The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  as with our brands held high we rush at dead of night!”

  Odysseus then pricked up his spiraled ears and listened:

  the black earth starved and shouted, its deep bowels gaped,

  for the slaves cast all patience out and formed a pact

  until the heart, the world’s root, shook, and all life quailed.

  With head erect, the man of swift mind felt hot. blasts 1200

  of a far wind above him sweeping, stream on stream,

  and starved battalions that swarmed down and zoned the castle

  till nothing could be heard but wails, and here and there

  the exhausted falling to grim earth with hollow thuds.

  In sudden calm Odysseus heard the distant dead 1205

  and could restrain himself no longer, leapt to his feet,

  and took the lead in dance and sang a savage tune:

  “Many’s the time I’ve danced on earth, many my dances,

  but never have my eyes yet seen a dance like this!

  I’ll fling stones in my lap, raise kindling high, and bind 1210

  a red belt round my head to keep my brains from scattering!

  Stamp, sisters, stamp on earth! It will eat us one fine day!

  On the cold stone of patience, God, both day and night

  I hone the sword of slaughter and leap the palace stairs,

  rip all the rooftops open, choose both men and maids, 1215

  and then, astride the roof-beams, rub them on each other

  and send them swiftly spinning till they burst in flame!

  Stamp, sisters, stamp on earth! It will eat us one fine day!

  Stamp on the earth before the starved worm grabs our heels!

  I measured sea and land, but neither could hold my heart, 1220

  yet when I measured fire, it held my whole heart’s pain!”

  The Rebels shouted till their long hair streamed like fire

  and Phida flung her arms to the bright sky and screamed:

  “A female hawk sits high and awaits the coming sun . . .”

  but her voice suddenly choked, and she fell down in spasms 1225

  for the brain-sucking god once more swooped low and struck her.

  The Rebels ran and raised her head, closed ranks about her,

  wrapped her in dirty rags as though to smother fire,

  then grabbed her hurriedly, with stealth, and vanished underground.

  But the great man of fire still tossed in the dawn’s light 1230

  nor wished to sleep for fear his soul might flicker and die.

  He took the river-course, crunched on the pebbled bank

  and stumbled like a hawk who cannot tread the ground.

  The bay leaves smelled of intoxicating bitter almonds,

  insects at dawn were drying their dew-laden wings, 1235

  a falcon soared and knit swift wreaths against the sky.

  The fiery man then plunged in the cool stream, his heart

  and body grew serene, he placed a myrtle twig

  between his teeth until his mind with fragrance brimmed,

  then, cool and carefree, stretched on the hard pebbly bank. 1240

  With staring eyes he counted slowly, ruthlessly,

  the palace’s gold casements, its full vaults, its roofs,

  he heard the dayguards’ shrilling cries, the armors clang,

  the gold canaries wakening in their golden cages.

  From the slaves’ dungeons rose a gentle lullaby 1245

  like freedom’s cry, and tore their lords’ foundations down:

  “O eagle sleep, who take our babes on your black wings

  and nourish them with lion-brains on the high hills,

  sweep down to our deep pit, pounce on my only child.

  Here, take him, he’s a small slave-child with a bronze chain; 1250

  break the bronze ring in sleep and cast it in the fire,

  take slavery’s anvil and revenge’s pounding sledge,

  then go, and in the morning bring my son back home

  and let him hold the cooling sword of slaughter high!”

  The suffering man heard all with greed, and shut his eyes, 1255

  as if he were himself the pale and suckling child

  who listened to his mother’s song and sank in sleep.

  He sweetly merged with earth and slowly sank in soil

  as the song rolled above him like a gurgling stream.

  The women’s quarter, like a red cage in his head, 1260

  sprang open, rushes swayed like-people, rivers swelled

  and wrapped around his mind as though they watered trees,

  till slowly from the bitter bays and tufts of reeds

  a sweet breeze fell, and gentle sleep possessed his long-lashed eyes.

  Death came and stretched full length along the archer’s side; 1265

  weary from wandering all night long, his lids were heavy,

  and he, too, longed to sit and sleep awhile beside

  his old friend near the river, by a willows shade.

  Throwing his bony arms across the archer’s chest,

  he and his boon companion slowly sank in sleep. 1270

  Death slept and dreamt that man indeed, perhaps, existed,

  that houses rose on earth, perhaps, kingdoms and castles,

  that even gardens rose and that beneath their shade

  court ladies strolled in languor and handmaidens sang.

  He dreamt there was a sun that rose, a moon that shone, 1275

  a wheel of earth that turned and every season brought,

  perhaps, all kinds of fruit and flowers, cooling rain and snow,

  and that it turned once more, perhaps, till earth renewed.

  But Death smiled secretly in sleep for he knew well

  this was but dream, a dappled wind, toy of his weary mind, 1280

  and unperturbed, allowed this evil dream to goad him.

  But slowly life took courage, and the wheel whirled round,

  earth gaped with hunger, sun and rain sank in her bowels,

  unnumbered eggs hatched birds, the world was filled with worms,

  until a packed battalion of beasts, men and thoughts 1285

  set out and pounced on sleeping Death to eat him whole.

