The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  young men stroll by with spears, and girls with water-jugs,

  old crones beneath the flowering pear trees weave their shrouds,

  and I hear wedding songs, laments and lullabies,

  and smell full ovens in the yards, wine-must in kegs, 1285

  and women who have laved their locks with jasmine oil.

  The Laws sit round the castle walls like hungry beasts

  with gaping greedy jaws and eat and drink and growl.”

  As the dreamer talked, the piper raised his reedy flute

  and soon began to play a swift and rousing tune, 1290

  but the archer, deeply ravished by his castle dreams,

  heard no flute sounds, not even glutton’s mocking laugh,

  for when he stopped, broad-bottom burst in cavern roars:

  “Air-building master-craftsman, with your flames for trowel,

  confess now: if you lacked the piper’s dulcet flute, 1295

  you never could complete alone your tall dream castle!

  He’s your hod carrier lugging clay with a thrush-feather!”

  The many-minded man grew angry and stamped his foot:

  “Not even miracles can pierce your hide, my friend,

  for with a cuckoo’s cry and a flame’s flickering tongue, 1300

  with the empty hollow wind-toys of the playful mind

  I shape my tall dream castles swiftly in my head.

  That day will come when my thin shadow will turn to meat,

  my inner flames to outer stone, when my mind’s visions

  will swoop to earth down from my head’s tall hidden peaks. 1305

  See, I strike stone, grab earth, and seize your arm—

  just as my fists have filled now, so one day, I swear,

  I’ll build my tall dream city with stones, beams, and gods.

  This is how cities are first planted in firm ground!”

  And then Odysseus smiled and would not speak a word; 1310

  his bright eyes swiftly labored with the toiling flames,

  stars in the heavens shone like clusters of thick nests,

  great thoughts shone upright in his dark and savage head,

  but his mind held the flute of silent thought, and played serenely.

  XIII

  A vulture balanced his wide wings on the air’s peak,

  he saw the desert and rejoiced, he saw stuffed wells,

  he saw long rows of skeletons bleached in the sun,

  he saw ant-swarms of men plod on the stubborn sands.

  Fixing his piercing eyes upon the ant-swarm there 5

  he circled lower, waiting for the maimed to fall

  that he might once more swoop and feed on man’s fat brains.

  When the archer saw the vulture high above his head

  he opened his arms wide and hailed him like a friend:

  “A thousand, thousand welcomes, vulture! Swoop down low 10

  that I might cling to your proud neck and grasp your breast.

  Come take my measure that your belly might contain me;

  coffin, I like it when you hover above my head!”

  But the far vulture did not hear, it beat its wings

  and vanished southward toward snow-covered mountain peaks. 15

  At that same hour Rocky cut through the dense woods

  and, seeing the bird, lifted his slim arms and cried:

  “Vulture, if only I had your wings and your lithe grace,

  I’d soar high up, balance myself and look about me!

  O holy bird, swoop down and take me on your strong back 20

  that I might see my friends and dine with them a moment,

  then bring me back to wilderness and forest beasts,

  for I love liberty, though burdened by great pains.”

  Thus Rocky begged and prayed, flapping his arms in vain;

  his slender body was parched dry like hides or shells, 25

  his skull was scarred with wounds and scaled like turtle-shells,

  his flesh was gashed by wild-boar tusks and lion claws,

  cut up with poisoned arrows, stung with scorpion bites.

  The mountain summits swooned in pallid dusk, the woods

  choked with blue shadows as Rocky cut into a clearing, 30

  a slender sword unsheathed, and bent like a lean twig.

  He lay down tired on the grass and caught his breath:

  “Your health, O heart of man, wild fate-devouring beast!

  Where have you cast me, you soul-juggler, on what great wheel,

  for now that the soul has ventured, who dares stop or check it?” 35

  He closed his eyes and the last cliff gaped in his mind:

  They’d set him bait like a wild beast, caught him in snares,

  then whittled wooden spits and built huge fires round him,

  rubbed him with pungent spices, smeared him with fat grease

  and pressed about him, screeching for a tasty meal. 40

  Suddenly, as he gazed on death with scorn, he heard

  a voice, perceived a pointed cap high in the air,

  and his mind leapt but measured all with cunning stealth:

  “My soul, take for example now the archer’s soul.

  It’s good to stand erect in flames, unmoving, proud, 45

  and burn like a tall torch that flares in a wild blaze,

  but better still to seize the mind’s unburnished weapons

  and fight to the last ditch and leap the mounting flames.

  O spirit, vulture-clawed and sly, descend and seize me!”

