Bacchus
Who was Bacchus
and why
was he
the most
celebrated of the gods?
Bacchus is the Greek name
of the Roman god Dionysus
the god of the vine
the god of inspiration
bestower of ecstasy
and ecstatic liberation.
What was sacred
to Bacchus?
The grape, ivy and rose
were sacred to Bacchus.
Why was Bacchus so popular?
Bacchus
the god of wine
was worshiped
with orgiastic
ecstatic rites.
Yes people still love
a party excessive
indulgence in
activity emotion
the pleasure palace
of delight still entices
as Bob Dylan said
'everybody must get stoned'
reality escape ever popular
"sacred drugs of society
changing with cultures
throughout cultures
throughout history"
What became of Bacchus
in the later Hellenistic era?
As Dionysus he was
the most loved of the gods
the greatest deity
of the later Hellenistic world.
Why?
Because
he supposedly
taught men
to escape
the confines
of their personalities
in an age before
Sigmund Freud.
How?
By yielding
to the ecstasy
of natural forces
which permitted
people to know
the deepest mysteries
of their gods.
Ha. Sounds like
another hallucinogenic
drug trip
orgy free sex festival
like remembered
1960s hippy stereotypes.
I shall harken back
through more ancient
pages of memorial time
to Genesis
book of Prophet Moses
as revealed by
the One True God
Creator of Heaven and Earth
who wrote the fabric of design
through DNA laws of physics
upon this his immense
awesome universe
everything is his creation.
See also the poems ‘Latest Drugs On The Street' and ‘Dregs Have Flown'.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Dregs Have Flown
Red wine like warm blood
flowed from our glasses.
Invigorating finely tuned senses
where race inherited memory reclined.
Taste on titillated etherized tongues
has tang exploiting grape crushed peel
sweet wine courting chilled flute
melodies dance expunging former mire.
Sunset red pink rose purple
blooming across arching horizon
night an ink black vesper veil
dried over coagulated rusted wounds.
Life transposes in transubstantiation transitions
rendering real time lost archaic reality.
Changing perceived natural chaotic order
into radiant wine born illusive illusory lulled time.
Red wine like copious blood
flowed from our drinking cups
like blood a rejuvenating nectar.
Bacchus life burned within veins.
In symposium enchanted Bacchus dew unshackles
burdensome inescapable narrow banded male lives.
Personalities yield to ecstatic natural forces
Bacchantes dance in frenzy raptured moonlight.
Ivy-crowned and joyous draped, dance Bacchantes dance
escape within Bacchic frenzy fever; of ecstasies deepest mystery.
Flame eternal runs in the veins of adorated Bacchus
fermented juices stain not his matchless divine radiance.
See also the poem ‘Bacchus’.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Godlike
In one great man we view with odds
A parallel to all the gods.
Great Jove, that shook heaven with his brow,
Could never match his princely bow.
In him a Bacchus we behold:
Like Bacchus, too, he ne'er grows old.
Like Phoebus next, a flaming lover;
And then he's Mercury-all over.
A Vulcan, for domestic strife,
He lamely lives without his wife.
And sure-unless our wits be dull-
Minerva-like, when moon was full,
He issued from paternal skull.
R. et R.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Yearn I For A Potioned Wine – This Night!
How yearn I for a potioned wine – this night!
How race and run the drops of blood
How race the red, red drops of blood – this night!
How from the face of heaven the clouds
Seem swept away by some full-scathing broom
How smiling the pale moon!
Ah! methinks that the moon, the modest moon
Has in itself somehow sometime infused
The red, red drops of Bacchus – lo in it
The wanness cool is turning to a red
And on its cheek already ruddying goeth:
And merry looks the moon this merry night.
Never would I have thought the moon to be
Votary of Bacchus and his ivied green:
Nor of its conquest by the sweaty arms
Of satyrs fauns and nymphs of Bacchus wild:
And in my cheeks like the wan moon
So will I potion myself with red, red wine
Cool from the earth in cooler beakers kept
Delicious as the drops of red, red blood
Were to Dracula.
Then will I yearn to sleep and drowse and dream.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Anacreontick I
Gay Bacchus liking Estcourt's Wine,
A noble Meal bespoke;
And for the Guests that were to Dine,
Brought Comus, Love, and Joke.
The God near Cupid drew his Chair,
And Joke near Comus plac'd;
Thus Wine makes Love forget its Care,
And Mirth exalts a Feast.
The more to please the sprightly God,
Each sweet engaging Grace
Put on some Cloaths to come abroad,
And took a Waiters Place.
