“Boys, when you flood the field with your lean bodies soon,
scorn life and death; victory alone counts here on earth.
Don’t let the youths of noble blood mock at your fall
or shout that you were born for work and slavery only. 600
May earth on such a day gape wide and swallow us all!”
In their midst stood a humble altar raised to Hunger,
and the old gymnast snapped his three-lashed leathern whip
as round the unlaughing goddess with her empty dugs
the young men ran and cooled her flesh with their warm blood. 605
Meanwhile the well-fed noble youths stretched on the sands
and vied in praising the fine lines of each one’s body,
to demonstrate whose tight thighs, shoulder blades, or chest
bore witness that a god once bred with his ancestress.
But their own gymnast goaded them with stubborn words: 610
“O well-born lads, I think that poverty’s pale offspring,
who mock at pain and take their lashings silently,
shall shame your god-bred bodies in the ring today.
Forget the immortal blood that flows through all your tribe:
victors alone clasp gods, or from gods take their seed!” 615
The youthful bodies then like well-bred horses tossed
their heads and held their strength in check like noble lords;
they longed impatiently for that one moment in light
when they might prove their god-descended seed and grace.
Further away, on the low ground by the river’s edge, 620
played boys of myriad seed, those spawned by secret stealth.
When wars had dragged the Spartan men to far-off strands,
blond-bearded chieftains from the North descended south
and spied lone women stooped and tilling the hard soil:
“Madam, the farm work’s heavy; let me help you sow.” 625
“Stranger, that’s true; what wages shall you want this day?”
“A bit of bread; then, if you like, a kiss besides.”
Since the maids wished that, too, they closed the bargain soon,
the men bent to the yoke, plowed up the barren soil
and sowed, plowed in good measure the maids’ barren wombs, 630
till all together, farms and flesh, burgeoned with fruit.
A slender blue-eyed trainer set these youths on fire:
“Boys, I’ve a fine speech; chew it well, turn it to meat:
Our god’s a drunkard, a man-slayer, an eater of steak!
He bridges and unbridges rivers, roots up rocks, 635
grows thirsty and spies vineyards, hungers and spies grain,
turns to a mill and grinds, to a press and crushes grapes.
Come close, my lads, for now I’ll tell you a great secret:
Cast your eyes round: all that you see we’ll burn one day!”
Meanwhile the two kings came to view on a high mound, 640
Helen between them swayed like a tall lily’s stem,
and earth turned to a vase to hold its precious bloom;
the air was drenched with fragrance, and the people hushed
as all three gods enthroned themselves on lionskins.
The king gazed proudly on his people, his fat fields, 645
his ancient river, the bright youths grouped round the reeds,
then with glad heart and sated loins he raised his staff
and all the conches blared and the brave games of skill began.
When a poor shepherd’s flute was heard, the rushes moved,
and the first group of young men dashed into the ring, 650
their bodies scooped by hunger and devoured by toil,
but who still trod the earth with stubbornness and pride.
Their gymnast then approached the king and spoke out frankly:
“Great lord, we’re not of noble blood nor sport all day
to shape in these arenas, with untroubled calm, 655
the bodies given by earth, and turn them into spirit.
Forgive our lean flesh, king, devoured by heavy toil;
but we resist cruel need as much as man’s soul can,
and fight with stubborn wrath to turn it into freedom.
Now condescend, great king! Gaze on our liberation!” 660
He spoke, turned to his boys, raised his flute to his lips,
and their lean bodies listened to the reed’s shrill sound
until sound was transformed to spirit and air to storm
as their lean bodies swayed to the flute’s will in rhythm.
The threshers first fanned out across the field in pairs, 665
and with wide swinging curves, throwing their bronzed arms wide,
they cut invisible grain to the tuned air’s injunction.
For a long time they threshed to the shrill music’s beat
like nobles to whom workers’ toil seems sweet in dream
till you, brute work, become a god’s intoxication. 670
But then the tune changed suddenly as the flute grew bold,
their thighs stretched wide, legs gripped the ground, arms reached up high
then struck toward earth and struck again, glittering in light
as though woodcutters flailed their axes on far banks
and hewed down huge invisible forests silently. 675
And as they worked and shadow-hewed their woods of air,
a song of freedom burst from their enkindled chests
until the stooped soul of the workers leapt in sun.
This was no fancied game, nor no mere cutting of wood—
their eyes grew wild, froth edged their lips, and their necks swelled, 680
until the king leapt up in terror, shook his staff
and choked the bold song in the young men’s flaming throats.
Then with great wrath he waved the workers’ sons aside.
A throttled muttering sound rose from the seats below,
but the storm, smothered and flicked out, a shuddering only 685
flashed like mute lightning in the workers’ simmering breasts.