  As Rocky yelled, the spirit seemed to hear his voice, 50

  for the long road of freedom flashed within his mind

  as he jumped up and twirled in dance on the green turf;

  his lean feet leapt so swiftly that he almost plunged

  deep into Hades like a lustrous falling star.

  Two wings sprang from his temples, two from his slim heels, 55

  his feet and brains took flight, the stones about him sparked,

  his handsome body hissed like flame, fell like a star,

  yet kept on dancing boldly on a sword’s thin edge.

  The flames went out, the cannibals forgot their hunger,

  a pregnant maiden whinnied in the pangs of birth, 60

  and all the old men raised their hands and softly spoke:

  “It’d be a great crime, God, if earth should lose such feet.

  It’s good to sit with grandsons round you in your yard

  and eat the tasty meat of that erect pig, man,

  but there’s no greater joy on earth than a fine dance; 65

  it conquers thirst and hunger, joins both foes and friends.

  We’ll spare your life so dance won’t vanish from the earth!”

  Rocky took to his heels and came to that dark wood

  where now he sprawled serenely in luxuriant grass,

  a snake who’d shed his skin, then shakes in the cold wind. 70

  At dusk when shadows lengthened and hunger flailed him hard,

  he rose, passed through the wood’s few straggling trees,

  holding a crooked shepherd’s staff of ilex wood,

  and tried to find a place to sleep and light a fire.

  As in his mind he spun man’s dark and daily needs 75

  he suddenly fell to earth and thrust in tangled shrubs,

  for far off in a gulch he saw a village gleam.

  His nostrils smelled the stench of that dread monster, man,

  and crawling on his belly like a snake, he slid

  from stone to stone, then spied from the edge of a huge rock: 80

  the town spread gleaming white between two mountain slopes

  and round it rose tall walls built out of earth and reed

  on which black banners waved and sparkling fires glowed;

  in the dead center shone a king’s house of tree trunks

  with rows of bleached men’s skulls about the hanging eaves. 85

  But
no soul moved in that deserted, haunted town,

  no naked women screamed, no children laughed at play,

  no tranquil smoke of evening rose from the rooftops;

  fear crushed all rooms, and only the low sound

  of drums unseen was heard in slow funereal beat. 90

  Poor Rocky stooped and shuddered as he thought with awe:

  “Perhaps the town’s bewitched, or killed by deadly plague,

  perhaps a vengeful ghost has turned the place to stone,

  yet I’ll go down to see, and let fate’s will be done.”

  About his waist he wound a strong tough vine, then seized 95

  his sturdy staff and like a shepherd lunged down toward his flock.

  Door after door was tightly shut and double-barred,

  all fires were stamped out and all dogs gagged and leashed,

  women and men crouched on the floors in silent dread

  for on this day their king was bidding the world farewell. 100

  Seed was imperiled in the whole town, the pregnant girls

  ceased to bear males, nor would the oxen drop their calves,

  grain withered in the fields and all the wells were dry,

  for the king’s soul had shrunk, and on this day three huge

  black harbingers of their dread god set out to slay him 105

  that a new rutting ram might lead the human flock

  and the earth spread new loins to catch the fertile seed.

  Flat on their faces, the people prayed for ghosts to come

  from the high hills with their white hair and savage bolts:

  “Grandfathers, take your flocks, the lowering clouds, and come! 110

  We’re killing our old king to exorcise the curse;

  bring us a strong new king and build us strong new fires!”

  Thus men and women on the terraces begged and prayed

  then opened their hearts wide to hold the miracle.

  Meanwhile the ancient chieftain with his crimson sandals 115

  dragged himself through the streets, bidding the world farewell.

  Feeble and sallow-faced, with a white straggling beard,

  he stumbled on the stones, and his eyes filled with tears,

  for his own kin and friends denied him, streets were bare,

  and only his ancient dog, wounded and gashed by age, 120

  limped after him on tattered paws and licked his feet.

  The old man roamed in circles through the empty streets

  as though he twined a crimson thread about his throat; 123

  his eyes brimmed and the earth grew dim, it suddenly seemed

  as though clouds crashed from the high peaks and wound him round; 125

  were these his grandfathers, cold white shrouds, or lethal thoughts

  that spun and wound him tight in an unceasing whirl?

  “Ah, to escape, dear God, and hide in the deep woods

  where none could find me—even to live but one day more!”

  He threshed his eyes around, and seeing all streets bare, 130

  the dying man’s mind spun, again he gazed with fear,

  saw not one soul, then swiftly ran to flee from death;

  but as he stretched his shriveled hands toward the town’s gate,

  he suddenly screamed, drew back, his words choked in his throat,

  for on the sill was spread the hide of a black bull 135

  and on it gleamed the sacred skull of his own father,

  his people’s token that he must join his sire soon.

