The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  all waited for the holy moon to rise and light the world.

  Fires in every town and hamlet were put out, and flame

  still lingered only on the Bull-God’s steaming wicks;

  all looked toward dawn when the new fire would light their hearths.

  A golden lamp within the courtyards smoking serine 895

  shone softly flickering and caressed the fertile Mother

  who held her swelling breasts as votive offering high,

  while the male double-ax hung over her, and swung.

  Then white-winged Helen reposed at last like soil on earth,

  and shut her gracious eyes, but in her mind still saw 900

  the fat, rotund great goddess with her spreading flanks;

  her eyes dimmed and her mind spun till there rose from earth

  the holy fruitful tree of the dark goddess—sleep.

  Gold votive offerings hung like apples from its boughs,

  and with a mother’s sleep-alluring languid lullaby 905

  the votive tree kept rustling till the seductress slept;

  but then with a light twist of her unguarded mind

  the full tree vanished, and above her bosom hung

  a cluster of firm grapes, a bloodstained double-ax.

  She laughed and raised both breasts on high as votive gifts. 910

  Thus did the famous beauty dream on palace tiles,

  but at her side the sleepless archer fought his heart

  and gripped it like a snapping bitch to choke its yelping.

  The door guard had not quaked to hear his dreaded name

  but spurned him with no fear or reverence, barred the door, 915

  so that his savage flame-filled heart had rushed at once

  to fall on that pigheaded guard, break down the doors,

  and, by a hair, had almost dragged the body with it.

  Now sleepless and distressed, he took his heart to task:

  “Bitch, will you still resist and bite your chains with rage? 920

  You’re not the master at my castle’s brazen doors,

  nor can you shut out or invite all those you please!

  And when the sentry thwacked us with his heavy spear,

  didn’t you hear me cry to swallow your tongue, you bitch?

  But you howled on nor stopped until I called you thrice. 925

  Don’t hurry, you poor wretch. Be patient, our time will come.”

  Thus did the great heart-battler argue all night long;

  he clenched and then unclenched his fists to grip his thoughts

  as though composed of bodies, spears, or kindling wood.

  The air blew like a sweet and cooling summer breeze, 930

  lilies and myrtles swayed, and in the lofty comice

  the royal banners flapped, the double-axes gleamed,

  till suddenly in the frenzied mind of the sea-battler

  the night-drenched palace rose like a great-masted ship.

  Oho! See how it proudly scuds with open sails 935

  loaded with all the riches of earth, sea and mind;

  but all the foaming waves are full of reefs, the pilot drunk,

  and God sits in the laden hold and rips the heavy planking!

  Then the light sleeper rose and cocked his subtle ears,

  for far in the high mountains, in God’s twisting gullet 940

  the king groped toward the cavern to regain his youth.

  The Serpent Sisters slowly in the waning moon

  began to sway with naked feet on the courtyard tiles

  that their shrill cries and dancing might sustain their king

  who walked the perilous verge now of the Bull-God’s path. 945

  They leapt like slender tiger-cubs in the moon’s light,

  and their unmounted bodies were coiled tight with power;

  looped thrice about their arms, or hissing from their hair,

  the sacred snakes of ritual slid in smooth contortions.

  Raising their hands toward the high hills, the maidens cried: 950

  “O Mother, Mother, mistress of mountains, sea, and air,

  whose gorged breasts burst with anguish of redundant milk,

  Crete weeps and starves! Come to her shores now, give her suck!

  Ah, Mother, may the exhausted earth revive once more

  that our great seed may sprout, our trees bear flower and fruit, 955

  our headlong herds increase, our green ravines and vales

  wabble with newborn lambs of white wool, black, and gray;

  and may our ships sail always with fair winds once more

  while you, a gorgon at their prow with savage eyes,

  cut new roads in the waves for Crete to spread her claws. 960

  Strengthen the loins of our pale men, pity our maids

  and give them swelling breasts that flow with milk and honey!

  Crete calls with all her loam! Dear Mother, fill her womb!

  Crete calls with all her horses, Mother, her sheep and ox,

  Crete calls with all her men, her women beg and wail, 965

  come spread your holy hands above our old king, Mother!”

  Thus did the Serpent Sisters cry in whirling dance,

  swaying on high their snake-kissed arms in the moon’s light

  till the crowd surged and men and maids struck up a dance

  then raised their hands on high and shouted toward the hills: 970

  “O Mother-Mistress, Huntress, Priestess, Captain, come,

  come to this court, come down and take the lead, come kick

  this earth and whirl it like a spinning top anew!”

  The people shouted till their temples creaked like gates,

  their brains spilled from their skulls and boiled like seething must, 975

  their minds grew savage as all former boundaries broke,

  and when a shadow suddenly leapt on tiles, they gasped—

  wild hair, bow stained with blood, shrill twang of speeding arrow!

