Poem: The mask of Agamemnon

 Pale gold, thin as card, shaped to a face,

heavy-lidded eyes like cowries, and a smile.
Not a happy smile,
but rather a smirk: 

Look at me! see what I have done!

This face, not Helen's, launched the thousand ships,
burned Troy, murdered his own daughter,
to avenge an insult to the family,
to not lose face.

Then, down into darkness, unrotted in the grave,
out of sight of man for endless centuries,  
only the gods could see. To them it smiled
saying, "Because I am a hero, I chose war and slaughter, and thereby saved my face." 

And since Schliemann dug it from the earth:

this face was saved 
- though nothing else was.

 Troy was lost
and soon after, Mycenae too was lost; but this face was not lost.

Now, saved for ever

 behind bullet-proof glass
stronger than stone walls and Lion Gates,
under fluorescence brighter
than any sun of Hellas:
Agamemnon: great king
of mighty Mycenae

once more in state
immortalised in story and in gold,
smiling at the awestruck multitudes,

look at me! see what I have done! 
What more could any king desire?

pgs