Then Cupid nam'd at every Glass
A Lady of the Sky;
While Bacchus swore he'd Drink the Lass,
And had it Bumper high.
Fat Comus tost his Brimmers o're,
And always got the most;
For Joke took care to fill him more,
When-e'er he mist the Toast.
They call'd, and drank at every Touch,
Then fill'd, and drank again;
And if the Gods can take too much,
'Tis said, they did so then.
Free Jests run all the Table round,
And with the Wine conspire,
(While they by sly Reflection wound,)
To set their Heads on Fire.
Gay Bacchus little Cupid stung,
By reck'ning his Deceits;
And Cupid mock'd his stammering Tongue,
With all his staggering Gaits.
Joke droll'd on Comus' greedy Ways,
And Tales without a Jest;
While Comus call'd his witty Plays,
But Waggeries at Best.
Such Talk soon set 'em all at Odds;
And, had I Homer's Pen,
I'd sing ye, how they drunk, like Gods,
And how they fought, like Men.
To part the Fray, the Graces fly,
Who make 'em soon agree;
And had the Furies selves been nigh,
They still were Three to Three.
Bacchus appeas'd, rais'd Cupid up,
And gave him back his Bow;
But kept some Darts to stir the Cup,
Where Sack and Sugar flow.
Joke taking Comus' rosie Crown,
In Triumph wore the Prize,
And thrice, in Mirth, he pusht him down,
As thrice he strove to rise.
Then Cupid sought the Myrtle Grove,
Where Venus did recline,
And Beauty close embracing Love,
They join'd to Rail at Wine.
And Comus loudly cursing Wit,
Roll'd off to some Retreat,
Where boon Companions gravely sit,
In fat unweildy State.
Bacchus and Joke, who stay behind,
For one fresh Glass prepare;
They Kiss, and are exceeding kind,
And Vow to be sincere.
But part in Time, whoever hear
This our Instructive Song;
For tho' such Friendships may be dear,
They can't continue long.
poem by Thomas Parnell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dithyramb
Believe me, together
The bright gods come ever,
Still as of old;
Scarce see I Bacchus, the giver of joy,
Than comes up fair Eros, the laugh-loving boy,
And Phoebus, the stately, behold!
They come near and nearer,
The heavenly ones all--
The gods with their presence
Fill earth as their hall!
Say, how shall I welcome,
Human and earthborn,
Sons of the sky?
Pour out to me--pour the full life that ye live!
What to ye, O ye gods! can the mortal one give?
The joys can dwell only
In Jupiter's palace--
Brimmed bright with your nectar,
Oh, reach me the chalice!
"Hebe, the chalice
Fill full to the brim!
Steep his eyes--steep his eyes in the bath of the dew,
Let him dream, while the Styx is concealed from his view,
That the life of the gods is for him!"
It murmurs, it sparkles,
The fount of delight;
The bosom grows tranquil--
The eye becomes bright.
poem by Friedrich Schiller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Tavern feast
Gay Bacchus liking B---s wine
A noble meal bespoke
& for ye guests that were to dine
Brought Comus Love & Joke
The God near Cupid drew his chair
& Joke by Comus plact
Thus wine makes Love forget his care
& Mirth exalts a feast
To make it more deserve ye God
Each sweet engaging Grace
Put on some cloaths to come abroad
& took a waiters place
Then Cupid namd for ev'ry glass
A Lady of ye sky
& Bacchus swore he'd drink ye ye Lass
& had it bumper high
Fat Comus tossd his brimmers o're
& allways gott ye most
For Joke took care to fill him more
When ere he missd ye toast
They calld & drunk at evry touch
& calld & drunk again
& if ye Gods can take too much
Tis said they did so then
Free Jests ran all the table round
& with ye wine conspire
While they by sly reflections wound
To Set their heads afire
Plump Bacchus little Cupid stung
By reckning his deceits
& Cupid mockd his stammring tongue
& all his stagg'ring gates
Joke drolld on Comus Greedy ways
& tales without a Jest
& Comus calld his witty plays
But waggerys at best
such talking sett them all at odds
& had I Homers pen
Ide sing you how they drunk like Gods
& how they fought like men
To part ye fray the Graces fly
Who make them soon agree
& had ye furys selves been nigh
They still were three to three
Bacchus appeasd letts Cupid up
& gave him back his bow
But kept some darts to stirr ye Cup
Where Sack & Sugar flow
Joke taking Comus rosy crown
In triumph wore ye prize
& thrice in mirth he pushd him down
As thrice he strove to rise
Then Cupid sought ye mirtle grove
Where Venus did recline
& Beauty close embracing Love
They Joyn to rail at Wine
& Comus loudly cursing witt
Rolld off to some retreat
Where boon companions gravely sitt
In dull unwieldy state
Bacchus & Joke who stay behind
For one fresh glass prepare
& kiss & are exceeding kind
& vow to be sincere
But part in time whoever here
Are couchd within my song
For tho the friendship may be dear
It cant continue long.
