If you think reciting ancient poetry verges on the boring, get a load of this:

"Let’s get in bed now and make love. No goddess or woman has ever made me feel so overwhelmed with lust."

Or this:

"He leapt from the bank like a spirit from hell bent on slaughter. He struck over and over… and the river turned crimson with blood."

Those lines were spoken at The Getty Villa on Saturday as part of a rich tradition dating back thousands of years. Along with 150 volunteers, I read Homer’s The Iliad in a sold-out marathon lasting more than eight hours. The unique occasion was the brainchild of The Readers of Homer, a nonprofit organization that presents epic stories in continuous marathons with people of all ages and backgrounds. 

Founded by professor and poet Kathryn Hohlwein, the Readers stage elaborate events in unique venues around the world, including Homer’s homeland on the Greek island of Chios; the 92nd Street Y in New York City; Alexandria, Egypt; and Montevideo, Uruguay.

“I think the joy of a communal shared experience is something great and rare in our culture now,” Hohlwein said. “People take this very seriously and really contribute their best; it matters to them. They don’t want to flub it and you see them rising to the occasion. You can feel that and that’s what helps carry the story along.”

Those who signed up journeyed from as far away as Sacramento and San Diego. The ages of participants ranged from 6 to a wheelchair-bound man approaching 100. Each reader was issued a passage of 40 to 50 lines, a time slot, guidelines and a number (I was 94).

“Ultimately, it is a very simple thing, nothing fancy,” said Yannis Simonides, vice president and managing director of The Readers of Homer. “The only rules are that you do not comment and you don’t identify yourself. Nobody knows who you are. For instance, we don’t know if you’re the minister, the president, or the street cleaner. Then there’s the child of 6 and the old man of 90. And one’s an Arab, another’s a Turk, and the third is a Swahili man, each one bringing his or her own culture, their own language, their own take on Homer. So you have a mosaic.”

At 10 a.m., Simonides, Hohlwein and the Getty’s director of antiquities, Karol Wight, introduced the festivities, followed by a moment of silence for the people of Japan.

Stanley Lombardo, whose translation served as source material for the reading, was chosen to both open and close the marathon, speaking in ancient Greek. In addition to English, other languages were heard, including French and German. Some passages were sung. In previous presentations, the Readers of Homer have included a blind person using braille and a puppeteer who spoke through a dummy.

For those not familiar with the epic poem, the action takes place during the Trojan War, with plenty of blood-drenched battles, heroic figures and intervening gods and goddesses. The Getty Villa was an inspired venue for the reading, since several art pieces in the museum’s collection reflect incidents from the saga. 

“Just being in the environment of the Getty Villa, you can’t get much better than that,” said Audrey Wishnick Greenberg, an attorney.  She practiced with an acting coach to help her deliver her lines with dramatic flourish.

Alice Howell, a schoolteacher in San Diego and a member of the Readers of Homer, received high praise after reciting some lust-filled scenes.

“The passage I read was the way Hera, Zeus’ wife, was going to trick him," she said. "They were like a married couple for two different sides of the war. It’s as if one were a Republican and one been a Democrat. So she gets the plan to distract him by making love to him.”

Howell offered her own theory on the significance of The Iliad and its enduring popularity. 

“All the superheroes and all the desperate housewives, all that is really based on older writings,” she said.  “Sex sells. War sells. Heroes. It has everything. Nothing’s original. This was the first oral work that was doing all these things. That’s why it lives on.”

Around 3:30 p.m., I was summoned to the stage. Looking out at the crowd, I understood what it must have felt like in ancient times, bringing this timeless classic to a captive audience whose only source of entertainment was the spoken word.

A little nervous, I delivered my section with as much eloquence as I could muster, adding a dash of drama when appropriate. Howell gave me a thumbs up, and helped put things in perspective.

 “Nothing was ever written down, so this was their television, right?” she said. “And for this day and age, to do something this long and have immediate gratification and have people take turns, it’s just not done anymore. It’s really a neat opportunity.”

Simonides summed up the significance of this extraordinary undertaking.

“To me these classics who are, by admission, the greatest stories ever written, they have a lot to tell us, so we need to listen,” he said. “They are our masters, our teachers.”