Was Her power nothing that you dare
to appear there before me,
in torn garment, in rent veil?
you were suave in the dusk,
as you stepped from the painted prow
toward the rowers’ tier,
your sandal shone silver;
by that, I knew you
who would know you anywhere;
you were suave but not simple,
your garment sheathed you
like an image in Egypt;
how long have we been here?
if I recalled Oenone,
I named another; are you that other
or do you dare impersonate Her?
you who were suave and cool,
with silver sandals, now walk
barefoot toward the door;
stop; vanish into thin air;
break the charm;
dissolve like fire;
do not repeat
Aphrodite’s inimitable gesture.
Book Four
[1]
So Helen finds her way to another lover, whose story is not so familiar to us as that of Paris and the early suitors. For Helen, we gather, was a child when Theseus, the legendary king and hero, stole her from Sparta. He had left Helen with his mother when he went to help his friend, Pirithoüs, steal Persephone from Hades. “We had sworn each to wed only God’s daughters, Swan-Helen and Eleusinian Persephone.” During the absence of Theseus on this “mad adventure,” the Dioscuri, Helen’s brothers, rescue her and take her home again.
Theseus: How did you get here, Helen,
do you know,
blown by the wind, the snow?
come here, come near;
are you a phantom,
will you disappear?
will the brazier dissolve you?
do you fear the embers?
I am Theseus, do you remember?
I left you with Aethra, my mother;
what became of her?
the Dioscuri made her your servant
when they took you back —
aië — fool that I was,
I was absent on a mad adventure,
the theft of Persephone
from Hades, in return for the help
that Pirithoüs had given me,
in stealing you from Sparta;
we had sworn, each, to wed only
God’s daughters, Swan-Helen
and Eleusinian Persephone;
I escaped Pluto’s rage,
but Pirithoüs was held prisoner;
then the Minotaur, Ariadne, the Labyrinth,
Hippolyta and the Amazons,
Phaedra of Crete;
these are names only,
where do they go, our old loves,
when love ceases?
and you? look — yes — you are here —
did you love me in Aphidnae,
where I left you with Aethra, my mother?
you must have loved me a little,
frail maiden that you still were,
when your brothers found you.
[2]
Theseus outlines this story and, philosophically, his other better known adventures. The love-stories, he tells us, have grown dim and distant, but the memory of the heroes, the Quest and the Argo is still vivid and inspiring. Helen appears “blown by the wind, the snow” and her garments cling to her, Theseus says, “like the carven folds of the Pallas, but frayed.” Though driven by the wind and snow, Helen seems to have taken on something of the attributes of the Athenian goddess, and of her “olive-wood statue that directed the Quest.” Perhaps she also reminds Theseus of his former encounter with Hippolyta, the devotee of Artemis, in her “huntsman’s boots.”
That is the law here,
perhaps everywhere, I do not know;
(come, shake the snow from your mantle,
if you fear my touch;
a shepherd’s cloak?)
that is the law here, perhaps everywhere,
that only Love, the Immortal,
brings back love to old-love,
kindles a spark from the past;
I had almost forgotten you, Helen,
but, in love, I was insecure,
only the heroes remained,
the Quest and the Argo;
stand there, stand there,
are you the Palladium,
the olive-wood statue
that directed the Quest?
you are older, your garments cling to you,
(now you have dropped your mantle),
like the carven folds of the Pallas,
but frayed, and your delicate feet
wear huntsman’s boots;
where have you been? what brought you here?
what kept you there in the cold?
[3]
But Helen must relinquish her borrowed cloak and “huntsman’s gear.” She is baffled and buffeted and very tired.
This is Athens, or was or will be;
do not fear, I will not immolate you
on an altar; all myth, the one reality
dwells here; take this low chair;
so seated, you are Demeter;
it was her daughter, your sister
that lost me Helena; all, all the flowers
of Enna are in your tears;
why do you weep, Helen?
what cruel path have you trod?
these heavy thongs,
let me unclasp them;
did you too seek Persephone’s
drear icy way to Death?
your feet are wounded
with this huntsman’s gear;
who wore these clumsy boots?
there — there — let the fire cheer you;
will you choose from the cedar-chest there,
your own fleece-lined shoes?
or shall I choose for you?