  A human pair crouched in his nostrils’ heaving caves,

  there lit and fed a fire, set up their house and cooked,

  and from Death’s upper lip hung down their new son’s cradle.

  Feeling his nostrils tingling and his pale lips tickled, 1290

  Death suddenly shook and tossed in sleep, and the dream vanished.

  For a brief moment Death had fallen asleep and dreamt of life.

  VII

  To leeward on the sands the lily found its shelter;

  olive leaves gleamed, for it had rained all night, and tears,

  small joyous waterdrops, hung on the winds long lashes.

  Damp, stooped, the soul perched on the branches of old rain,

  and white against the sky the clouds piled up like lamb’s wool; 5

  earth washed herself before the sun had risen, then shook

  her wings at dawn like the drenched wagtail by the river.

  Stars vanished, the translucent moon grew pale, then sank,

  light leapt up like a rooster on all roofs, and crowed,

  but still the archer sailed on the deep waters of sleep, 10

  and as the first rays of the sun fell on his brow

  a dream set out to unlatch the sealed doors of his brain.

  It seems there was a lofty mountain peak, rose-lit,

  whose stones he climbed in haste with his stout shepherd’s crook;

  down in the meadow marshes, hidden deep in mist, 15

  like varied smoke of vertigo, the hamlets swayed,

  and his old memories shook like fluttering handkerchiefs.

  “Farewell, old tattered guises; like a knowing snake

  I rise with my unused cool skin and climb i
n sun!”

  He spoke, and a soft smile entwined him till he stopped, 20

  then turned to his young hesitating heart, and said:

  “Dear heart, dear bird, where are you flying with straw in beak

  to build your nest on the moldy roof of our lord, Death,

  do we start now, do we come now, daybreak or nightfall?

  A sweet smile twines me round, but I can see no lips.” 25

  He had not yet stopped speaking in the murky fog

  when two sharp narrow lips moved in a slight smile

  as slowly from the thickening shadows, light, and air

  the sweet face of a woman loomed, full as the moon.

  Her brow rose like the sun, her smooth cheeks gently glowed, 30

  her soft smile overbrimmed and lit the archer’s brains

  like mountain summits edged at dawn with rose-red light,

  till his own flesh renewed, his graying hair turned black,

  and adolescent down bedewed his apple cheeks.

  He stretched his hand and longed to touch the miracle: 35

  “Lady, is this the land of drunkenness and dream?

  Lady, have I been hunting nothing but empty air?

  Your smile’s a heavy wine that sets my poor head spinning!”

  But the pale lady of the sea-sands watched, nor spoke,

  as the young man moved on and with his goldfinch heart 40

  flew with a green leaf in his beak to build his nest.

  She smiled again and drowned the young man with her smile.

  “Lady, I’m off to distant shores, but I don’t know the way,

  my heart seethes like the savage sea, my mind brims over

  with vast works not yet born, with lands I’ve never seen, 45

  and like a fish’s sack my bowels brim with eggs.

  O Lady, move your merciful eyes! Show me the way!”

  He spoke, and the air swayed, her throat and pale lips vanished,

  and then the unbearded youth felt a strange hand rise high

  and plunge three knives up to the hilt straight through his heart. 50

  The young man’s heart embraced the knives, then he set out,

  and three springs welled within him, he cast three black shadows,

  three black cares pierced and wounded him, and his pain swelled,

  but in the waste he bit his lips in silence manfully.

  Soon the hot day, that greedy tiger, licked and clawed him, 55

  his brain became unhinged, his throat was parched with thirst,

  until at dusk he tired and stretched on the cool sands.

  For hours the sleepless youth felt life above him hover

  like a new-breasted girl who fondled and revived him

  until his flesh surrendered to her dark caresses 60

  as midnight closed the eyes of his commanding mind.

  He passed through valleys, wastelands, waters, and blue shores,

  he saw himself dig in the sand, exhume a woman,

  an ancient princess wrapped in myrrh and mummy-cloth,

  and as he unwound her folds she opened like a rose, 65

  her eyelids gently fluttered, lips and nostrils steamed,

  until a heavy sigh rose from her swelling throat.

  The young man licked his lips, drew near, then twined about her,

  and all night long within his arms he held the cool,

  small body filled with myrrh, and tasted all night long 70

  her pomegranate in the hopeless fragrant hush.

  A light breeze suddenly blew, and the frail body vanished.

  Thus the strange princess vanished, and on spreading sands

  only her small embroidered slippers gleamed like glass.

  The young man in the wasteland moaned, cried to his love, 75

  but in his burning anguish, his soul-killing pain,

  he felt a gentle sweet relief and grasped his heart:

  one knife had gone, and even the aching wound had healed.

  The youth felt glad, and gentle breezes flicked his brows

  as though the cooling winds of liberty caressed them. 80

  He bent above the sands and hailed the silver slippers:

  “Farewell! You have fulfilled your task on love’s rough road.”

  He passed through seas and mountains till his hair turned gray

  —what joy to fight on earth, to conquer and build towns,

  to swoop with armies, battlecries and war, to hold 85

  the keys of life in your brave hands and never surrender!