  It leapt high, seized the lead and swirled the dancers round;

  the bridegroom lost his bride, the young girl her betrothed, 980

  the dancers wept and whined and howled for their return,

  but Death, their Leader, raged and threshed them like a whirlpool

  till all, with throats caught in the lime-nets of the moon,

  burst out in joyous and bold song like nightingales

  who vanish, lovesick, carefree, lost in flowering shrubs. 985

  But all at once the swift dance broke and all sides scattered;

  a vulture’s shrill cry sounded from the palace stairs

  and all with terror hid themselves near the squat columns.

  The women screamed, and pressed their hands against their ears:

  “It’s Phida, shrill-voiced, first-born daughter of our king! 990

  God’s heavy hand has felled her once again, she’s moonstruck!”

  Leaning against the sacred double-axes by the stairhead,

  a young ecstatic girl with red rags round her waist

  flung her pale hands on high with rage and beat her breasts:

  “Great God, for years I’ve torn my heart out calling you! 995

  Rise from the earth, you slayer, gird on your iron armor,

  spew fire and burn our ships to coal, scorch Crete to ash!”

  She screamed, foamed at the mouth until her pale throat choked,

  and then she tumbled headlong down the darkened stairs.

  In terror of the moonstruck girl the people fled, 1000

  but through the scattering crowd the archer strode and knelt

  above the shriveled form convulsed in the sallow moon.

  A dread bloodthirsty god sucked at the young girl’s brains

  and she like a hooked fish thrashed wildly to cast off

  the curved iron hook that jabbed deep in her choking throat. 1005

  Then the much-suffering archer gently raised her head

  so that she might
not break her skull on the hard stones,

  and watched in silent fear the whites of her wild eyes

  turned upward, glazed, or rolling round in bloodstained sockets.

  But as he reached to wipe the sweat from her damp lobes, 1010

  the gates were suddenly flung wide, bald eunuchs dashed,

  stooped down, then from the earth scooped up the girl like rags,

  and vanished, fleeting down the palace corridors.

  Odysseus, deeply wounded, stretched on myrtle boughs

  and brooded on the weak and pallid soul of man: 1015

  a small sail on a small boat by all four winds thrashed.

  He leant his harsh head gently by a column’s base

  till the flesh-healing god of sleep leant mutely down

  and all night stitched with care the cracked seams of his skull.

  Thus did the spacious courtyards shrill in the sick moon, 1020

  but pairs of dancers in four rounds rose quickly again

  as all strained to enkindle and sustain their king.

  Meanwhile, Idomeneus crawled on craggy cliffs

  and wanly smiled with hairless lips as his flat pate

  shone dimly in the silver moon like a bleached skull. 1025

  At length he crawled close to God’s mouth, a deep dark pit,

  and stood near, panting, gasping long to get his breath.

  A cool wind gently blew, and all the stars marked out

  with mystic characters what fate had foreordained.

  He cackled dryly with his withered, toothless gums; 1030

  “My wretched forebears scanned the stars at night with fear

  and yearned for a good sign before they dared to thrust.

  their noses in God’s cave to see the Holy Mother;

  but now I bring them gold—that is, both sky and stars!”

  He spoke, then boldly thrust himself through the low entrance 1035

  and squirmed upon the cavern’s glooming slippery stones.

  The cavern’s arches spread until God’s monstrous mouth

  gaped open slowly, high and wide, and darkly gleamed.

  Long rows of hanging stalactites dripped in the gloom

  and rose like thick round phalli twined with maidenhair 1040

  and red rags tied by women in their votive rites.

  The winding pathways broadened in wide whorls and twists

  until the thick black gore distilled in murky pits

  as the king slipped and slithered in God’s bloody entrails.

  Huge startled bats sped by his ears without a sound, 1045

  and suddenly torches blazed, shrieks rang, and maidens masked

  like cows, bare-bosomed and one-breasted, sprang from clefts,

  bellowed with rage and butted their old king to leave.

  A woman’s cry in birthpang suddenly split the air

  and all the women rushed about a rutting bull 1050

  poured of pure bronze that in the savage torchlight flashed;

  a tall black double-ax gleamed on its golden horns.

  Then slowly from its loins a dragon-woman rose

  holding in both her hands her two milk-laden dugs.

  The king fell on the earth face down and shouted, “Mother! 1055

  Help me, thrice-Mother, who begets gods, men, and beasts!

  All think I’m a great monarch, for one night you placed

  your hands on my bald pate till God’s soul boiled and rose,

  and from your tenfold fingers strength poured through my heart.

  That sacred sperm you planted in my split head, Mother, 1060

  has sprouted and borne fruit: ships, laws, and famous wars;

  but Mother, it’s all withered now and casts no sprouts,

  I’ve squandered all that spirit, my loins are drained dry.

  Look, I’ve brought back my body. Fill it with God again!’

  The Mother-Dragon mutely weighed the old man well 1065

  then slowly her loud cavern-roar rang mockingly;

  “Old king, I don’t think you can bear the Bull-God now!

  If I should place my dreadful hands on you, old man,

  you’d burst in fragments like a sheepskin filled with flames.”

  She roared, then gave commands for all her maids to leave, 1070

  and the young cows scattered in rings and hid in rocks.

  No sooner were the two alone than their eyes met

  and merged with laughter like two wily beasts in darkness.

