Apollo

Apollo (pronounced uh-pol-oh)

(1) The ancient Greek and Roman god of light, healing, music, poetry, prophecy, manly beauty and quite some more.

(2) Popular term to describe strikingly handsome youth.

(3) In aerospace, the National Aeronautics and Space Administration's (NASA) programme of spacecraft (1961-1972) which between 1969-1972 carried 12 US astronauts to the moon and back.

(4) A Eurasian mountain butterfly, Parnassius apollo.

From classical Greek mythology, the name is a Latin form of the Greek Apollon, often cited as related to an obsolete Greek verb apollymi (to destroy) but there’s nothing conclusive.  More compelling is the notion it’s a cognate to the Doric month Apellaios and the offerings apellaia at the initiation of young men during the family-festival apellai.  Essentially, theories about Greek origins and a number of non-Greek etymologies are all speculative.

Apollo and the Muses, oil on canvas pentyptych (circa 1985) by Charles Meynier (1763 or 1768-1832).  Although in his notes the artist referred to the five panels as a pentyptych, that reference was conceptual and they've always been hung as five separate, framed canvases. 

From left to right: (1) Polymnia was one of the nine muses in Greek mythology and a patron of dancing or geometry.  Here she is depicted  standing in front of a bust of the Athenian orator Demosthenes. (2)  Erato, the muse of lyric and erotic poetry, is often shown with the golden arrow received from Eros (or Cupid), a sign of the emotion that inspires her.  (3) Urania leans on a starry orb, an allusion to her role as the muse of astronomy.  As all good muses must, she is staring dreamily at a god or man.  (4) The eldest of the nine Greek muses, Calliope was the goddess of music, song, and dance.  She was also known as the goddess of epic poetry and conferred the gift of eloquence on kings and princes. She stands here before a bust of Homer, the ancient Greek poet who history credits with having written the epic poems the Odyssey and the Iliad.  (5) Clio, the Greek muse of history, was the daughter of Zeus and Titaness Mnemosyne, the goddess of memory and is here depicted writing while surrounded by objects associated with preserving the memory of historical figures and events: busts, reliefs, and sculptures.  Clio's name was from the Greek root κλέω or κλείω (to recount; to make famous; to celebrate) and Clio is the traditional Latinisation but there has among classicists for centuries been a faction which uses K to represent the original Greek kappa, and ei to represent the diphthong ει (epsilon iota), thus the appearance in some texts of Kleio.

The paintings were commissioned by a textile merchant who planned to hang them in a grand gallery in his Toulouse townhouse but he went bankrupt prior to delivery and the paintings were purchased by a Swiss general who took them to his castle in Wallenried.  A wing had been added to the castle just to display the general's collection and there Apollo and the Muses remained for almost 180 years.  Although in good condition, when re-discovered, there were signs of neglect typical of works not carefully curated under controlled conditions.  The fluctuations in temperature and humidity at the castle had caused cracking in the surfaces and, over time, the sheer weight of the canvases caused the tacking edges to deteriorate and pull away from their stretchers, creating large drape-like buckles.  Most also exhibited varying degrees of the dreaded “traction crackle”, the degenerative process in which a paint layer on the surface shrinks faster than an underlying layer underneath, resulting in wide cracks revealing the color below.  The original hand-carved frames were intact and needed only the time-consuming conservation work to address the deterioration of their gesso and gold.

All of the paintings needed reduction of their varnish layers which had grown dull and dis-colored, descending to a brownish-orange tinge and when first viewed, all the works were dark, dull and murky, as if the muses were stepping out of a dense fog.  Worse, at some point, a prudish white veil had been painted over the body of Cupid many years after Meynier had died, a contemporary watercolor by the artist and an etching documenting the Salon of 1801 both showing the radical intervention was not part of the original.  Restoration was challenging because the original paint had aged for least 75 years before Cupid’s drapery and working under high magnification, conservators spent much time removing the 180 square inches of overpainting, re-shaping and re-sharpening scalpels so the unwanted could be chipped away without harming the original paint.  When complete, the restoration enhanced Meynier’s reputation because for the first time it became apparent he was one of the era's great colorists, his use of juxtaposed, muted complementary colors in draperies and skin tones creating soft vibrancies that undulate throughout the entire suite.

Planet Earth photographed from Apollo 8 as it rounded the dark side of the moon, 1968.  Our lovely blue home is like the most precious jewel in a desert of cold rocks, swirling gas and fiery relics.  We should look after it. 

Apollo has variously been recognized as a god of music, truth and prophecy, healing, the sun and light, plague, poetry, and more.  Apollo was the son of Zeus and Leto, and had a twin sister, the chaste huntress Artemis.  An oracular god, the prophetic deity of the Delphic Oracle, medicine and healing were associated with Apollo although, in one of the paradoxes which are part of the charm of the myths of Antiquity, he was also seen as a god who could bring ill-health and plague.  As the leader of the Muses and their choir, Apollo functioned as the patron god of music and poetry and, using the lyre created for him by Hermes became the most common attribute in the works of art created in his honor.  The hymns sung to Apollo were called paeans and his most important daily task was to harness and ride his four-horse chariot with which he moved the Sun across the sky.

Map of the Greek Islands.