poem by Thomas Parnell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Mysteries Remain
The mysteries remain,
I keep the same
cycle of seed-time
and of sun and rain;
Demeter in the grass,
I multiply,
renew and bless
Bacchus in the vine;
I hold the law,
I keep the mysteries true,
the first of these
to name the living, dead;
I am the wine and bread.
I keep the law,
I hold the mysteries true,
I am the vine,
the branches, you
and you.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Master And Servant
The devil to Bacchus said, one day,
In a scowling, growling, petulant way,
As he came from earth to hell:
'There's a soul above that I cannot move,
And I've struggled long and well;
He's a manly youth, with an eye of truth,
A fellow of matchless grace;
And he looks me through with his eye of blue
Till I cower before his face.
The very power and strength of heaven
To this young, fearless soul were given;
For I've never an art that can reach his heart,
And I cannot snare his feet:
I have wasted days in devising ways,
And now must cry 'Defeat!''
And the devil scowled, and grumbled, and growled,
And beat about with his cane,
Till the demons fled over the burning waste
Out of his reach in hurrying haste,
Howling aloud in pain.
Bacchus laughed as he stooped and quaffed
A burning bumper of wine:
'Why, master,' said he, 'you soon shall see
The fellow down at your shrine;
Long ago, if you'd let me know,
We'd had him in our ranks.
And now, adieu! while I work for you;
Don't hurry about your thanks!
I'm going above; you know they love
The sight of my glowing face.
They call me a god! ho! ho! how odd!
With this for my dwelling-place.'
A youth with a dower of manly grace,
A maid with the morning in her face;
And she filleth a goblet full to the brim,
And giveth the bubbling draught to him.
'Drink!' she says, and the goblet sways
And shimmers under his eyes.
He tries to speak, but the tongue is weak,
And the words sink into sighs;
For the maid is fair, and she holds him there
With a spell that he cannot flee:
'Drink!' and she sips with her ruby lips-
'Drink but a draught with me.'
And the lovers quaffed, while the demons laughed,
And Bacchus laughed loud and long.
'Ho! ho!' cried he, 'what a victory!
Ho! ho! for the soul so strong
That my master was beat, and cried 'Defeat!'
But wine is a tempter, and love is sweet.'
Bacchus went back o'er the fiery track
Into the land below;
And the devil said, 'Well, what have you to tell
Of the thing I want to know?'
And Bacchus said he, 'Why, look and see!
There is your strong, brave youth
Reeling along, with a drunken song
Staining those lips of truth.
My work is done! You must go on
And finish the job I started;
And as long as I stay in your service, pray,
Don't ever be down-hearted.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bacchus, n.: A convenient deity invented by the ancients as an excuse for getting drunk.
quote by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Give Me the Harp of Epic Song
Give me the harp of epic song,
Which Homer's finger thrill'd along;
But tear away the sanguine string,
For war is not the theme I sing.
Proclaim the laws of festal rite,
I'm monarch of the board tonight;
And all around shall brim as high,
And quaff the tide as deep as I!
And when the cluster's mellowing dews
Their warm, enchanting balm infuse,
Our feet shall catch th' elastic bound,
And reel us through the dance's round.
Oh Bacchus! we shall sing to thee,
In wild but sweet ebriety!
And flash around such sparks of thought,
As Bacchus could alone have taught!
Then give the harp of epic song,
Which Homer's finger thrill'd along;
But tear away the sanguine string,
For war is not the theme I sing!
From Anacreon: Ode XI
What recks it me of Gyges' lot?
His wealth and power I envy not.
My beard with scented oils shall shine,
The rose shall deck this brow of mine;
So smooth shall glide my life away,
The gods have given me to-day;
To whom the morrow?-who shall say?
Then, Cupid, view a slave in me,
And, Bacchus, let me worship thee,
Till Death's last pangs Anacreon prove,
Then farewell wine, and farewell love.
poem by Peter John Allan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Bacchanals
Agave of the vermeil-tinted cheek
And Ino and Autonoae marshalled erst
Three bands of revellers under one hill-peak.
They plucked the wild-oak's matted foliage first,
Lush ivy then, and creeping asphodel;
And reared therewith twelve shrines amid the untrodden fell:
To Semele three, to Dionysus nine.