[4]
“A goddess speaks,” says Theseus. But it is rather the child Helen who says, “I wanted to come home.” She has quarrelled with Paris, she has left Achilles, though she had “found perfection in the Mysteries.” There is some readjustment to be made. Symbolically, Theseus unclasps the “heavy thongs” and finds that Helen’s “feet are wounded.” But Theseus will laugh at her and her presumptions and her borrowed “gear.” He will find fleece-lined shoes for her, the glowing embers in his brazier will revive her, together they will forget and together they will remember.
A goddess speaks; so throned
before an altar-fire (my brazier here),
a goddess dares reveal her soul;
“in all my search” (she says),
“the shadow followed the star;
it was the same everywhere;
I wanted to come home,
I found Paris”; “Paris?”
“I can not go on, on, on
telling the story
of the Fall of Troy;
do you know Achilles?”
“was he with us on the Argo?”
“I do not know;
Love is insensate and insatiable,
I found perfection in the Mysteries,
but I was home-sick for familiar trees,
I wanted to hear the wind, to feel
snow, to embrace an ancient
twisted pine, so I walked
a long way up a mountain
he called Ida;
I found in the out-shed,
when I passed the threshold,
this cloak, he was a shepherd,
and my feet, bruised in the dark,
seemed of themselves to find
these clumsy shoes;
laugh if you are Theseus,
and I think you are,
for you laughed once,
finding a Maiden
(Helena she was)
entangled in the nets
your huntsmen spread”;
“ — you spoiled our quarry — ”
“ — but to free the birds — ”
“ — and found yours
elf entangled — ”
“ — that is Love.”
[5]
There is the paradox of the years. Helen and Paris, in time, are about the same age. But Helen, having crossed the threshold into Egypt, finds on her return (though she says, “I shed my years on Leuké”) that she is incomparably older in perception and understanding than her former lover. The noble hero-king Theseus will find the solution for her. “All myth, the one reality dwells here.”
Laugh if you are Theseus, and I think you are,
(who wore these fur-edged shoes before?)
laugh Theseus, slay another Minotaur;
do the mysteries untangle
but to re-weave?
no, I do not grieve,
I am not really crying,
I lost the Lover, Paris,
but to find the Son;
old, old, old, are the Mysteries,
though I shed my years on Leuké,
as I dropped this mantle here,
my heart had been frozen, melted,
re-moulded, re-crystallized
in the fires of Egypt,
or in the fire of Death,
the funeral-pyre of the Greek heroes;
they the many, the One
were born of myself and Achilles,
our Son; but there is another,
single, alone, proud and aloof,
no Greek but a Trojan;
he hated Achilles; Achilles
was not his father,
nor was I, Hecuba, his mother;
did he hate Hecuba?
she exposed him on Ida,
like Oedipus, to die;
tell me, god-father,
how can I be his mother?
[6]
How reconcile Trojan and Greek? It is Helen’s old and Helen’s own problem. Truly, on Leuké, the dead must be reconciled, the slayer with the slain. Achilles? Paris? Trojan and Greek arrow alike, must be re-dedicated. For as Theseus says, we are “weary of War, only the Quest remains.”
It is one thing, Helen, to slay Death,
it is another thing to come back
through the intricate windings of the Labyrinth;
the heart? ember, ash or a flower,
you are Persephone’s sister;
wait — wait — you must wait in the winter-dark;
you say it is not dark here?
you say the embers make happy pictures
and he reminded you of Troy;
there was a fight on the stairs?
that is all you remember,
it was all a dream until Achilles came;
and this Achilles?
in a dream, he woke you,
you were awake in a dream;
you say this waking dream
was enough, until his mother came,
Thetis or another — it was his mother
who summoned you here;
is it her island, Leuké,
or is it Aphrodite’s? no matter,
belovèd Child, we are together,
weary of War,
only the Quest remains.
[7]
But Theseus, the legendary hero-king of Athens, in endeavouring to help Helen answer her own questions and “ reconcile Trojan and Greek,” seems inclined in spite of or perhaps because of the Argo and the Quest, to sympathize with the Trojan rather than with the Greek cause. He asks of Paris, “why did he hate Achilles?” and answers, “he hated the blight of the spears and Troy-town taken.”
