Ozymandias
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter'd visage lies, whose frown
And wrinkled lip and sneer of cold command
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamp'd on these lifeless things,
The hand that mock'd them and the heart that fed.
And on the pedestal these words appear:
"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare,
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
A zillion years ago, I sat in a high-school classroom in the Bronx, longing to be anywhere but there. The bright sunlight and welcome warmth of spring called out to me. Instead of math and literature, I was caught up in thoughts of girls and Frisbee. I was fifteen, maybe sixteen years old, and my world was a very different one than it is now.
In those days I was introduced to a poem written by Percy Bysshe Shelley, called Ozymandias. Unlike many other pieces of fine literature, I was more receptive to this one because it was just a few verses long. I could easily complete my class assignment to read the poem and still have plenty of time to spare for other springtime activities.
I first attempted to quickly scan through the poem, expecting to slam the book closed and run off in under five minutes, but that was not what happened. Instead, I was transfixed by the words and the concepts they represent. I spent hours contemplating what I read.
Ozymandias was an ancient king who understood the power of outdoor advertising, and I imagine that he spent his life in a state of unrest. On the one hand, he lived in a great big palace and each day he went about the business of leading his people. As a great twentieth-century philosopher once said, “it’s good to be the king.”
But on the other hand, Ozymandias couldn’t sit back and peacefully enjoy his success. Instead, he was keenly aware that there were those who did not wish him well. And so, Ozymandias evidently spent a good portion of his time building a huge monument at the entrance to his kingdom, pointing out his extensive achievements, and warning his enemies not to mess with him. However, despite Ozymandias’ efforts, the essence of the poem is a lesson about futility.
Ozymandias’ colossal monument is now seen as a “colossal wreck,” as it lies in ruin. So too, every man’s achievements eventually turn to dust. Everyone’s joy, sorrow, battles, and achievements are all eventually erased by the sands of time. At least that’s the most prevalent analysis of the Ozymandias poem.
For me, Ozymandias is also about perspective and about making certain choices. Would Ozymandias have made different choices if he had the benefit of 20-20 hindsight? Would he have spent his time differently and focused his energy on different pursuits if he could have seen his crumbled statue through the eyes of the traveler many years later? As a high-school student I would have said yes. But now, as I’ve lived a considerable amount of life since my teenage years, I’m not so sure.
Like Ozymandias, every person builds their own private kingdom and hopes to enjoy the fruits of his or her labor. In this context, every person is a king or queen, whether living in a grand castle or in a simple shack. To counter life's challenges, some people erect great monuments in the desert, some build walls around themselves, some arm themselves with false bravado, and some even launch attacks on others and then express great surprise when they are hit back.
No matter what the tactic, most people get to see the results of their actions, and the longer the time that has elapsed, the clearer the perspective becomes. At least theoretically. So, as the years go by, I find it interesting to see that despite having gained perspective, some people make the same mistakes over and over, as if they’re starring in the movie "Groundhog Day."
Would Ozymandias bother wasting time building grandiose monuments that would eventually lie in ruin? Maybe...
What would I do? I don’t know, but one thing’s for sure: I wouldn’t invest my time or effort building defenses against a threat that no longer exists.