In most of the tales in Greek mythology, Apollo was born on the island of Delos and it's said Leto was unable to find a safe place to give birth because the jealous goddess Hera had placed a curse on her.  However, the island of Delos which until that moment had been floating around the Aegean suddenly became stable and anchored to the seabed, providing a safe birthplace for Apollo and his twin sister Artemis.  After that, not much happened in the region for a few millennia, the next significant event in 2019 when the MTV series Lindsay Lohan’s Beach Club was filmed on the neighboring island of Mykonos

Laurel

Laurel (pronounced lawruhl or lor-uhl)

(1) A small European evergreen tree, Laurus nobilis, of the laurel family, having dark, glossy green leaves (Known also as the bay tree or sweet bay).

(2) Any tree of the genus Laurus.

(3) In general use, any of various similar trees or shrubs, as the mountain laurel or the great rhododendron.

(4) The foliage of the laurel as an emblem of victory or distinction.

(5) A branch or wreath of laurel foliage.

(6) In the plural (laurels or victory laurels), an award conferred (literally or figuratively) as an honor for achievement in some field or activity.

(7) An English gold coin minted in 1619, so called because the king's head was crowned with laurel.

(8) In many color charts, a green of a darker hue.

(9) To adorn or enwreathe with laurel.

(10) To honor with marks of distinction.

1250–1300: A dissimilated variant of the Middle English laurer (laurel), from the Anglo-Norman, from the twelfth century Old French laurier & lorier (bay tree; laurel tree), the construct being lor (bay) + -ier, from the Medieval Latin laurārius, from the Latin laurus (laurel tree), thought related to the Greek daphne (laurel), probably from a pre-Indo-European Mediterranean language.  The French suffix -ier was from the Middle French -ier & -er, from the Old French, from the Latin -ārium, the accusative of -ārius.  It was used to form the names of trees, ships, jobs etc.  The second -r- in the Middle English laurer changed to -l- by process of dissimilation.  Laurel is a noun, a proper noun & verb and laureled (also laurelled) & laureling (also laurelling) are verbs; the noun plural is laurels.

Lindsay Lohan fridge magnet by Alexanton.

The use to describe an emblem of victory or of distinction (hence the phrase “to rest on one’s laurels” (the original form was “repose upon”)) which dates from 1831.  The phrase is now mostly used in the cautionary sense “don’t rest on your laurels”, a warning not to rely on a reputation gained through past successes but instead continue to strive and improve.  The companion phrase “look to your laurels” is an idiomatic expression known in Antiquity meaning one need to be vigilant and attentive to your accomplishments, skills or position because there will be those eager to surpass or outshine you.  Like “don’t rest on your laurels”, it stresses the importance of maintaining one’s competitive edge.

Sirens and the Night (1865) by William Edward Frost (1810-1877).

Although most associated with women, Laurel is a unisex given name and the feminine variants include Laura, Lauren, Lori, and Lorraine.  It was related also to the German Lorelie.  In several tales from Germanic mythology in which the maiden Lorelei (luring rock), who lives upon a rock in Rhine River, lures fishermen to their deaths by singing songs of such beauty they can’t resist, a variation of the story of Odysseus and the Sirens.  In Greek mythology, Sirens were deadly creatures who used their lyrical and earthly charms to lure sailors to their death.  Attracted by their enchanting music and voices, they’d sail their ships too close to the rocky coast of the Siren’s island and be shipwrecked.  Not untypically for the tales from antiquity, the sirens are said to have had many homes.  The Roman said they lived on some small islands called Sirenum scopuli while later authors place them variously on the islands of Anthemoessa, on Cape Pelorum, on the islands of the Sirenuse, near Paestum, or in Capreae (all places with rocky coasts and tall cliffs).  It was Odysseus who most famously escaped the sirens.  Longing to hear their songs but having no wish to be shipwrecked, he had his sailors fill their ears with beeswax, rendering them deaf.  Odysseus then ordered them to tie him to the mast.  Sailing past, when he heard their lovely voices, he ordered his men to release him but they tightened the knots, not releasing him till the danger had passed.  Some writers claimed the Sirens were fated to die if a man heard their singing and escaped them and that as Odysseus sailed away they flung themselves into the water and died.

#metoo: Apolo persiguiendo a Dafne (Apollo chasing Daphne (circa 1637)), oil on canvas by Theodoor van Thulden (1606–1669) after Peter Paul Rubens (1577–1640), Museo Nacional del Prado, Madrid.

The feminine proper name Daphne was from the Greek daphne (laurel, bay tree) and in mythology was the name of a nymph.  Etymologists conclude the word is related to the Latin laurus (laurel) although the mechanism has been lost in time.  In Greek mythology, Daphne, daughter of the river Peneus, was a nymph with whom the God Apollo fell in love; he was provoked by Cupid, having disputed with him the power of his darts which Apollo, the recent conqueror of the Python, belittled.  When he pursued her to the banks of the Peneus, she was saved from being ravished by the god who transformed her into a Laurel tree, the origin of Apollo being so often depicted crowned with laurel leaves.  None of the writers from Antiquity seem ever to have pondered whether the nymph, had she been offered the choice between being ravished by a Greek god or being eternally arboreous, might have preferred to permit a slice to be cut from the loaf.  Still, being a sentimental chap, Apollo adopted the laurel as his favorite tree so there’s that.  The site of temples and a stadium, the Grove of Daphne was a pleasure resort of renowned natural beauty, dedicated to Apollo and located near Antioch.