Paris was Cypris’ favourite, you say,
therefore, he is her son, Eros,
or if you will, Adonis, they are one;
you, Helen, could never fight Love,
why did you run away? but I am glad
his anger brought you here;
come closer, draw nearer to Theseus,
until this heart-storm is over;
Paris will find you again, never fear;
why did he hate Achilles?
you must know the answer,
he hated his rival in War,
he hated the blight of the spears
and Troy-town taken; how could it be other
if he was your first Lover?
[8]
Theseus senses the danger of Helen’s recapitulation to her own apotheosis. “It is one thing, Helen to slay Death, it is another thing to come back.” She has come back, she has spoken of Paris as Eros-Adonis — “what scarlet, what purple, what fire,” Theseus exclaims. But Helen contradicts him, the fire is “brighter than the sun at noon-day, yet whiter than frost.” Again, this is the “flash in the heaven at noon that blinds the sun.” Theseus realizes that “it was all a dream until Achilles came,” but he would recall, re-vitalize and re-awaken Helen. “Even a Spirit loves laughter, did you laugh with Achilles? No.”
What flower from the wan water?
nenuphar, you say;
what flower with a crown of gold
or a heart or a core or a zone,
a flower within a flower;
what scarlet, what purple, what fire
of rose and bright cyclamen;
none of those, none of those, you say,
but brighter than the sun,
brighter than the sun at noon-day,
yet whiter than frost,
whiter than snow,
whiter than the white drift of sand
that lies like ground shells,
dust of shells —
— dust of skulls, I say;
what beauty, what rapture, what danger,
too great a suspense to endure,
too high the arrow, too taut the bow,
even a Spirit loves laughter,
did you laugh with Achilles? No.
Book Five
[1]
Helen must be re-born, that is, her soul must return wholly to her body. Her emotional experience has been “too great a suspense to endure.” Theseus recalls names from his own past, Ariadne, Phaedra, Hippolyta, as if to balance or match Helen’s Menelaus, Paris, Achilles “with bones or stones for counters.” But “of the many, many in-between?” he asks. “The memory of breath-taking encounters with those half-seen” must balance and compensate for the too intense primary experience.
There was always another and another and another,
shall we match them like knuckle-players
with bones or stones for counters,
the fatality of numbers?
the first? the last?
and of the many, many in-between,
importunate, breath-taking encounters
with those half-seen,
the wind billowing a sail
and the sail fluttering
and one half-balanced,
drawing the sail taut,
and then the sail is lost,
and we have only guessed
or half-guessed
at the turn of a head,
whose was the ensign (painted on the prow)
of one whose name, even, will be
an eternal enigma;
who was it? who did I see?
was this the embodiment of the host,
the lost, Ariadne, Phaedra, Hippolyta?
or was it Helen on the way to Egypt,
or was it Helen returning,
or was it Helen on the sea-road,
nearing Troy? was it one of these
or all three? reflections …
and a head half-turned to watch
a reeling tern, a sleeve,
a garment’s fold, no word, no whisper,
nor glance even … or was it a gull
she watched, a heron or raven
or plover? the eclipsed pillar
with the shadow showing darker,
for the white gleam above,
of sun-lit marble,
a certain sheen of cloth,
a certain ankle,
a strap over a shoulder?
remember these small reliques,
as on a beach, you search
> for a pearl, a bead,
a comb, a cup, a bowl
half-filled with sand,
after a wreck.
[2]
Helen must remember other loves, small things, “a pearl, a bead, a comb, a cup, a bowl,” and he tells her that she must “return to the Shell,your mother, Leda, Thetis or Cytheraea.” Theseus says that she is like a butterfly, “a Psyche with half-dried wings.”
What bird, ever, was less beautiful than man?
live with the Swan, your begetter,
return to the Shell, your mother,
Leda, Thetis or Cytheraea;
Achilles or Paris?
beyond Trojan and Greek,
is the cloud, the wind, the Lover
you sought in the snow;
I am half-way to that Lover,
so rest — rest — rest —
here, we are half-way to the mountain,
the mountain beyond the mountain,
the mountain beyond Ida;
you found your way through despair,
but do not look back,
neither across the dividing seas,
Helen in Egypt: Poetry (New Directions Paperbook) Page 8
