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Man perishes; his corpse turns to dust; all his relatives pass away. But writings make him remembered'
In ancient Egypt, words had magical power. Inscribed on tombs and temple walls, coffins and statues, or inked onto papyri, hieroglyphs give us a unique insight into the life of the Egyptian mind. For this remarkable new collection, Egyptologist Toby Wilkinson has freshly translated a rich and diverse range of ancient Egyptian writings into modern English, including tales of shipwreck and wonder, first-hand accounts of battles and natural disasters, obelisk inscriptions, mortuary spells, funeral hymns, songs, satires and advice on life from a pharaoh to his son. Spanning over two millennia, with many pieces appearing in a general anthology for the first time, this is the essential guide to a complex, sophisticated culture.
Translated with an introduction by Toby Wilkinson
384 pages, Kindle Edition
First published February 8, 2010
’who guides you, who guides you? I say, who guides you, who guides you? You have [strayed from] the way of life! Did heaven rain down arrows? I was [content] that Southerners bowed down and Northerners [said], “Put us in your shadow!” Did it alienate when the king...bearing gifts? The will is a steering-oar: it capsizes its owner if the wrath of god dictates; it sees heat as coolness...He who is seen with his father has not yet grown old. Your provinces are full of children.’
I had a well-armed guard-ship monitor the desert edge, the (other) boats following it as if it were a bird of prey, plucking up the seed of Avaris. I caught sight of women on top of his citadel, looking out from the windows towards the riverbank. Their bodies froze when they saw me, as they peeped out from the battlements like baby mice inside their holes, saying, ‘It is an attack!’
their names have become everlasting, (even though) they have departed this life and all their relatives are forgotten.
They did not make for themselves mausolea of copper with tombstones of iron; they did not think to leave heirs, children to proclaim their names: (rather) they made heirs of writings, of the teachings they had composed.
They gave themselves [a book] as (their) lector-priest, a writing-board as (their) dutiful son. Teachings are their mausolea, the reed-pen (their) child, the burnishing-stone (their) wife. Both great and small are given (them) as their children, for the writer is chief.
Their gates and mansions have been destroyed, thier mortuary priests are [gone], their tombstones are covered with dirt, their tombs are forgotten. (But) their names are proclaimed on account of their books which they composed while they were alive. The memory of their authors is good: it is for eternity and for ever.
Be a writer, take it to heart, so that your name will fare likewise.
Silence toward what is heard is like a contagion, but it is painful to answer the ignorant, and contradicting an opinion creates enemies. The mind does not accept the Truth. There is no patience with the reply to an opinion: all a man loves is his own words. Everyone is crooked to the core; honest speech has been forsaken.