Audrey Hepburn (1929–1993) in a “laurel leaves” hat designed by Hubert de Givenchy (1927–2018), photograph by Howell Conant (1916–1999), Switzerland, February 1962.

As an adjective, laureate (crowned with laurels as a mark of distinction) dates from the late fourteenth century and the earliest reference was to poets of particular distinction, from the Latin laureatus (crowned with laurel), from laurea (laurel crown; emblematic of victory or distinction in poetry), from the feminine laureus (of laurel).  The first known use of Laureat poete is in Geoffrey Chaucer’s (circa 1344-1400) Canterbury Tales (1387-1400) in reference to Scholar and poet of early Renaissance Italy, Petrarch (Francesco Petrarca (1304–1374), and it was used in Middle English of Greek fabulist Aesop (circa 620–564 BC) and, by the early fifteenth century of Chaucer himself.  In English the inverted form “poet laureate” was in imitation of Latin word order and although used informally since the early 1400s, the evidence suggests the first to be appointed by the state was probably (and perhaps posthumously) Benjamin Jonson (circa 1572–circa 1637) (1638) in 1638 although the first from whom the letters patent remain extant was John Dryden (1631–1700).  In the UK, the position of Poet Laureate is an honorary office in the gift of the monarch but these days, appointed on the advice of the prime minister.  Because many prime-ministers know nothing of poetry, they take advice on the matter.  There was a time when the Poet Laureate was an exalted character but these days there’s less interest and the best remembered is probably still Ted Hughes (1930–1998; Poet Laureate 1984-2008) and then less for his verse than the calls by feminists to boycott his works because he had Sylvia Path’s (1932-1963) “blood on his quill”. The noun came into existence in the 1520s, either an evolution from the adjective or through a mistaken reading of poet laureate and laureateship has been in use since 1732.  Laureate is most frequently used of Nobel prize winners, a use that began in 1947.

Paean

Paean (pronounced pee-uhn)

(1) A hymn of invocation or thanksgiving, sun in Ancient Greece to Apollo or some other deity.

(2) By extension, a song of praise, joy or triumph, especially if sung loudly and joyously).

(3) By extension, an expression of reverential or enthusiastic praise.

1535–1545: From the Latin paean, (religious or festive hymn; hymn of deliverance, hymn to a help-giving god), from the Ancient Greek (παιάν (also παιήων or παιών)) (paiān) (hymn to Apollo), from his title Paiā́n (or Paiōn) (denoting the physician to the gods), from the phrase Ἰὼ Παιᾱ́ν (Iṑ Paiā́n) (“O Paean!, Thanks to Paean!).  As well as the name (from Homer) by which the divine physician was known, paiān was later an epithet of Apollo and thus of interest is the literal translation "one who touches" (in the sense of “curing by a touch of the hand”), perhaps from a word in the hymn like paio (to touch, strike).  English picked it up as paean (as did Middle French) which was adopted in many languages but variations include the French péan (although the Middle French paean peacefully co-exists), the Italian peana and the Portuguese peã & péan.

The Greek παιάν was from παιάϝων (paiáwōn) (one who heals illnesses with magic) but the origin is contested.  Some etymologists link it with παῖϝα & παϝία (blow), related to παίω (beat), from the primitive Indo-European pēu-, pyu- & pū- (to hit; to cut)- or παύω (paúō) (withhold; to bring to an end; to abate, to stop), from the primitive Indo-European pehw- (few, little; smallness).  Paiān remains however mysterious and may be from the Archaic Greek or indeed be pre-Greek.  Paean (present participle paeaning & past participle paeaned) & paeanism are nouns, paeanic is an adjective, paeanically seems to have been used as an adverb and paeanize is a verb (apparently first used by philosopher Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679) in the early seventeenth century).  The noun plural is paeans and the alternative spelling (in occasional US use) is pean (pæan the traditional form).  A paean may variously be referred to variously as a hymn, acclamation, anthem, ode, praise, psalm, song, laud or laudation and, outside the technical use in texts from Antiquity, the choice is probably dictated by context and desired literary effect.

A fresco of Apollo playing the kithara, from a building in the Forum of Rome (Augustan period), Museum of the Forum Romanum, Rome.

As the lyrical phrase “O Paean!” hints, in Antiquity, a Paean was a song of joyful triumph.  Most surviving texts suggest the paean was written usually in the ancient Greek Dorian mode and was accompanied by the kithara, the instrument of Apollo, god of music.  The military, when paeans were sung on the battlefield, augmented the kithara by the aulos and kithara.

Confusion still sometimes surrounds the understanding of the Greek Dorian Mode because it was long confused with the modern use of “Dorian” mode.  Like many of the tangled constructions and interpretations from Greek & Latin which endure to this day, the fault lies mostly with medieval ecclesiastical scholars.  Some of the names of musical modes in use today, (Mixolydian, Dorian et al), are direct borrowings in spelling but not meaning, the scribes of the Church misunderstanding the mechanics of Greek texts.  In Athens and beyond, intervals were counted from top to bottom whereas the practice during the Middle Ages was (sometimes) to work from bottom to top, hence the jumble.  The error was recognized by the seventeenth century but such had been the proliferation of the new conventions of use that the misinterpretations were allowed to remain, labelled “Church Modes” to distinguish them from the ancients.

