The written word preserves poetry, but the spoken word breathes life back into it. In a convergence of eras and styles, poet Andrew Benson Brown offers a series of readings that span the breadth of human experience—from the epic wanderings of Greek mythology to the sharp wit of African wisdom and the gritty resistance of Saxon history. These recitations serve not merely as performances but as a resurrection of the oral tradition that birthed literature itself.
The Odyssey: The Bard Returns
Homer’s Odyssey was never intended to sit silently on a page; it was designed to be heard, felt, and memorized through the rhythm of the hexameter. In his reading of Book 1, translated by Solot, Brown channels the ancient invocation of the Muse. The listener is transported back to the wine-dark sea, where the fate of Odysseus hangs in the balance between the whims of gods and the stubbornness of men.
Jacob Jordaens' painting of Ulysses and his men slipping away concealed under rams
The choice of the Solot translation suggests a desire for clarity and narrative drive, stripping away some of the Victorian dust that often settles on classical texts. Hearing these lines aloud reminds us that the epic is, at its core, a story told by a fire—a tale of longing, cleverness, and the agonizing stretch of time between home and the horizon. The audio medium restores the breath to the text, making the anger of Poseidon and the guile of Athena feel immediate and dangerous.
Stellinga: The Cry of the Soil
shifting from the Mediterranean to the damp forests of 9th-century Saxony, the reading of Stellinga touches on a visceral historical nerve. The term “Stellinga” refers to the caste of Saxon freemen and freedmen who rose up in 841 AD, resisting both the Frankish aristocracy and the imposed Christian order to return to their ancient laws and gods.
This is not the polished marble of Greece; it is the rough granite of Northern Europe. The poem likely explores themes of class struggle, indigenous identity, and the brutal friction of history. By voicing this specific historical moment, the reading illuminates the often-overlooked resistance of the common people against the crushing weight of imperial expansion. It is a reminder that poetry is also a weapon of memory, preserving the shouts of those who were defeated by the sword but not silenced in spirit.
East African Proverbs: Wisdom in Miniature
The journey concludes with the lapidary brilliance of A.M. Juster’s translations of East African Proverbs. Where the epic is vast and the historical poem is intense, the proverb is compact—a diamond of observation compressed by centuries of cultural pressure.
Juster, known for his formal dexterity, captures the wit and rhythm necessary to make a proverb stick in the mind. These short verses do not argue; they state. They offer glimpses into a worldview where nature and human nature mirror one another perfectly. Hearing them read aloud emphasizes their function as social tools—phrases meant to be deployed in conversation to settle a dispute, teach a child, or comment on the absurdity of life.
The Vessel of Voice
Andrew Benson Brown, who describes himself as a “vagabond” and lists his occupation as “poet,” acts as the conduit for these disparate voices. Whether he is chronicling the American Revolution in his own epic work, Legends of Liberty, or inhabiting the words of Homer and African sages, his performance underscores a singular truth: poetry is a living thing. It requires a voice to wake it up, to pull it from the archives, and to set it loose once more into the air.
Jacob Jordaens' painting of Ulysses and his men slipping away concealed under rams
