to the sand and the hieroglyphs,
nor further (though nearer)
to the Towers and the blackened Walls,
there is nothing to fear,
you are neither there nor here,
but wavering
like a Psyche
with half-dried wings.
[3]
So as if to reassure, to strengthen this Psyche, this revenant, Theseus tells her his own story, and to allay her fears of “the Towers and the blackened Walls,” recalls his own primeval terror. But the Minotaur, in retrospect, was “an idle fancy, a dream, a Centaur.”
There was always another and another and another,
these were the knots in the thread,
or rather the strands of hemp-like wool
that I stuffed into my wallet:
one knot after another,
I named them, Aethra, my mother —
who were the others?
I remembered them then,
I forgot them soon after;
those were the knots in the woof
of different texture and colour
that Daedalus gave Ariadne;
she would wait for me
at the threshold, if I ever came back
from the Monster — the Minotaur?
my child, an idle fancy,
a dream, a Centaur,
hallucination of infancy;
so we were drawn back,
back to the past,
and beyond, to the blessèd isles,
and beyond them to Lethe,
and beyond forgetfulness
to new remembrance,
and beyond the new remembrance
to the opiate of non-remembrance,
when the spark of thought goes out,
only the bliss of the immortal fields,
(they called it Death);
they had gone on, the rest,
the seven and the seven
demanded as tribute;
Crete? magic: Athens? thought,
the delight of the intellect,
but what is thought
to forgetting?
[4]
The mountain, the reality, Theseus seems to argue, must recall us from the dream, “the opiate of non-remembrance.” The magic of Crete was inherited from Egypt. Parnassus, or Greek creative thought, must not be entangled in the Labyrinth or dissolved or washed away by “the ancient Nile.”
Perhaps I saw him sleeping in the grass,
as gentle as Europa’s noble beast;
was he myth or fiction,
an invention of Daedalus,
even as the Labyrinth?
or was it true
that I dealt him his death-blow?
and was it true, as I argued afterwards,
that I slew Egypt?
Crete would seduce Greece,
Crete inherited the Labyrinth from Egypt,
the ancient Nile would undermine
the fabric of Parnassus;
was this true? I think I named them,
knotting the bright threads,
Hymettus, Parnes, Lycabettus,
even as your Guardian (you told me)
recalled you with Cithaeron.
[5]
And all this time, Helen has apparently been seated before the glowing coals. “Take this low chair,” Theseus had said, and now, “shall I draw out the low couch, nearer the brazier?” He will cover her with fleece or if that is too heavy, with “soft woven wool,” so that she (“my Psyche”) may “disappear into the web, the shell, re-integrate.” She is safe, she need not be afraid “to recall the shock of the iron-Ram, the break in the Wall” or equally, she is free to forget everything. But Helen’s only answer to that is “never … Achilles.”
Rest here; shall I draw out
the low couch, nearer the brazier,
or will you lie there,
against the folds of purple
by the wall? you tremble,
can you stand? walk then,
O, sleep-walker; is this fleece
too heavy? here is soft woven wool;
wrapped in this shawl, my butterfly,
my Psyche, disappear into the web,
the shell, re-integrate,
nor fear to recall
the shock of the iron-Ram,
the break in the Wall,
the flaming Towers,
shouting and desecration
of the altars; you are safe here;
remember if you wish to remember,
or forget … “never, never,”
you breathe, half in a trance …
“Achilles.”
[6]
There are new names, Chryseis, Deidamia, Briseis; they seem unrelated to our Achilles concept. Nor does the story of Polyxena, the Trojan princess, sacrificed to placate the ghost of Achilles, seem altogether relevant. Theseus begins “to remember the story.” It is another story. He seems deliberately to have stepped out of the stream of our and of Helen’s consciousness. Why? He has told her that she was safe with him. He reminds her that she “found life here with Paris.” His Achilles lingering with Polyxena (“leave him with the asphodels”) is not Helen’s Achilles “on the desolate beach.”