The problems began with the translation of a treatise on music (De institutione musica (The Structure of Music (circa 507)) by Boethius (Saint Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius; circa 478-524, a Roman and historian and philosopher) which was neglected until unearthed by scholars during the ninth century who found it so compelling it was soon the most widely translated and disseminated medieval work on the subject.  The influence of Boethius was immense, his De consolatione philosophiae (On the Consolation of Philosophy (523)) one of the classic works through which the classical age was understood during the centuries which followed although modern historians do caution the medieval (and later) reverence of antiquity did lead to some idealized and romantic visions of the lost world taking hold.

Both Plato & Aristotle fancied themselves as musicologists and thought the ancient Greek Dorian the most "manly" of all the musical modes, suggesting it could move soldiers to heroic acts in battle.  The famous Battle of Thermopylae, a paean composed for a solo lyre, was inspired by the tale of two-thousand-odd Spartans, Thespians & Thebans, a rear-guard which for two days defied a whole Persian army at the battle of Thermopylae in 480 BC.  Professional musicians today note that to convey the martial spirit which should be summoned in performance, it’s vital to understand the ancient Greek Dorian mode so it’s played with the vigor Plato & Aristotle described when writing of the technique.

The USS Pueblo, moored on the Taedong River in Pyongyang, part of the DPRK’s Victorious Fatherland Liberation War Museum.

The USS Pueblo (AGER-2) is a lightly-armed, US Navy scientific research vessel which in January 1968 was attacked and captured by the DPRK (North Korean) military which alleged she was engaged in espionage activities while in their territorial waters.  One US sailor was killed during the attack, the surviving 82 seized and not released for almost a year, a period described variously as the Pueblo “affair”, “incident" or “crisis".  The Pueblo is still held in the DPRK as a war-prize (although the legal status of that is dubious) and the US Navy has never struck the vessel from the active list, Washington’s position that it was seized illegally and should be returned.

Bowing North Koreans make their grateful paeans before the statue of Kim Il-sung (1912-1994, Great Leader of the DPRK 1948-1994).

The word paean came in handy as a diplomatic device.  As part of the deal securing the sailors’ release, the captain issued a statement "confess(ing) to his and the crew's transgression."  Before he recorded the brief speech, the text was checked by the DPRK government and they were presumably pleased at the capitalist lackeys saying: "We paean the DPRK.  We paean the Great Leader, Kim Il Sung.  We paean the DPRK flag" but missed an essential nuance, the captain pronouncing "paean" as "pee on".  Nor did seizing the hardly imposing Pueblo achieve the Great Leader’s strategic objective, the US increasing its diplomatic and military support for the ROC (South Korea).

Cassandra

Cassandra (pronounced kuh-san-druh)

(1) In classical mythology, prophet endowed with the gift of prophecy but fated never to be believed.  Cassandra is called Alexandra in some texts.

(2) A person who prophesies gloom or doom.

(3) A female given name from Greek and of uncertain origin.

1664: From antiquity; in Greek mythology, a daughter of Priam and Hecuba of Troy.  The name is a Latinized from from the Greek Κασσάνδρα (Kassándra or Kassándra) and is of uncertain origin; scholars are divided, some suggesting a feminine form of Greek andros (of man, male human being) and link this to the sometimes cited "helper of men" or "praise of men".  Etymologist note the second element of the name resembles the feminine form of the Greek andros (of man, male human being) which has led some to suggest a link with the primitive Indo-European skand & kand- (to shine).  Interestingly, others have pondered a connection with the not entirely dissimilar primitive Indo-European forms kekasmai (to surpass, to excel) or skend & kend- (raise).  The figurative use in English was first noted in 1664.

Usually associated with prophesy, Cassandra was a daughter of Priam, last king of Troy, and his wife Hecuba but in Homer’s Iliad, while the loveliest of Priam’s daughters, she wasn’t a prophet and according to Aeschylus’ tragedy Agamemnon, Cassandra was loved by Apollo, who promised her the power of prophecy if she would surrender to his desires.  Cassandra accepted and took the gift, but then refused Apollo’s lustful wants.  Enraged, while kissing her, he spat into her mouth to inflict on her the curse that nobody would believe her prophecies.  There are variations in the texts from antiquity, some involving serpents, but all seem to concur Cassandra either was always mad or, at some point in her troubled life, went mad.  In Aeschylus' Agamemnon, she laments her doomed affair with Apollo:

Apollo, Apollo!

God of all ways, but only Death's to me,

Once and again, O thou, Destroyer named,

Thou hast destroyed me, thou, my love of old!

Cassandra foretold the fall of Troy and the death of Agamemnon, but her warnings went unheeded.  During the sack of Troy, Ajax the Lesser dragged Cassandra from the altar of Athena and raped her.  As vengeance, Athena, with the help of Poseidon and Zeus, summoned a storm that sank most of the Greek fleet as it returned home.  After the fall of Troy, Cassandra fell with Agamemnon and later they were murdered together.  She was worshiped (as Alexandra) with Agamemnon.

Cassandra:  Eric Abetz (b 1958, senator (Liberal Party) for Tasmania) 1994-2022) in the Australian Senate, Monday 26 November 2017, delivering an important speech opposing same-sex marriage, surrounded by his supporters.