A lyre emerged then, wreathed with pure-white lily blooms,
and in the air re-echoed with high, tranquil tunes.
Archons puffed up like adders, the king leapt to his feet
to admire the noble bodies decked with flowers. He sighed, 690
remembering how in youth he, too, once shone in sun.
The sullen crowd looked on and whispered to each other:
“Their bodies are well fed, they shine and gleam, we know,
because they’re not worn out by toil nor drained by hunger.”
But who has ever heeded the poor workers’ words? 695
No god or noble has ever listened to their complaint.
Their arms twined round each other’s shoulders, the noble lads
advanced in a round wreath before the triple thrones,
and the swan’s daughter craved their unexhausted youth.
The earth rejoiced in pride, and even the sun stood still 700
as their old gymnast led and held his lyre aloft
with fingers white as lilies, then addressed the throne:
“I know of only one great joy on earth, O king:
to sit well washed and watch the beauty of noble youth.”
He spoke and struck his lyre, the handsome bodies swayed 705
then spread their hands so that their rosy fingers met
until a light-winged dance bent the lads slenderly
as though they were slim water plants in the sea’s depths.
The dance swirled on, the tune grew shrill, the bodies swayed
in the slant sun like fresh green reeds by the riverbank. 710
They whirled and reached the highest peak of their contending,
but just before the storm could break, the lyre grew calm
and balanced pure joy nobly with
the body’s grace.
The king’s eyes filled with tears to think of his own youth.
Oho, when he was still but a green lad of twelve, 715
how crossroads flamed, how the earth flowered wherever he walked!
One day a bearded man stole him and took him far
to the five springs of Mount Five-Fingers; in a thatched hut
they drank sweet wine till their minds swam, till mountains swayed
and a full vaporous moon rose crimson in the sky 720
like an enormous tom-tom thumped by wedding guests.
When their sweet honeymoon had ended, the man gave
the young boy gleaming armor, a strong lusty bull,
a large two-handled winecup to carouse with friends,
and when the boy plunged to his town from the high slopes, 725
all, kin and strangers, marveled at his hoarse new voice
and how he stalked his house like the one master there.
How fast the years had sped to where there’s no returning!
He turned to his old comrade to unburden his mind
but drew back, startled, when he saw his savage guest 730
leap to his feet and lash out at the youths with rage:
“Great is the gift of body’s grace here on this earth,
but I cry shame to that weak man who lives and flies
without great mental cares or burdensome grief of heart
I’ve been devoured by great spite, joys, brine, and gods, 735
but gaze on my gray head, O well-born sons of nobles—
it thrusts to pierce beyond nobility and beauty!”
The noble lads drew back in fear and stopped their dance,
the king grew red with wrath, scowled at his friend and thought:
“Fate has in him grown proud, the holy measure is smashed 740
that balances the good and evil powers within us.
May God grant that he go away from my side quickly!”
His thought was drowned in the great noise that filled the field,
for youths of unknown fathers rushed out brandishing high,
like flaming demons, swords and shields of glittering bronze. 745
Their chieftain, dragon-fierce beat on a brazen tray
and ruled their bodies with a swift but heavy beat.
They broke in ranks and then ran shouting in mock battle;
they played and seized each other, embraced and disengaged,
but more and more their blood boiled and their eyes grew wild 750
until, behold, the play turned real, the battle swelled,
till a slim youth rolled on the ground with shattered chin
and all went wild at smell of blood, for slaughter leapt
in veins, old, atavistic, and all flailed their swords.
Ah, what great joy to die in the games’ swift vertigo, 755
until your blood mounts to the boiling point and bursts
your narrow body nor longs to flow through idle veins!
Many strong bodies had fallen in the blood-red riot
and in the brimming froth of power, had not the king
risen in rage and ordered all disbanded swiftly 760
in shame, for they had stained that holy day with blood.
But the archer looked with longing on the burgeoning youths
and thought, “If only these wild bodies were all mine!
God, I’d let loose my lion-soul on them to do
all that I’ve left undone on land or sea or mind. 765
How can one withered body do all the heart desires?”
The flaming Evening Star flailed at the gathering dark,
the conches blared, and then the king rose and proclaimed:
“My people! I crown the noble youths victors in beauty
and in the stable governance of wrath and passion. 770
They kept their rhythm, scorned intoxication’s lust,
their bodies were obedient swords to their calm souls;
it gives me joy to wreathe their heads with the wild olive.”
He spoke, but the crowd seethed with uproar and yelled boldly:
“The victor’s crown belongs by right to the workers’ sons! 775
They mixed with skill their own strength and their country’s good,
each move they made surpassed an empty, formal grace.