  Slowly the Mother spread her plump and painted hands

  and in one palm the king heaped high thick towering pearls 1075

  and in the other poured, with sweet seduction, gold and gems.

  When the she-dragon cast these gifts in the Bull’s belly,

  she reached out both her hands with ravening greed once more.

  “I give you also, unslaked Mother, three large towns:

  one in the fields for grain and all your flaxen robes, 1080

  one in the harbor to enjoy the sea’s great wealth,’

  the third and best is planted on a high plateau

  where your bull-calves may browse and your male children breed.”

  The Mother laughed, full-satisfied, then crossed her hands,

  uttered shrill cries of joy until the young cows dashed 1085

  and carried in their hands the sacred, regal dress:

  tall peacock feathers, three-peaked golden-lilied crown,

  an ivory tray with mystic, thousand-spiraled signs

  where in the center God’s great eye turned savagely

  as round it hearts and human heads danced arm in arm 1090

  in a wide belt adorned with women, beasts, and snakes,

  and on the disk’s rim, tall and straight, nine galleys sailed,

  all mystic signs that etched upon the precious ivory

  the great commands and cares of their most dreaded God.

  The cunning king stooped low and then the Mother placed 1095

  her hands on his bald shining pate and shrilled aloud:

  “I’ve watched and weighed you like a hawk, then swooped and seized you!

  I’ll raise my double-ax now high and split your brains!

  Descend from horns, O Strength, and make his weak mind firm!

  Ascend from the new phallus, Strength, and rouse his loins! 1100

  Rise up, O Mystic Snake, and nine times zone him round,

  God fills his heart now with nine winter-summer seasons.”

  She spoke, then from the cavern mouth a flame leapt out,

  tall as two men, and heralded the newborn news.

  The flame then leapt with joy on high Mount Dikte’s peaks, 1105

  dashed downward like a flashing star to Mount Selena

  and rooted in its craggy rocks where round it leapt

  goatherds and shepherds in a savage Cretan dance.

  High above Knossos the tall peak of Grouhla flamed,

  and shepherds beat bronze pans, cast trees into the hearth, 1110

  till like an eagle beating, his red blazing wings

  the flame leapt on the palace roof, fluttered, and lit

  all upper windows swiftly with its burning beak.

  Then it fell lightly to the royal courts, sped toward the town,

  leapt in and huddled swiftly in the flameless hearths 1115

  and hatched a burning coal for egg wherever it stayed.

  The king passed through the fields, his nuptial chariot drawn

  by four pure snowy bulls with horns of gleaming gold.

  The largest stars still wanly burned high in the heavens,

  and all the nearby villagers dashed out with palms 1120

  and bowed with reverence low before their potent king.

  Young women spread the ground with their embroidered dowries,

  for the king now so brimmed with God that his new strength

  would pass through chariot, bulls, and wheels, spill on the ground,


  where scooped by garments, it would pass to hopeful bodies. 1125

  Clutching his seed, the king rode all day long in state

  while the three comrades sauntered through the lower town.

  Taverns at every corner opened, doors were decked,

  sills flashed with new-washed garments, and young maidens drenched

  with water their slim lilies, basil, and green mint. 1130

  They turned their festive faces suddenly toward the East:

  was it a golden cloud that rose on mountain passes

  or did a thunderbolt split the exhausted fields,

  or could it be the king who dashed down from the mountain slopes?

  Drums beat at sunset in the spacious palace courtyards; 1135

  and all at once the whole town thundered, palm leaves swayed,

  and black eyes filled the air to gaze on the healed king,

  but he fled down the labyrinthine halls in rage,

  for all his hunters had failed to seize his daughter-bride

  and had returned with empty hands and empty nets. 1140

  In frenzied wrath he ordered the three hunter-chiefs

  first slain with double axes and then meshed in nets

  which they had long borne on their shoulders all in vain.

  All shook to see the godly strength that filled their king,

  untamed as yet by mankind’s gentleness and patience. 1145

  Odysseus waited for the monarch’s wrath to cool

  and then sent word that he’d been waiting by the gate

  with world-famed, wondrous-eyebrowed Helen at his side.

  For hours they waited by the gate for the king’s word

  until the archer’s head boiled like a seething caldron 1150

  fed by the bronzesmith’s spiteful words as by hot flame:

  “I can’t believe my eyes, nor get it through my head

  that the great archer stands and begs at the king’s door!”

  But though the rash man’s blood now boiled, he bit his fist:

  “O heart, keep vengeance deep, caress her secretly, 1155

  for there’s no bride with greater dowry in all this world;

  she carries ashes in her chests, blood in her jugs;

  and brings a long black-hilted sword as the groom’s gift!” 1158

  A warm and heavy South Wind rose, the far sea’s rippled,

  and like white, silent, sailing ghosts, with shrouds for sail, 1160

  fishing-boats, triremes, galleys, slowly, slowly sailed

  into the ponderous azure dreams of slumbering Crete.

  Crete slept on like a silent sea-beast that once rose

  from time’s deep pitch-black mire to get a little air;