Cassandra: Well acquainted with the ways of the paparazzi, interviewed on US radio, Lindsay Lohan warned the Duke & Duchess of Sussex (Prince Harry and Meghan Markle) that moving to Malibu, California would not mean they would be less exposed to their intrusions.  Upon being informed the couple had apparently bought a house in Malibu Beach, Ms Lohan laughed at the suggestion moving there from London would help them escape the paparazzi, warning them their presence in California would act as a magnet.  As things transpired, the Sussexes bought a house in Montecito but the short drive north is unlikely to prove a deterrent.  To think otherwise is California dreaming.

Zephyr

Zephyr (pronounced zef-uhr (U) or zef-er (non-U))

(1) A gentle, mild breeze, considered the most pleasant of winds.

(2) As a literary device, the west wind personified which should be used with an initial capital letter and not capitalized if referring to some gentle waft.

(3) Any of various things of fine, light quality (fabric, yarn etc), most often applied to wool.

(4) The usual (Westernised) spelling of Ζεφυρος (Zéphuros or Zéphyros), the Greek and Roman god of the west wind.  The Roman name was Zephyrus, Favonius.

(5) A model name used on various cars produced by the Ford Motor Company, including some under the Lincoln and (the now defunct) Mercury brands.

Circa 1350: From the Middle English zeferus & zephirus, from the Old English zefferus, from the Latin zephyrus, from the Ancient Greek Ζέφυρος (Zéphuros or Zéphyros) (the west wind), probably from the Greek root zophos (the west, the dark region, darkness, gloom).  The Latin Zephyrus was the source also of zéphire (French), zefiro (Spanish) and zeffiro (Italian).  The plural is zephyrs and the derived term is zephyrette (capitalised and not); the alternative spellings were zephir & zefir.  The casual use in meteorology dates from circa 1600.  While, as Zephyr, classically something warm, mild and occidental, zephyr can be used to refer to any gentle breeze or waft where the wish is to suggest a wind not strong as in a gust, gale, cyclone, blast, typhoon or tempest, the adjectival form being zephyrean.

Cupid and Psyche (1907) by Edvard Munch (1863–1944).

In Greek mythology, Ζεφυρος (transliterated as Zéphuros or Zéphyros) was the god of the west wind, one of the four seasonal Anemoi (wind-gods), the others being his brothers Notus (god of the south wind), Eurus (god of the east wind) and Boreas (god of the east wind).  The Greek myths offer many variations of the life of Zephyrus, the offspring of Astraeus & Eos in some versions and of Gaia in other stories while there were many wives, depending on the story in which he was featured.  Despite that, he’s also sometimes referred to as the “god of the gay”, based on the famous tale of Zephyrus & Hyakinthos (Hyacinthus or Hyacinth).  Hyacinth was a Spartan youth, an alluring prince renowned for his beauty and athleticism and he caught the eye of both of both Zephyrus and Apollo (the god of sun and light) and the two competed fiercely for the boy’s affections.  It was Apollo whose charms proved more attractive which left Zephyrus devastated and in despair.  One day, Zephyrus chanced upon the sight of Apollo and Hyacinth in a meadow, throwing a discus and, blind with anger, sent a great gust of wind at the happy couple, causing the discus to strike Hyacinth forcefully in the head, inflicting a mortal injury.  Stricken with grief, as Hyacinth lay dying in his arms, Apollo transformed the blood trickling to the soil into the hyacinth (larkspur), flower which would forever bloom in memory of his lost, beautiful boy. Enraged, Apollo sought vengeance but Zephyrus was protected by Eros, the god of love, on what seems the rather technical legal point of the intervention of Zephyrus being an act of love.  There was however a price to be paid for this protection, Zephyrus now pledged to serve Eros for eternity and the indebted god of the west wind soon received his first task.  There are other tales of how Cupid and Psyche came to marry but in this one, with uncharacteristic clumsiness, Cupid accidently shot himself with one of his own arrows of love while gazing upon the nymph Psyche and it was Zephyrus who kidnapped her, delivering his abducted prize to Cupid to be his bride.

Chloris and Zephyr (1875) by William-Adolphe Bouguereau (1825-1905), Musee des Beau-Arts of the Musées Mulhouse Sud Alsace.

Zephyros was in classical art most often depicted as a handsome, winged youth and a large number of surviving Greek vases are painted with unlabeled figures of a winged god embracing a youth and these are usually identified as Zephyros and Hyakinthos although, some historians detecting detail differences list a number of them as being of Eros (the god of Love) with a symbolic youth.  Although sometimes rendered as a winged god clothed in a green robe and crowned with a wreath of flowers, in Greco-Roman mosaics, Zephyros appears usually in the guise of spring personified, carrying a basket of unripened fruit.  In some stories, he is reported to be the husband of Iris, the goddess of the rainbow and Hera’s messenger and in others, Podarge the harpy (also known as Celano) is mentioned as the wife of Zephyrus but in most of the myths he was married to Chloris.  Chloris by most accounts was an Oceanid nymph and in the tradition of Boreas & Orithyia and Cupid and Psyche, Zephyrus made Chloris his wife by abduction, making her the goddess of flowers, for she was the Greek equivalent of Flora, and living with her husband, enjoyed a life of perpetual spring.

Lincoln Zephyr V12, 292 cubic inches (4.4 litre).  It was the last of the American V12s.

