#lament of orpheus

[alynwrench]

Today was supposed to be DCATOBER day 8 but I had to get this out of my brain DAYCARE ATTENDANT ANIMATIC X HADES MUSIC? yessir, enjoy ur 1 min 44 secs of ANGST

[cursed-blade-gf]

One of the greatest moments in all of gaming is returning to the main hall of Hades and finding, for the first time in the entire game, Orpheus. Alone at his chair. Singing the only song you’ve heard him sing, his Lament which to this day remains as one of, if not the most heartbreaking song I’ve ever heard.

[tozuiyons-ocarinas]

Hey guys….

I’m back :(((

I actually had created these tabs long ago - but I was too scared in posting it as I thought I made the sheet too distracting??? To look at??? 😭😭

But idk when it’ll be the next time I make tabs, so I’ll post it anyways 🗿

ENJOY!!!!

Reference: https://youtu.be/Oll7pr4JVTQ

This song and like ALL the songs in this game is so beautiful my god

DARREN KORB YOU BEAUTIFUL BEAUTIFUL MAN

[rei-the-head-shaker]

Good morning to you all, amazing souls! 🌞🖤

[ams-sheen]

Fine gel pen and watercolour painting completed by Me featuring the words of @orpheuslament from his fabulous poem 'The Vampire Reminisces'. 2022. A5.

[missionkitty]

don't look back...

[mamawasatesttube]

i NEED to write something about devotion and yearning. holy shit

[midwestaesthetics]

mourning doves on a wire

Zephyr out of the west

Let it caress our chilled plumage

As the sun emerges bleary eyed

From its black silken robes of slumber

I’ll preen you in the cold air

Consume the morning dew off your back

Here we hang precarious on highwires

Tussling in winds of a warming trend

You give yourself to me

With all love and trust

And can the mystery of tomorrow ensure

That I with all my being 

Ensure you never take flight

With an inkling of regret

History still shapes, with glints of sun

It illuminates wings once broken

Our graceful courtship and affectionate display 

Ever weary that you may fall into the rough

I’ll dive without hesitation to bring

You home from the underworld

Time’s scythe takes you in, staking its claim

And leaves my feathers in a stain...of smoke

Forever my lament cooing 

A music soft and wordless

That renders all within earshot

To weep, to share in my grief

Here I hang lonely on highwires

Your green memory stinging as nettle upon my breast

[macbethsquared]

hes so cain coded it isnt even funny

[threephantomrey]

ORPHEUS IS SINGING!!!!!

[undyinglantern]

good riddance from hades deserves an honorable mention just by how powerful the emotion that comes through depending on who is singing it changes the meaning of the lyrics is

[scanpoetry]

[twosdate]

it is in fact criminal that i love music so much and cannot sing btw. god's strongest nerf for his most pitiful solider.

[the-star-rigel]

pjo/hoo/toa + the cycle

The Lightning Thief / Growing Sideways, Noah Kahan / Ivan the Terrible and His Son Ivan, Ilya Repin + Saturn Devouring His Son, Goya + Saturn, Rubens / The Blood of Olympus / The Family Jewels, MARINA / The Last Olympian / The Sea of Monsters / The Family Jewels / Orestes Pursued by the Furies, Bouguereau / The Hidden Oracle / Apollo and Marsyas, Manfredi / In The Blood, John Mayer / The Sea of Monsters / The Combat of Ares and Athena, Jacques Louis David / The Family Jewels / Mark of Athena / The Combat of Ares and Athena / The Lightning Thief / Family Line, Conan Gray / Cronos and Rhea, Schinkel / The Lightning Thief / The Blood of Olympus / In The Blood / The Last Olympian / Chronos and His Child, Romanelli / Desireé Dellagiacomo / The Lightning Thief / Family Line / The Fallen Angel, Alexandre Cabanel + The Last Day of Pompeii, Bryullov / The Blood of Olympus / The Outcast, Botticelli / Glass, Irony and God, Anna Carson / House of Hades / Family Line / The Last Olympian / The Lament for Icarus, Herbert Draper + Sacrifice of Iphigenia, Roman School + Minerva and Arachne, Houasse + Venus Induces Helen to Fall in Love with Paris, Kauffmann / The Last Olympian / Hadestown / The Lightning Thief / apple, Charli xcx / The Last Olympian / I Would Leave Me If I Could, Halsey / The Sea of Monsters / ? / LET YOUR DAD DIE ENERGY DRINK, Lavery and Corrigan / The Last Olympian / Eat Your Young, Hozier / The Last Olympian / Orpheus and the Bacchantes, Lazzarini / The Blood of Olympus / Susan Smith, wych elm / Orpheus and the Bacchantes / The Burning Maze / ? / The Tyrant’s Tomb / Perseus Freeing Andromeda, Veronese / Abduction of Psyche, Bouguereau + Bacchus and Ariadne, Van Loo / The Tower of Nero / The Tower of Nero / The Tower of Nero