Next, from a vase drew offerings subtly wrought,
And prayed and placed them on each fresh green shrine;
So by the god, who loved such tribute, taught.
Perched on the sheer cliff, Pentheus could espy
All, in a mastick hoar ensconced that grew thereby.
Autonoae marked him, and with, frightful cries
Flew to make havoc of those mysteries weird
That must not be profaned by vulgar eyes.
Her frenzy frenzied all. Then Pentheus feared
And fled: and in his wake those damsels three,
Each with her trailing robe up-gathered to the knee.
'What will ye, dames,' quoth Pentheus. 'Thou shalt guess
At what we mean, untold,' Autonoae said.
Agave moaned-so moans a lioness
Over her young one-as she clutched his head:
While Ino on the carcass fairly laid
Her heel, and wrenched away shoulder and shoulder-blade.
Autonoae's turn came next: and what remained
Of flesh their damsels did among them share,
And back to Thebes they came all carnage-stained,
And planted not a king but aching there.
Warned by this tale, let no man dare defy
Great Bacchus; lest a death more awful he should die,
And when he counts nine years or scarcely ten,
Rush to his ruin. May I pass my days
Uprightly, and be loved of upright men!
And take this motto, all who covet praise:
('Twas AEgis-bearing Zeus that spake it first:)
'The godly seed fares well: the wicked's is accurst.'
Now bless ye Bacchus, whom on mountain snows,
Prisoned in his thigh till then, the Almighty laid.
And bless ye fairfaced Semele, and those
Her sisters, hymned of many a hero-maid,
Who wrought, by Bacchus fired, a deed which none
May gainsay-who shall blame that which a god hath done?
poem by Theocritus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Love would soon perish, unless nourished by Ceres and Bacchus.
To an Aged Cut-Up, II
Chloris lay off the flapper stuff;
What's fit for Pholoë, a fluff,
Is not for Ibycus's wife--
A woman at your time of life!
Ignore, old dame, such pleasures as
The shimmy and "the Bacchus Jazz";
Your presence with the maidens jars--
You are the cloud that dims the stars.
Your daughter Pholoë may stay
Out nights on the Appian Way;
her love for Nothus, as you know,
Makes her as playful as a doe.
No jazz for you, no jars of wine,
No rose that blooms incarnadine.
For one thing only you are fit:
Buy some Lucerian wool--and knit!
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On a Wine of Horace's
What time I read your mighty line,
O Mr. Q. Horatius Flaccus,
In praise of many an ancient wine--
You twanged a wickid lyric to Bacchus!--
I wondered, like a Yankee hick,
If that old stuff contained a kick.
So when upon a Paris card
I glimpsed a Falernian, I said: "Waiter,
I'll emulate that ancient bard,
And pass upon his merits later."
Professor Mendell, quelque sport,
Suggested that we split a quart.
O Flaccus, ere I ceased to drink
Three glasses and a pair of highballs,
I could not talk, I could not think;
For I was pickled to the eyeballs.
If you sopped up Falernian wine
How did you ever write a line?
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nobody Believes
Nobody believes in love-
not even me.
Love is the thing
you wait
to end.
Love is the thing
that will not,
cannot work.
Love is the thing
they warn you of-
the dire parents,
the friends
with their dead
marriages,
their crushed hopes.
Nothing crushes hope
but the will to make
the heart
like rock.
That will is strong.
The rock-heart stands
when the love songs crumble,
their yellowing sheet music
kept in a drawer,
their sweet hugs & tugs
forgotten,
like the merest air
of an old New England
spring.
Spring comes again
& again,
& the rock-hearts
feel the sap rising
thinking it is sex,
thinking the glands alone
cause this tumult
to the innards,
this hidden spring,
this secret river
which is hope.
Let them put it down
to sex!
Let them say
we worship Dionysus,
Bacchus, Pan,
but not the proper
gods.
Let them have
the proper gods-
Jahweh
with his heart like rock,
Christ with his blood
& thorns,
Mammon with his stock certificates,
his rates, his rates,
his bull markets,
& his late rallies.
We are rallying
alone.
We spit our love
into the wind.
Nobody can bear
to watch
our love.
Except the muse
who smiles
& sends
these
poems.
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bacchus hath drowned more men than Neptune.
quote by Thomas Fuller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Music is the wine which inspires one to new generative processes, and I am Bacchus who presses out this glorious wine for mankind and makes them spiritually drunken.
quote by Ludwig van Beethoven
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Bacchus hath drowned more men than Neptune.
Thomas Fuller in Gnomologia (1732)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!