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The Brazilian poet Cora Coralina wrote in her poem “Aninha e Suas Pedras” (lit. “Little Ana and Her Stones”) “make of your miserly life/a poem” (transl. by me), while the Portuguese José Saramago wisely tells us that the journey is never over, only the travelers that meet their end. To quote his book, Journeys to Portugal:
“The end of a journey is only the beginning of another. It’s needed to see what wasn’t seen, see again what you saw before, see in Spring what you saw in Summer, see during the day what you saw at night, see under the sun where once the rain fell, see the harvest green, the berries ripe, the stone that moved places, the shadow that wasn’t here before. It’s needed to go back to the steps that were taken, and thread new paths at their side. It’s needed to begin the journey again. Always. The traveler will come back soon.” — The Traveler Will Come Back Soon (transl. by me)
Perhaps those two knew more about the life of beloved Gilgamesh in an intrinsic sense than I ever will, even if separated from the city of Uruk by thousands upon thousands of steps and living some five thousand years after the Sumerian king, or at least his tale.
In those days, in those distant days,
in those nights, in those remote nights,
those years, in those distant years;
in days of yore,
line fragmentary ...... Enkidu, your young comrade.
line fragmentary ...... is lying alone. ...... is lying alone. ...... the king .......
line fragmentary ...... will come to you. ...... will come to you.