  But as the archer proudly played with his bronze keys,

  a small, small breeze passed by, and his tall city crashed;

  he turned, and found grass grown already on the new-dug grave.

  He leapt up, groaning, but faintly in his heart again 90

  he felt a new relief, then laughed and gripped his chest—

  the second knife had vanished, another wound had closed!

  Again he took his withered staff, and his heart danced;

  the wind of freedom played amid his whitened hair

  as though buds of new wings sprang from his shoulder blades, 95

  as though the sun would come to warm and sprout them soon.

  Then as he lightly walked the earth, the world grew tall,

  ghosts broke their husks asunder, flesh broke down its bolts,

  and pallid princesses appeared and laughed in light,

  all godly souls the dragon mind had cast in pits. 100

  A miracle came and filled his hands like a tame dove.

  Desolate wastes of sand stretched out once more, and far,

  far off, he saw the smiling lady slowly pass.

  “Lady, I’ve served two knives, the strife is ending now,

  I’ve found life good and found death good! Well met, and welcome!” 105

  He spoke, the third knife vanished, and the woman’s breasts

  dimmed in the sky like stars, rotted and fell away;

  her smile still lingered for a while, then swirled like mist.

  As the dazed archer placed his hand on his hot brow

  and wondered whether he’d seen a dream or lost his wits, 110

  a pelting rain began to fall, the rushes roared,

  the women screamed, and the man-slayer leapt to his feet:

  “By God, I must have fallen asleep! It seems I saw

  the strangest of strange dreams, but I can’t quite recall.

  It must have held good omens, for my heart feels light!” 115

  He spoke and rose; a once thick drops of warm rain stung

  his forehead, hands, and neck so that he shook with joy

  to feel the fragrant first rains strike his sun-cracked flesh.

  The heavy rutting sky plunged like a black bull,

  the clouds hung dripping down, and green-blue lightning bolts 120

  licked at the stifled earth that stooped with rain-drenched hair.

  Servants ran screaming in the yards and flung their aprons

  about their faces to keep back the rain, and slaves

  corralled the precious peacocks and the curly bullocks.

  High in the upper casements the court ladies stooped 125

  to smell the soaking earth, the drenched and steaming gardens,

  and their thin nostrils sniffed and drank the world with greed.

  Quickly Odysseus passed through the echoing courts and joyed

  to feel the beating rain, to hear the bellowing palace

  crash in the harsh downpour, to think that soon one day 130

  the palace courts would roar, the casements clang, and flames

  would leap in the four corners of his brain, and blaze.

  He heard the women laughing, saw the palace sink

  slowly in the unceasing rain, and odors rose from earth

  as from a new-dug graveyard and refreshed his heart; 135

  suddenly war and death, a woman’s smile, all merged,

  until his gre
at mind glowed, and he recalled the dream.

  He smiled, and in the lightning strokes his white teeth gleamed:

  “All’s well, whether the dream come true or the dream vanish.

  I like to plunge knives in and out of my own bleeding heart!” 140

  He slid with haste through crooked halls and drove straight on

  to his deep narrow cell thrust between cedar columns.

  Hardihood slept there, sprawled on tiles, flat on his back,

  and the archer quietly stepped on tiptoe and reposed

  on the stone chiseled throne, and from the narrow ledge 145

  marveled and watched the heavy sky crash down on earth.

  The fig leaves thundered, all the sun-scorched court-tiles steamed,

  and the cracked earth, stretched out supine, embraced the storm.

  Unmoving, mute, Odysseus sat on the low throne,

  refreshed in the first rains; sometimes his female heart 150

  opened her thighs, sometimes his mind, like a male lover,

  came with its double-ax to ready earth and hung

  its heavy, rain-soaked, curly locks above the loam.

  In dusk the bronzesmith opened his eyes and mutely leant

  against a cedar column, startled by his master’s face 155

  that seemed to hang above the earth, a bull or god.

  Although the alert man spied his friend, he made no sign,

  for still his hermit heart disdained to break its silence.

  But soon the weather cleared, the white clouds rolled and swelled,

  and in a deep blue sky the setting sun emerged. 160

  The cedar columns gleamed, the new-washed stone tiles laughed,

  and on the branches’ tips the raindrops shone and trembled.

  For a while he gloried in the freshness after rain,

  but suddenly turned and growled to his mute friend: “I’m hungry!”

  When Hardihood saw his master’s opium dream had burst, 165

  he dashed to the deep kitchens to fetch food and drink,

  for he, too, felt his bowels sag from thirst and hunger.

  Two slaves filled up a tray with overbrimming plates,

  filled two bronze jars with wine then set out, weighed with food.

  The first slave minced ahead, and on her upright head 170

  balanced the laden tray and swaggered up the stairs;

  the second followed with both jars, and on her feet,

  coarsened and thick with mud, her brazen anklets jangled;

  the bronzesmith followed last with bread beneath his arms.

  Facing glad Hardihood, the hungry athlete knelt 175

  on the rush mats, reached for the steaming plates, and then,