In the inter-war era, the finest of the big American cars, the Cadillacs, Lincolns, Packards and Duesenbergs, offered craftsmanship the equal of anything made in Europe and engineering which was often more innovative.  The 1930s however were difficult times and by mid-decade, sales of the big K-Series Lincolns, the KA (385 cubic inch (6.3 litre) V8) and KB (448 cubic inch (6.3 litre) V12) were falling.  Ford responded by designing a smaller, lighter Lincoln range to bridge the gap between the most expensive Ford and the lower-priced K-Series Lincolns, the intention originally to power it with an enlarged version of the familiar Ford V8 but family scion Edsel Ford (1893–1943; president of the Ford Motor Company 1919-1943), decided instead to develop a V12, wanting both a point of differentiation and a link to K-Series which had gained for Lincoln a formidable reputation for power and durability.  Develop may however be the wrong word, the new engine really a reconfiguration of the familiar Ford V8, the advantage in that approach being it was cheaper than an entirely new engine, the drawback the compromises and flaws of the existing unit were carries over and in some aspects, due to the larger size and greater internal friction, exaggerated.

Lincoln Zephyr V12, 267 cubic inches (4.4 litre).

The V12 however was not just V8 with four additional pistons, the block cast with a vee-angle of 75^o rather than the eight’s 90^o, a compromise between compactness and the space required for a central intake manifold and the unusual porting arrangement for the exhaust gases.  The ideal configuration for a V12 is 60^o and without staggered throws on the crankshaft, the 75^o angle yielded uneven firing impulses, although, being a relatively slow and low-revving unit, the engine was felt acceptably smooth.  The cylinder banks used the traditional staggered arrangement, permitting the con-rods to ride side-by-side on the crank and retained the Ford V-8’s 3.75 inch (90.7 mm) stroke but used a small bore of just 2.75 inches (69.75 mm), then the smallest of any American car then in production, yielding a displacement of 267 cubic inches (4.4 litres), a lower capacity than many of the straight-eights and V8s then on the market.

1941 Lincoln Zephyr coupe in Darian Blue.

The V12 was introduced in 1936 in the new Lincoln Zephyr, the name chosen to emphasize the wind-cheating qualities of the modernist styling which, with a raked windscreen and integrated fenders, was among the more successful of the streamlined, aerodynamic designs which followed the Chrysler Airflows which had encountered such market resistance.  A relatively low-weight and the presumed aerodynamic efficiency permitted more than respectable performance by the standards of the time but the engine did suffer teething troubles.  Because the exhaust system was routed through the block to four ports on each side of the engine, cooling was from the beginning the problem it had been on the Ford V8, only on a larger scale.  Although the cooling system had an apparently impressive six-gallon (22.7 litre) capacity, it quickly became clear this was under certain conditions marginal and the radiator grill was soon extended to increase airflow.  Nor was lubrication initially satisfactory, the original oil pump found to be unable to maintain pressure when wear developed on the many bearing surfaces; it was replaced with one that could move an additional gallon (3.79 litre) a minute.  Most problems were resolved during the first year of production and the market responded to the cylinder count, competitive price and styling; after struggling to sell not even 4000 of the big KAs in 1935, Lincoln produced nearly 18,000 Zephyrs in 1936, sales growing to over 25,000 the following year.  Production between 1942-1946 would be interrupted by the war but by the time the last was built in 1948, by which time it had been enlarged to 292 cubic inches (4.8 litre (there was in 1946, briefly, a 306 cubic inch (5.0 litre) version) over 200,000 had been made, making it the most successful of the American V12s.  It was an impressive number, more than matching the 161,583 Jaguar built over a quarter of a century (1971-1997) and only Daimler-Benz has made more, their count including both those used in Mercedes-Benz cars and the the DB-60X inverted V12 aero-engines famous for their wartime service with the Luftwaffe.  

1969 Ford (UK) Zephyr Zodiac Mark IV.

Lincoln ceased to use the Zephyr name after 1942, the V12 cars after then advertised simply as Lincolns, distinguished in name only by the coachwork.  The Zephyr badge was in 1950 revived by Ford of England for their line of mainstream family cars, augmented after 1953 by an up-market version called the Zodiac, noted for its bling.  The first three generations (1950-1966) were well-regarded (the Mark III (1962-1966) in most ways a superior car to the contemporary US Ford Falcon) and enjoyed success in both the home and export markets but the Mark IV (1966-1972), despite a tantalizingly advanced specification and offering a lot of metal for the money, proved so ghastly the name was retired when the range was replaced.  Not having suffered the tainted Mark IV Zephyrs, Ford felt it safe to recycle the Zephyr name in the US, firstly on the bland Mercury clone (1978-1983) of the (US) Ford Fairmont and finally, for a single year in 2006, on an undistinguished Lincoln which was almost immediately re-branded the MKZ.  There have been no Zephyrs since.

Lindsay Lohan resisting a zephyr's efforts to induce a wardrobe malfunction, MTV Movie Awards, Los Angeles, 2008.

Apothaneintheloish

Apothaneintheloish (pronounced uh-poth-un-inn-th-loe-ish)

An expression of a wish to die.

