Poetry 23 January 2019 Reading the Odyssey on the Riviera dei Ciclopi A new poem by Tarn MacArthur. Wikipedia via Creative Commons Sign UpGet the New Statesman's Morning Call email. Sign-up Sometimes it pays to be the Nobody slinking alone around salt-slicked boulders and pulsing medusae with a bladder of wine on your back and the infinite book of the sea turning page after page at your feet, while blood-lustful gulls go screaming overhead through the unblinking eye of the sun. What better way to pass the waylay of an angry god? Popping sardines and sucking jus from the heads of prawns, the love of your life playing out the role of footnote- of-faithfulness in some far-off home. Let it all go. Down the cliff-backed promenade the dark haired Calypsos drift like Ogygian cave dreams. If it’s been a year then it’s been twenty. So tell me how this ends. I’ve lost my place again. The winds are out the bag and every breath blowing me back to the beginning. Tarn MacArthur lives in Edinburgh and is at work on his first collection of poetry. He is currently a George Buchanan PhD scholar at the University of St Andrews. › Letter of the week: The EU’s socialist credentials Subscribe from just $2 per issue This article appears in the 25 January 2019 issue of the New Statesman, Who’s running Britain?