be questioned .
Athena and Arachne
This poem tells the story of Athena and Arachne Arachne in mythology was a weaver who possessed such skill she ventured to challenge Athena in a weaving contest. The goddess was enraged at Arachne’s talent and, when pronounced the loser of the competition, transformed Arachne into a spider for daring to oppose the goddess. You may recognise her name from the class that spiders belong to: Arachnids.
Athena and Arachne
Athena, goddess of war and weaving, Heard of Arachne’s questionable claims. And disguised herself, to be deceiving. So she entered, ready to play some games.
And she challenged Arachne to a duel,
“Whoever’s weaving is the best, will win ”
“My work will be as precious a jewel”
Replied Arachne as she flashed a grin. They both worked and when they stopped their labour:
Athena’s was flawless and so splendid, Arachne’s showed humans and their nature.
She had won, Athena was offended, “I will make you and your descendants pay!
Arachne, a spider, weaving all day!”
Bella Whicher
Persephone
These next two poems beautifully capture the essence of the goddess Persephone or Porsepina in Roman myth. The story of Persephone is a harrowing one, through some endeavour to transform it into a love affair. A beautiful young girl, stolen by Hades to become his wife and queen of the underworld. Her story gives us the aetiology (story behind) of the seasons, as she is forced to remain for a third of the year in the underworld and in this time no crops grow due to her mother Demeter’s despair. This the Greeks proclaimed was winter.
Persephone - Tanvi Juluri
In the depths of darkness, she reigns with grace,
Persephone, the queen of the underworld’s embrace.
With her essence, a blend of light and shadow,
She walks, where love and darkness grow
Gatherer of souls, in her hands, they rest ,
Her kingdom eternal, a place of silent quest
In the shadows, she dances, a ghostly waltz,
A queen of sorrow, yet a beauty that enthralls
From the land of the living to the land of the dead,
Persephone’s journey, a take widely spread
Her heart torn between the land of light and shade,
A duality within, a balance that never fades.
But in her darkness, lies a hidden seed
A promise of renewal, of growth and heed
For in the underworlds depths, life does spring,
Persephone, the goddess of the eternal in everything
So bow down to her, the queen of death and life, in her rife.
For Persephone, the one who reigns below,
A godess of power, beauty and an eternal glow
The Abduction of Persephone by Eshaal Walyani
The young girl with fiery lock, Picking flowers, Basket after basket, Unaware.
Down below in the underworld, He could see the young girl, Whom he loved, Schemingly.
Flower after flower after flower did she pick, Until a new one caught her eye, So she picked it up, Uncertainly
He laughed at the girl's big mistake, A mistake leading to his pleasure, But the sorrow of others, Sadly
Flower after flower did he pick, Until a new one caught his eye, So he picked her up, Joyfully.
Meeting the ocean blue eyes, The red ones jumped with joy, Excited to keep her, Gleefully.
And that is the tale of Hades and Persephone, The reasons, Behind seasons, Annually.
Hercules
Hercules: known to most as a great hero, slayer of many beasts.
Though many also view him as a morally corrupt character himself, he is forced to eternally pay the price for the fury of Hera, driven to the utmost rage by the adultery of Zeus. This next entry is a short story that explores the life of Hercules.
by Ananya Sathiyamoorthy
His eyes shot back and forth. His thoughts raced. He pulled the taut string as far as he could. Inhale. Exhale. His mind objected to it, but his body wouldn’t, couldn’t, listen. Inhale. Exhale. He released. He shot. The arrow raced through the air. He could only hope that she was alive. Was she? After a year of extensive stalking, he found himself in this position. Diana would be angry. But what could he do? The moon shone in his eyes. He tried to block the shine from his eyes. It was obvious; she was angry. He ran towards his victim with a fire in his stomach. Inhale. Exhale. He did what he wanted to do. He carried her on his shoulders. He smiled, but he could feel a sharp pain in his chest; should he have done what he did? He ran with the burden on his back. The man couldn’t believe he was here. What else was going to happen to him? His blood boiled when he thought about that king. But it was his choice to go to his king…
“Monsters are coming towards you. Your family is in danger.” With that, I strangled and killed those monsters. I was being brave. All for my family. That’s what I thought. I closed my eyes, and I opened them again. I wish I hadn’t. In front of me, lay my wife and children. Dead. Why? I don’t know… I saw monsters –where were they? That’s what I heard. Who killed my family?