1968: The construct was apo + thanein + thelo + ish.  The Ancient Greek prefix ἀπό- (apó-) was from the preposition ἀπό (apó) (from, away from), from the primitive Indo-European hepo (off, away), the ultimate source also of the English words "off" & "of" and of (ab- came via Latin).  The English –ish was appended to create the adjectival form.  The -ish suffix was from the Middle English -ish & -isch, from the Old English -isċ (-ish (the suffix)), from the Proto-West Germanic -isk, from the Proto-Germanic -iskaz (-ish), from the primitive Indo-European -iskos.  It was cognate with the Dutch -s, the German -isch (from which Dutch would gain -isch), the Norwegian, Danish & Swedish -isk or -sk, the Lithuanian -iškas, the Russian -ский (-skij) and the Ancient Greek diminutive suffix -ίσκος (-ískos).  It was used to create adjectives (standard and (in the modern era) increasingly non-standard, even in slang as the stand-alone "ish" indicating “sort of”, “kind of”, “tending towards” etc).  In colloquial use it became a popular way to create both adjectives & nouns with a diminutive or derogatory implication.  The word was coined by the author Anthony Burgess (1917–1993).  Apothaneintheloish is an adjective.

A black-figure pottery vase (circa 500 BC) showing Thanatos (Death) and Hypnos (Sleep) carrying the dead body of the hero Sarpedon; discovered in Attica, Greece and now on display in the Metropolitan Museum of Art, New York.

In Greek mythology, Thantos was the god of death and the significance of Burgess's choice was that Thantos was associated specifically with a “graceful, peaceful departure from life”.  So, a vision of Thantos was a tap on the shoulder, a notice to quit the world and something known in English as "the visitation of the Angel of Death" and, except for those few wishing to go out in a “blaze of glory”, as one's death goes, a visit from Thantos was about as good as it got.   Thantos appears sometimes in commentaries by Freudians & neo-Freudians but Sigmund Freud (1856-1939) never used the word.  He used Todestrieb (death drive), the construct being Tod (death) +‎ -es- (in German a genitival interfix used to link elements in certain compounds) +‎ Trieb (sprout (but in the technical jargon of psychoanalysis specifically “drive” (in the sense of “desire, urge, impulse”)).  Freud in his famous Jenseits des Lustprinzips (Beyond the Pleasure Principle (1920)) borrowed the word (which he used more often in the plural (Todestriebe) (death drives) from Russian psychiatrist Sabina Spielrein (1885-1942 and a student and lover of Carl Jung (1875–1961)) who in 1912 had published the essay Die Destruktion als Ursache des Werdens (Destruction as the Cause of Coming Into Being).  The relationship between Freud & Spielrein was both convivial and entirely professional.  Thanatos came into popular use in psychoanalysis after it appeared in a paper by Austrian-American psychologist Paul Federn (1871–1950 and, like Freud, trained in Vienna).  Federn used Thanatos as a dichotomous contrast with eros (from the Ancient Greek ἔρως (érōs) (love, desire”) which in psychiatry) is used to describe the human “life drive” (the collective instincts for self-preservation).  In the profession it's used also of the libido and it's not only among the Freudians the link between the two uses is thought so fundamental.

The Greek phrase Apothanein thelo (I want to die) concludes the epigraph of TS Eliot’s (1888–1965) The Waste Land: “Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidiin ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent: Σίβνλλα τί ϴέλεις; respondebat illa: άπο ϴανεΐν ϴέλω.”  The text was from the satirical novel Satyricon, presumed written by the Roman courtier Petronius (Gaius Petronius Arbiter, circa 27–66), Eliot’s translation being: “I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the boys said to her: ‘Sibyl, what do you want?’ she answered: ‘I want to die.’”

Apollo and the Cumaean Sibyl (circa 1670), oil on canvas by Giovanni Domenico Cerrini, (1609-1681).  Sibyl is holding a handful of dust.

The Satyricon was a collection of tales, the misadventures of Trimalchio, a one-time gladiator in the Roman Empire of the first century AD and the passage is one of the few fragments of the text still extant.  Sibyl of Cumae was one of the great beauties of the age and Apollo, wanting her for his own, offered to grant her any wish.  Without a moment’s thought she asked to “live for as many years as there were grains in a handful of dust.”  Apollo granted her wish, but she anyway refused his affections and she came to regret things, over the centuries growing older and more decrepit but unable to die.  What she had wanted was an eternal youth but instead decayed into a figure tiny, frail and confined to her bed.  When Trimalchio speaks of her in the Satyricon, he describes her as a tourist attraction, a withered, ancient relic, longing to die.  As recounted by the Roman Poet Ovid (Publius Ovidius Naso; 43 BC–17 AD) in his Metamorphoses, Sibyl lived a thousand years and as she shrunk and shrivelled, eventually she was kept in an ampulla (jar); in her final years, only the faint echo of her voice remained.  She might have said, as the 99 year old Archbishop Daniel Mannix (1864–1963; Archbishop of Melbourne 1917-1963) grew fond of saying: “I have lived too long, but that is not my fault”.  That would have been half correct but, given Sibyl’s calling of prophesy, she had only herself to blame.

Apothaneintheloish appeared first in 1968 in an essay written by Anthony Burgess and published in The Listener:

“Waking crapulous and apothaneintheloish, as I do most mornings these days, I find a little loud British gramophone music over the bloody mary helps me adjust to the daily damnation of writing.”  It can be translated as: “Suffering from taking too much strong drink and feeling I want to die.”