I begin to remember the story,
do I remember what you remember?
but could you know of the sacrifice
of Polyxena, Hecuba’s daughter,
the sister of Paris? could you know
that Achilles desired her,
and the ghost of Achilles
demanded her sacrifice?
his son slew her;
there was Chryseis, Apollo’s priestess,
and his own wife, Deidamia,
the mother of Pyrrhus,
and Briseis — and what other?
they were all sacrificed in one way or another;
after death, if his spirit desired
Polyxena, why should you imagine
that he left her? was he not content?
leave him with the asphodels,
you found life here with Paris;
you loved brother and sister,
and more (the story unfolds itself),
Pyrrhus, his son, married your daughter;
“Hermione? never, it was Orestes loved her,
the son of Clytaemnestra, my sister”;
how do you know that?
can you read the past
like a scroll?
[7]
Helen has heard what he said but she lies “quietly as the snow, drifted outside.“Theseus’ words with the names of the four women “sacrificed in one way or another“seem hardly to have reached her. She can only ask, “does the ember glow in the heart of the snow?” and then answer, “there is a voice within me, listen — let it speak for me.”
It comes to me, lying here,
it comes to me, Helena;
do you see the cloth move,
or the folds, to my breathing?
no, I breathe quietly,
I lie quietly as the snow,
drifted outside; how did I find
the threshold? marble and snow
were one; is this a snow-palace?
does the ember glow
in the heart of the snow?
yes — I drifted here,
blown (you asked) by what winter-sorrow?
but it is not sorrow;
draw near, draw nearer;
do you hear me? do I whisper?
there is a voice within me,
listen — let it speak for me.
[8]
It is an heroic voice, the voice of Helen of Sparta. The loves of Achilles, the loves of Helen of Troy seem ephemeral and unimportant beside their passionate devotion and dedication to “the rage of the sea, the thunder of battle, shouting and the Walls.”
Theseus, god-father, what of that other
and that other, you speak of,
the loves of Achilles?
do I care? I am past caring<
br />
and he was past caring
when he found me;
O, the surge of the sea,
O, the billows,
O, the mighty urge
of the oak-prow,
the creak of oak-beams,
the sway of the mast,
it was only a small ship, the last,
(yes, we called it a caravel),
yet it was a Ship to hold all;
did the Spirits travel with him?
or did they come before?
but listen — it is no matter,
they, Achilles and I
were past caring;
O, the rage of the sea,
the thunder of battle,
shouting and the Walls
and the arrows; O, the beauty of arrows,
each bringing surcease, release;
do I love War?
is this Helena?
Book Six
[1]
Again, the “voice” seems to speak for Helen. It is a lyric voice this time, a song rather than a challenge. It takes us back to Egypt but in a Greek mode. Isis is Cypris (Cytheraea) and Isis is Thetis. Amen-Zeus is the father of Isis-Thetis-Aphrodite (Cypris). We can not altogether understand this-evocation, the rhythms must speak for themselves and the alliterations, Cypris, Thetis, Nephthys, Isis, Paris. Proteus, the legendary King of Egypt, as we have learned before, takes many shapes. Could he “manifest as Achilles?” If so, (the question is not asked but implied), could he manifest as Paris? Then, could the two opposites (the slayer and the slain) merge into one, and that One, the Absolute? This last question is implicit but not formulated by the final phrase or strophe, “Amen begot Amor.”
Cypris, Cypria, Amor,
say the words over and over,
what does she want, this Cypris,
for Cypris is Thetis;
seek not another Star (she said),
O Helen, loved of War:
War, Ares, Achilles, Amor;
Karnak was her temple;
Amen-Zeus is her father, my father,
his temple is our temple,
there, I sought Clytaemnestra;
I called my sister, Astarte
or Nephthys, twin-sister of Isis,
and Isis is Cypris, Cypria;
what does she want? why Paris?
why does he come to haunt
my dream here, my half-trance,
my trance, Nepenthe, forgetfulness?
(say the words over and over,
Cypris, Cypria, Amor);
Paris was no friend of Achilles,
could Achilles be father of Amor,
begotten of Love and of War?
(say the words over and over);
was Proteus his father?
could Proteus, king of Egypt,
of many names, of many shapes,
manifest as Achilles?
stop — O voice prompting my strophies,
stop — how could that be?
if Thetis was Cypris, Cypria,
(you say) who could not Achilles be?
in the temple, in the dark,
in the fragrance of the incense,
without touch, without word,
by a thought, Amen begot Amor.
[2]
Now Helen asks the question, “must youth and maturity quarrel?” The heroic Spartan Helen had, like the hero-king Theseus, “passed the frontier, the very threshold.” Theseus had been successful in his Quest of the symbolic Golden Fleece, Helen in her Quest of Love. But in both cases, there was an enemy to be conquered, “they called it Death.” “ — and then? the way out, the way back, the way home.”