His nose twitched as his eyes bathed themselves in his tears. His mouth was sealed shut. His eyes fell to the floor as they traced his own footsteps. The burden on his shoulders became heavier each second. He was brought back to the moment. A big gasp. Then a sigh. It was the memories of his family which kept him alive but also provoking him to go mad. His arms were beginning to tire and the hairs on his arms stood up. A strange sensation ran through his body. It was almost as if somebody entered his body and travelled from his head to toes. On his way to reaching Mycenae, Diana stood there. Inhale. Exhale. He couldn’t do anything but explain to her…
My hands felt wet. Sweat? I looked down. My hands were coated in blood. Blood of my family. How could it have been me? That was when it struck. She had come into my mind and tricked me. Hera. I sought to King Eurystheus to atone for my sin. I was assigned 12 labours. I don’t know what they are or what will happen to me, but I will endeavour to compete them.
He explained. Diana – the goddess of the moon and childbirth - understood. With that, she allowed the man to carry her beloved pet, the Hind of Ceryneia, away and healed the wound. Fulfilling his 3rd labour, Hercules walked off to show Eurystheus the deer.
Camilla, warrior of Diana
This next entry beautifully tells a mostly unknown story of Camilla, a warrior and huntress of Diana. Raised since infancy by the hunter goddess, she is featured in the Aeneid helping her ally King Turnus fight Aeneas and the Trojans in a war sparked by Aeneas' courting of Lavinia. Her fate is a hero's death, murdered by Arruns on the battlefield.
Camilla -
by Charlotte Mac L5P
She could see herself, now, in the silver-laced water of the River Styx She counted the ripples as they appeared, satin drapery disappearing into the night, watching as the black boat of fate sliced the waves in half Her breaths came gently, easily, in spite of the arrow in her stomach, vermillion seeping through slowly into alabaster.
‘Camilla ’
She looked up. A hooded, white-bearded figure stood in front of her. Charon, ferryman of the Styx He was all hollowed out eyes and fragile marble bones, a non-human extending a clawlike arm. The coin- glimmering at the sides, iridescent in the black moonshine- dropped into his hand, and she stepped onto the boat Nothing but silence She was but a statue in white, broken by an arrow, perfectly still and cold. The Underworld drifted past her, the words of the dead almost taunting, forming a chorus held together by the spiderwebs of her past Camilla, do tell us You are the best warrior of the Volsci. Tell us why you are here. Their whisperings grew louder until the echoes gathered around her, tightening in a non-existent noose around her throat. Tell us, tell us, tell us.
‘Tell them.’
Charon turned to her, grey eyes watching her expectantly. ‘It is only customary.’ She trembled, defiant to the calls of the dead, fists clenched in resistance. But the wind, entwined with threads of ash and dust danced through the boat, up her throat, forcing the words out of her body
‘Up in Olympus, in the light-flooded halls of the Gods, the Muses sing of my fate. They sing of a princess carved from ivory and lace, fed on marigolds and nectar, destined to reign over the Volsci. Brave, too brave. Reckless to a fault. Yet the Muses are wrong; my life was of snatched liberties and fire-flecked butterfly wings and golden eagle feathers, and being free, free and exultant in battle. Gods could never understand that now. How could they, sitting in clouds of milk and pearls, fountains of ambrosia swathing their bodies like satin.
I am indebted to Diana, goddess of moonshine and the hunt, for my life. She saved me, but only for my father’s promise that I would serve her until my death. Like all of them, she liked the idea of having a slave I hunted boars and wolves from the hazy glow of Dawn to the rosypurple gleam of Dusk, until my eyes were tired of crying from fatigue, until I was good enough for her. I didn’t complain, and I still don’t now- this adrenaline was what I craved, desired much more than books or duties I was free, and happy My bow became my best friend- smooth juniper wood, incandescent in the moonlight, with arrows carved in mulberry oak and dipped in starlight I was liberty personified, chasing after wild foxes in mud and brambles and river ’
At this she paused, and a tear, a pearl-pale droplet of memory, fell into the river.
‘My first kill- real kill, that is, not just boars or gulls or rabbits, happened in the fading summer light of August. The rivers stood completely still, and the roses dared not breathe. I sat with three other nymphs- I cannot remember their names- and laughter hemmed the air. A normal, sunlit evening, undisturbed by anything or anyone. Yet as we sat there, and Twilight cloaked us in purple clouds, the peace started to shatter, flowers of blood and glass blooming in the night. It happened so quickly The nymphs scattered, and I hid, hands tight around my bow and arrow Three figures in the clearing. Foreigners. I heard my name, whispered, thrown around carelessly, artlessly. My name, and another word, something which I must have heard a million times yet never really understood
‘We must kill Camilla.’
To kill. I had killed so many times- animals, not people- and yetWhy could I not understand? They wanted to hunt me, like a deer for sport, chase me and destroy me and obliterate my existence. And I knew what Diana wanted me to do, her voice poisoning my mind.