We’ll raise an altar to these lads and rear in bronze
the one most handsome, zone it then with low wide walls
where pregnant maids may sit. in rows and gape at dusk.” 780
But the king struck his throne in wrath with his gold staff:
“Who said the people could judge? When have they ever been heard?”
A mass of heads swayed, torsos writhed in stormy air,
the wretched workers like a foaming hollow sea
thundered, and slowly pressed hard on their master, growling. 785
But suddenly there, between the mob and angry king,
the castle-wrecker’s arm stretched like a heavy wall:
“Great king, give me the right to grant the olive crown! . . .
I give this bitter wreath of manliness and freedom
not to the poor who thunder idly and spout words, 790
nor to the lustrous noble youths who strut and crow
as though all earth were a dancing floor and mind a garden—
I crown instead those heads that were blood-broken in battle!”
He spoke, and the games ended. Mob and archons fled
and took their several roads in swarms, but their hearts roared 795
of bad news, earth turned off its course, of law unsaddled,
of strangers who had burdened them with strange new gods,
all dark and evil signs of the world’s imminent end!
The queen leant forward in her white-horsed chariot, hushed,
while her belovéd handmaid held the golden reins; 800
her mind had flown far off to distant lands and peoples.
As in a cloud of light she rode to the castle’s crown,
her large nostalgic eyes caressed the sweating lads,
the reeds and ancient river, like a wandering dream.
In silence the two friends strolled by the river’s edge; 805
the torrid sun had sunk to rest, from the cool ground
the first sweet, quiet sounds of night began to rise.
Ah, sorrow makes strong knees grow weak, and the king walked
yet felt untimely old, for the mob speeds and casts
its kings like empty rinds on the road ruthlessly. 810
What conflagrations scorched his heart when he was young
and his flock followed, trembling, his bold spirited lead!
When he became a man, his heart merged with his people,
unnumbered brains spoke in his words whenever he thought,
and when he raised his hand, unnumbered hands rose too. 815
Sparla was a huge body then: men, beasts and tombs
that sprawled along the riverbank, and he its soul.
But now he dragged behind, his soul a mouthful of spoiled meat.
The stumbling king sighed heavily and stood stock-still,
and the heart-reader guessed his pain unerringly 820
but lashed out at his friend nor spared him in frank talk:
“Only the strongest soul has the firm right to rule!
If you want to hold Sparta, then your mind and strength
must far surpass all other Spartan minds and strengths.
If you but crack, then give your throne at once to your betters!” 825
The pallid king complained to his ungentle friend:
“Only a god may utter such unmerciful words,
for only the Immortals know not downfall or old age.
Aren’t you afraid that soon one day your mind and knees
will suddenly buckle, too, and fall to earth decayed? 830
Then a young man shall come
and make you eat your words!”
The savage athlete’s mouth turned to a bitter smile:
“Old friend, I battle night and day never to fall;
I look on youth as on my strongest sons and foes,
and they watch me impatiently with greed and search 835
my eyes for signs of dullness and my teeth for rot’
and if my mind still stands erect on battles peak.
But if a young man ever should come to make me quail,
then I’ll rise up at once myself, give him my throne,
and like a moribund old octopus drag down 840
my tentacles to the sea’s deepest pit, and croak there!”
The king was struck with terror, and all at once his flesh
and old bones melted in the slant sun’s spidery snares.
Night brimmed with soft caresses, waters filled with shade,
the first faint stars struck fire, and the slender moon 845
hung from night’s collar like a sacred amulet.
The lion stalked its prey and yawned with rumbling growls,
and far away on snowy peaks, in lichened woods,
knock-kneed and shaggy bears swirled in lightfooted dance.
Hunger and Eros prowled through mountain passes then 850
and softly slunk in hamlets, knocked on every door,
till boys and girls met slyly in delirious night
to tell each other lovers’ tales, and shadows rolled
entangled on the ground, by lickerish night devoured.
Wide riverbanks of honeysuckle shook the mind, 855
and soon the two great kings, old friends in joy and war,
hurried their pace, and arm in arm climbed toward the castle,
longing to see that godly form and calm their minds.
But when they reached the castle gate, from the black night
leapt seven monstrous women, seven towering men. 860
Rude leggings bound their shin-bones, sheepskins wound their flanks,
their coarse blond hair like hawsers tumbled down their backs,
and from their belts of rush hung pitch-black double-axes.
Glaring with blue eyes boldly on the king, they said:
“We bow low to your crown, O mighty Crown of Earth! 865
Our tribe sends us as heralds to your majesty;
we hunger and need earth to sow, good ground to grasp;
our starving race rolls down from the cold, craggy hills,
for here the fields turn green, the weather is sweetly warm
till now we haven’t the heart to rise and go elsewhere. 870
Give us your untilled fields, Great King, let us take root!”
The fourteen bodies reared and spread their roots like trees
The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel Page 24