Paris was my youth — don’t you see?
must youth and maturity quarrel
but how reconcile
the magnetic, steel-clad Achilles
with the flowering pomegranate?
in Rhodes (Paris said) they called me
Dendritis, Helena of the trees;
can spring forget winter?
there was no winter in Egypt,
but I passed the frontier,
the very threshold you crossed
when you sought out the Minotaur;
was Achilles my Minotaur?
a dream? a dream within a dream?
a dream beyond Lethe?
Crete? magic, you say,
and Crete inherited the Labyrinth,
and Crete-Egypt must be slain,
conquered or overthrown — and then?
the way out, the way back,
the way home.
[3]
So “Eros? Eris?” are again balanced in the mind of Helen, or Eros and Death.
Is there another stronger than Love’s mother?
is there one other, Discordia, Strife?
Eris is sister of Ares,
his unconquerable child is Eros;
did Ares bequeath his arrows
alike to Eros, to Eris?
O flame-tipped, O searing, O tearing
burning, destructible fury
of the challenge to the fairest;
O flame-tipped, O searing,
destroying arrow of Eros;
O bliss of the end,
Lethe, Death and forgetfulness,
O bliss of the final
unquestioned nuptial kiss.
[4]
And Eris is this fire-brand, Paris, and Eros is again, the “unconquerable child.” How reconcile the opposites? Helen endeavours to do this, with partial success. Perhaps, for her, the transition is possible, or the “subtle genealogy.” For us, “this is no easy thing to explain.” The slayer becomes the son of the slain, “he is incarnate Helen-Achilles.” This is perhaps a pre-vision on Helen’s part of the traditional Euphorion to come. But we feel that Helen will return to her original concept or a new revelation of the “heroes slain.”
Paris was cursed like Helen;
his mother dreamed of a fire-brand
and the Towers a-flame
and War came; Hecuba like Jocasta
was overthrown (by Paris, by Oedipus,
the son); O the web is sure
and Fate shall net her own,
and Fate will play another trick
like Hermes, the jester;
he of the House of the Enemy,
Troy’s last king (this is no easy thing
to explain, this subtle genealogy)
is Achilles’ son, he is incarnate
Helen-Achilles; he, my first lover,
was created by my last;
can you understand this?
it was not Pyrrhus, at the end,
it was not some waif of Achilles’ Chryseis
or Briseis begetting, nor a ghost-child
or Polyxena; no, it was not the legitimate
Pyrrhus who slew Priam, the father of Paris,
but Paris himself, Paris whose swift arrow
(O Wolf-slayer) pierced the Achilles-heel;
alike but different, apart from the heroes slain,
but one, one other, the other,
incarnate, manifest Egypt;
he, the fire-brand, was born of the Star,
was engendered under the cloak
of the new-mortal Achilles;
O Thetis, O sea-mother, I prayed under his cloak,
let me remember, let me remember,
forever, this Star in the night;
it was Thetis, the sea-mother
recalled me from Egypt, with “Achilles waits”;
how could I know, the fire-brand, the ember,
the Star would return — but other;
this is no easy thing
to understand, O god-father;
draw close, draw closer,
take my hands in your hands,
teach me to remember,
teach me not to remember.
[5]
Helen has gone too far or not far enough. Theseus recalls her from her abstraction, her Absolute, the “Star in the night.” The child (like Prote
us-Amen) takes many forms. And in her case especially, there are the twin-brothers and the twin-sister to consider. She is (or was) a composite of all these, “growing within the Egg.” Zeus-Amen decreed that two of the four should be born of light, the other two of darkness. The child of light will strive to redeem the child of darkness, “Castor received immortality through Pollux, you sought (do you still seek?) Clytaemnestra in Egypt?”
Helen — Helen — Helen —
there was always another and another and another;
the rose has many petals,
or if you will, the nenuphar,
father, brother, son, lover,
sister, husband and child;
beyond all other, the Child,
the child in the father,
the child in the mother,
the child-mother, yourself;
O Helena, pause and remember,
lest you return to that other
and flame out, incandescent;
remember your earthly father,
Tyndareus; some say he embraced
your mother, Leda, before or after
Helen in Egypt: Poetry (New Directions Paperbook) Page 9