[sagacintailed]

Tumblr loves the Orpheus myth, but I’ve never seen anyone post one of my favorite poems on the subject.

Orpheus, Eurydice, Hermes

By Rainer Maria Rilke

Translated by Stephen Mitchell

That was the deep uncanny mine of souls.

Like veins of silver ore, they silently

moved through its massive darkness. Blood welled up

among the roots, on its way to the world of men,

and in the dark it looked as hard as stone.

Nothing else was red.

There were cliffs there,

and forests made of mist. There were bridges

spanning the void, and that great gray blind lake

which hung above its distant bottom

like the sky on a rainy day above a landscape.

And through the gentle, unresisting meadows

one pale path unrolled like a strip of cotton.

Down this path they were coming.

In front, the slender man in the blue cloak —

mute, impatient, looking straight ahead.

In large, greedy, unchewed bites his walk

devoured the path; his hands hung at his sides,

tight and heavy, out of the failing folds,

no longer conscious of the delicate lyre

which had grown into his left arm, like a slip

of roses grafted onto an olive tree.

His senses felt as though they were split in two:

his sight would race ahead of him like a dog,

stop, come back, then rushing off again

would stand, impatient, at the path’s next turn, —

but his hearing, like an odor, stayed behind.

Sometimes it seemed to him as though it reached

back to the footsteps of those other two

who were to follow him, up the long path home.

But then, once more, it was just his own steps’ echo,

or the wind inside his cloak, that made the sound.

He said to himself, they had to be behind him;

said it aloud and heard it fade away.

They had to be behind him, but their steps

were ominously soft. If only he could

turn around, just once (but looking back

would ruin this entire work, so near

completion), then he could not fail to see them,

those other two, who followed him so softly:

The god of speed and distant messages,

a traveler’s hood above his shining eyes,

his slender staff held out in front of him,

and little wings fluttering at his ankles;

and on his left arm, barely touching it: she.

A woman so loved that from one lyre there came

more lament than from all lamenting women;

that a whole world of lament arose, in which

all nature reappeared: forest and valley,

road and village, field and stream and animal;

and that around this lament-world, even as

around the other earth, a sun revolved

and a silent star-filled heaven, a lament-

heaven, with its own, disfigured stars —:

So greatly was she loved.

But now she walked beside the graceful god,

her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,

uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.

She was deep within herself, like a woman heavy

with child, and did not see the man in front

or the path ascending steeply into life.

Deep within herself. Being dead

filled her beyond fulfillment. Like a fruit

suffused with its own mystery and sweetness,

she was filled with her vast death, which was so new,

she could not understand that it had happened.

She had come into a new virginity

and was untouchable; her sex had closed

like a young flower at nightfall, and her hands

had grown so unused to marriage that the god’s

infinitely gentle touch of guidance

hurt her, like an undesired kiss.

She was no longer that woman with blue eyes

who once had echoed through the poet’s songs,

no longer the wide couch’s scent and island,

and that man’s property no longer.

She was already loosened like long hair,

poured out like fallen rain,

shared like a limitless supply.

She was already root.

And when, abruptly,

the god put out his hand to stop her, saying,

with sorrow in his voice: He has turned around —,

she could not understand, and softly answered

Who?

Far away,

dark before the shining exit-gates,

someone or other stood, whose features were

unrecognizable. He stood and saw

how, on the strip of road among the meadows,

with a mournful look, the god of messages

silently turned to follow the small figure

already walking back along the path,

her steps constricted by the trailing graveclothes,

uncertain, gentle, and without impatience.

[solcattus]

The Lament of Orpheus

By Franz Caucig