Burgess had an extraordinary knowledge of words so probably felt entitled to kick language around a bit and it’s likely he’d not much have been concerned at any pedant drawing a red circle around the appended –ish, content the linguistic sin of mixing an English suffix into a otherwise Greek formation was minor compared with the world gaining a new adjective.  Such was the skill of Burgess that in his writing the rare and unusual words slurred effortlessly into the text, avoiding the tiresome, jarring effect achieved by some who seem intent to flaunt what Henry Fowler (1858–1933) in his austere A Dictionary of Modern English Usage (1926) called the “pride of knowledge”; Henry Fowler knew sin when he saw it on the page.  Others can do it too: the historian Piers Brendon (1940) made the discovery of novel forms a pleasure and when reading Umberto Eco’s (1932–2016) Il pendolo di Foucault (Foucault's Pendulum (1988)), some can’t resist keeping pencil & paper at hand, just to note down the most memorable.

Lindsay Lohan and her lawyer in court, Los Angeles, December 2011.

Burgess though probably made the trick most fun and without Burgess, would it have become known even slightly that vaccine can be an adjective?  It means “cow-like” so is a word for those who find bovine too repetitive or a bit common.  He also included gems like myrmidon (a faithful follower of someone or some institution who follows orders without demur), oneiric (of, suggestive of or pertaining to dreams), proleptic (the act of anticipation) and exiguity which should baffle most used to anything similar; it means “a tiny quantity” and was from the Latin exiguus (scanty), the antonym for which was the Pythonesque sounding adaequatus, the perfect passive participle of adaequō, the construct being ad- (near, at; towards, to) +‎ aequō (make equal, level or smooth).

Apothaneintheloish will of late have gained a new audience with the publication in January 2024 of The Devil Prefers Mozart, On Music and Musicians, 1962-1993, a compilation (Carcanet Press, edited by PaulPhillips (b 1956), an associate professor at Stanford University)) of Burgess’s (mostly) previously published pieces on the topic of music (something he grants and unexpectedly wide vista).  Although now remembered mostly as a novelist and literary critic, his attachment to music was life-long, reflected in the breadth of the 75 chapters of essays, reviews and letters plus the odd interview & transcription.  The book is divided into five parts (1) Musical Musings which ranges from thoughts on Shakespeare to the Beatlemania of the 1960s and the punk movement a decade later, (2) Composers and Their Music which is a list hardly less eclectic, including Monteverdi, Mozart, Wagner & Kurt Weill, (3) Burgess and His Music, a more personal assortment of material including some intriguing liner notes, (4) Performers and Performances which includes some interesting reflections on the less obvious aspects of affording a primacy to “the singer rather than the song” and (5) Of Opera, the West’s supreme art form.  Of particular interest to some will the focus on some of the now less than fashionable British composers, notably William Walton (1902–1983) and Edward Elgar (1857–1934).

Gerti Deutsch's (1908–1979) photograph of Hans Keller (1919-1855), London, 1961.  Keller was a noted Freudian and would these days be thought a suspected postmodernist.

It’s really not even necessary to have any great interest in music to be amused by this book because probably without the reader realizing it, what is so often being explored is the interplay between words and music, Burgess understanding “everything is text” even before the postmodernists made a cult of it.  It’s worth reading also for the waspish comments about the Austrian-born music journalist Hans Keller, best understood after listening to the composition Homage to Hans Keller (1982), written by Burgess in reaction to Keller’s review of his opera Blooms of Dublin (1982) based on James Joyce’s (1882–1941) Ulysses (1922).  Scored for four tubas (which should be a hint), the “homage” was very much in the spirit of Metal Machine Music which in 1975 Lou Reed (1942–2013) handed to his record company.  In that vein, an irony of his fame was that he became best known as the author of the novel A Clockwork Orange (1962) and that happened because of the notoriety achieved by the film version (1971), directed by Stanley Kubrick (1928–1999).

Cover of a first edition A Clockwork Orange (1962), signed by the author, (Aus$18,975.08 on eBay (left)) and a promotional poster for the film version (1971, right).  The film was based on the abridged US edition of the book which omitted the final chapter in which the protagonist undergoes something of a redemption.  That does change the moral effect but some critics thought the distinction slight, the film just too gratuitous in its depiction of sexual violence for the original's anyway ambiguous conclusion to be rendered much different. 

In Flame into Being (1985), his biography of DH Lawrence (1885–1930), Burgess would write: “The book I am best known for, or only known for, is a novel I am prepared to repudiate: written a quarter of a century ago, a jeu d’esprit (literally “game of the spirit” and used here to suggest something intended as a quick comment on an idea rather than anything substantial) knocked off for money in three weeks, it became known as the raw material for a film which seemed to glorify sex and violence. The film made it easy for readers of the book to misunderstand what it was about, and the misunderstanding will pursue me till I die. I should not have written the book because of this danger of misinterpretation, and the same may be said of Lawrence and Lady Chatterley’s Lover (1928).”  Scholars cataloguing his papers later found A Clockwork Orange was some two years in the making but that he didn’t deign even to mention the book by name was an indication of something and many suspect he’d have been not unhappy if remembered for the book and not the film which gained him a new audience, if not exactly the one he’d have preferred.  However, for those who like words, The Devil Prefers Mozart, On Music and Musicians contains enough expected Burgessian gems and like apothaneintheloish, there aren’t many other places to find multiguous, parthenogenetical, theodician, apodemoniosis, stichomythia or quinquennium.