Without thinking, as they plotted, I drew my bow. Each arrow glimmered in the moonlight, strangely beautiful, blessed by Diana. My hands could not tremble- however warm the night was, my fingers seemed to be carved from marble
Each arrow glided through the air, hitting their target silently, right in their chests Blood pooled on their clothing, scarlet revenge soaking through the cracks of their skin as they fell, last breaths caught in a crimson net. Dead. When morning came, no-one would find them. The clearing was hidden, strangled in blackberry bushes and rose petals and firefly light I knew, one dew-hemmed midnight, that my people could not just be destroyed. I would not allow it. If it was not for Diana, I would have been here a long time ago. It would shatter my mind, drive me to the edge of the earth, if the Volsci could be killed
The training regime started with girls, maidens Slaves and nobles alike I could not trust men, not now, not when three had plotted to destroy me. And so it was the women I trained. Bow and arrow, sword and stone. The lessons began at midnight, when light-embroidered asters glimmered in the moonshine and fireflies seemed to be woven into the sky Arrows would be sharpened, then aimed, then flung high into the night. Daggers and swords were drawn, glinting in the velvet sky. Horses raced through the gardens, and spears were thrown at the branches of golden pines We were free, free from silken robes and milk and honey and rose perfume We wore chitons of marble and crimson, and helmets laced with the moonstone of our patron goddess. Exultant in a fight. We were feared by all, even by the Rutuli of ancient glory and strength. And I? I was Camilla, warrior maiden of the Volsci, burning light of Diana.’
Tell us what we want to hear. Of Aeneas, dutiful to Fate. Of Turnus, raging in betrayal. And of Arruns-
‘I don’t want to talk of Arruns. Is it not obvious why, when he is the reason I’m here in the first place.’
‘Go on We want to hear of your murderer ’
Their voices twisted at her neck, this way and that, stretching the words out of her mouth before she could protest.
‘Turnus- an old friend of mine- asked me for help A foreigner- that milksop of a Trojan, pious Aeneas- had stolen his betrothed, Lavinia. His rage seemed to boil over into his eyes- they bulged and popped with blood when recalling this story. He had always been impulsive, and revenge was what he craved, desired perhaps more than Lavinia herself
So of course I promised to help him, a promise set in eagle feathers and stone We set off at dawn the next day, weapons sharpened by moonlight, shields polished, a prayer muttered to Diana the huntress. The battlefield was overgrown with blackberry bushes and brambles- there was no path leading towards victory It was somewhat beautiful- a tangle of flaxen flowers shone amongst purple-black fruit and silver marigold petals, and the sky was clear and golden-blue. If I was to die, I would die under a sky painted with butterfly wings. So we scattered, this way and that, dancing through the battlefield My arrows shone in the sun, hitting their targets in one clean shot. To me, fighting was simply a blood-stained dance- its beauty lay in its danger. I waltzed through the day, and for days after that, the battle was something I relished
It was the fourth day of the fight. Unusually sunny, and in the morning no mist clouded the sky. Purple-bruised violets sprung from the ground, drooping under the glare of the light Unlike all the other days, I chose to use my sword, skipping through the battlefield in a haze of fire and arrows and smoke. It was this fervour, this blood-craze, that drew Arruns towards me. How he could brag if he could kill me, queen of the Volsci, warrior of Diana He watched me, bright as a burning, dying star, pursuing me from a distance. And in the heat of the day, when the sun blazed with a sort of unearthly luminescence, he caught me.
It was a stupid mistake- easily avoided, but of course I could not see. In my blindness I could not see the javelin, and it was in my blood-lust that I collapsed, hand still drawing my bow Stumbling and finally crashing to the ground, my last breaths fell away from my body, seeping into the flowerbeds, trading my death for their life. Crimson on alabaster, lacing my chiton with scarlet.’
The banks of the River Styx lay ahead of her, a carpet of raven feathers paving the ground. Dusthemmed roses grew in abundance, and the dead flitted around her, their souls shrouded in silken smoke Camilla, huntress of Diana, battle-blinded, fated to remain free and unfettered for eternity, stepped into the cold embrace of the Underworld, her gown hemmed with moonlight as the sun set in the dayless world of eternal silence
Charlotte Mak, L5P
Aphrodite
Aphrodite is the Olympia beauty. In Greek mytholo from the white foam of t severed genitals of Ura of heaven, after his son Cronus threw them into the water. Therefore, in art Aphrodite is often from the sea. The next dress is birth of Aphrodite and how she ked coming out of the sea
Aphrodite's Dress by Amy Zhang
Design: this design is inspired on how Aphrodite might have looked like coming out of the ocean –elegant, soft and desirable
Colour: both soft colours – the blue/turquoise for the sea and the soft pink for the sand and her femininity
Material: the material is a cool and comfortable material. This goes well with the temperature and weather of Greece The pearls help the dress take shape and signifies richness, but also gives it a natural look (as pearls are natural).
I liked the layering of the colours where there is a slit that shows the pink colour. I also really liked how long the blue part is like it's almost as if the person wearing this would have servants taking the tail.
