Although the gods were in the distant skies,

Pythagoras drew near them with his mind . . .

We—the St. Louis Poetry Center and River Styx—were thrilled to meet with the Pulitzer staff this year to come up with ideas for literary programming to accompany the current exhibition and future ones. Visions of texts danced through our heads. Ovid alighted.

what nature had denied to human sight,

he saw with intellect, his mental eye.

Poems are made to be sung and sing we did this past weekend, in front of throngs who sat on stairs as the Greeks would have done, Romans, too.

When he, with reason and tenacious care,

had probed all things, he taught—to those who gathered

in silence and amazement—what he’d learned

of the beginnings of the universe . . .

The paintings listened, too, especially to the story of Cephalus and Procris. (She turns to him, Did it really happen that way?)

. . . of what caused things to happen, and what is

their nature: what god is, whence come the snows,

what is the origin of lightning bolts—

And the brave Pulitzer opened its doors so that the song would be seamless . . . from the world’s beginning to our day.

whether it is the thundering winds or Jove

that cleave the cloudbanks—and what is the cause

of earthquakes, and what laws control the course

of stars . . .

From day into night we read, our sentries at our side, for we are not just any marathoner. We crossed centuries, centuries we cannot even count, to find that

. . . in sum, whatever had been hid,

Pythagoras revealed.

Thanks to all who made this marathon possible. Bravissime. Bravissimi.--Lorin Cuoco