  The king’s knees buckled under, he crashed down to earth,

  and his old dog drew back with fright and barked for help,

  but no soul came to ease their pain, and the king rose 140

  and grasped his father’s white skull tight in his black hands.

  At once his eyes flashed fire, he swiftly raised his neck,

  knowing not even God could grant him one day more,

  conquered all hope, then tossed with pride his whitened head

  and turned back toward his throne to await his death with courage. 145

  At once from three town gates three sorcerers set out

  and each held in his hand a long and glistening knife.

  In evening’s dusk the bloodstained palace softly glowed

  with the white skulls that laughed with gleaming sharpened teeth.

  In a dread hush, the king passed through dark passageways; 150

  on the first stairs his womenfolk crouched low, and screamed,

  black, naked, young and old, who’d come to say goodbye;

  upon the second stairs his friends and faithful slaves

  kissed his thin hands and feet and cried in sad farewell;

  on the third stairs his old dog crouched and softly wept. 155

  The old man stopped because his weak knees shook with fright

  and he recalled sweet life once more, and lost his pride:

  “Alas, my kingdom’s gone like mist, my life like air!”

  he murmured, crawling up his high throne’s seven steps,

  and cold sweat dripped from his dark armpits, eyes, and ears. 160

  He huddled on his throne and clapped his sweating palms

  till slowly from the wall a hundred-year-old bard

  appeared and held a thousand-year-old ivory flute,

  and the king spoke with open arms and quivering voice:

  “Old man, you’ve made me happy; sing me my last song, 165

  play that my fallen soul may turn serene and strong.”

  The minstrel stooped and soon the sonorous flute was heard

  as though he listened to a seashell’s roaring sound

  of waves that like white horses plunged and tumbled down,

  mounted by savage winds in infinite assault. 170

  As the bard listened to his old sea-battered flute

  his voice was suddenly heard in a most gentle sigh:

  “Once there was not, or was . . . not even the rose remembers . . .

  a great and happy king who held a sword aloft;

  he was a curled carnation that would wilt at dusk, 175

  a golden-rimmed and gleaming cloud that passed at dawn

  and changed to a thousand faces in the squandering air.

  I kiss your memory and bow low to your great grace

  O cloud, O smoke, O red carnation, my great gracious king!”

  The ancient minstrel sang, while fate’s three harbingers 180

  flattened and slid against the walls, slunk door by door,

  but on their necks and ankles bells shook clangingly

  and on their grimy rags their bronze wind-sucking gods,

  their whistles, irons, keys and chains, jangled and jarred

  as though three herds of bison, goats, and sheep dashed by. 185

  When the bright Evening Star beamed in that holy hour

  and they had almost reached the gaping palace door,

  and all together raised their feet to cross the sill,

  the Negro prophets suddenly stopped with half-raised heels,

  stared hard with yellow goggling eyes and shook with fright, 190

  for Rocky loomed up suddenly with his savage staff.

  All three fell to the ground and howled like votive drums,

  then slowly raised their heads and spoke with reverent awe:

  “O most pure spirit, fallen from stars in a good hour,

  welcome, celestial vulture with your golden crown!” 195

  The handsome youth brandished his shepherd’s staff and scowled,

  for he had been well schooled in a great fox’s court,

  and spoke to the three blacks with kingly arrogance:

  “My greetings, small black crows with azure-painted nails!

  As in the guise of a white eagle I cut the sky 200

  and spied your wretched huts, I thought them buxom hares

  and swooped to eat them, honing my long pointed claws.”

  He spoke
, then crossed the palace threshold with swift strides.

  Cunning directed his quick mind like a keen guide;

  a limpid, light intoxication swelled his strength 205

  as though he slept and a sweet dream unlocked a host

  of wealthy master-chambers in his lordly breast;

  proudly he paced from door to door with tranquil joy.

  Preceded by the three blacks with their myriad bells

  he passed through courtyards, kitchens, musk-drenched women’s rooms 210

  in a deep breathless silence through deserted halls

  and cut the night behind him sharply like a sword.

  The king had painted his dark eyes, his cheeks, his lips,

  his faded ancient wounds and eyebrows of thin hair;

  he’d donned the dreadful armor of a hopeless struggle, 215

  placed round his throat a necklace of his foes’ filed teeth,

  wore glittering earrings, stuck long feathers on his head,

  then seized his ax to wait for death before his throne.

  The mournful song had strengthened his exhausted knees,

  and as he stood stiff, speechless, at grim Hades gate, 220

  to plunge down like a great chief to his dread forefathers,

  three pairs of ruthless eyes gleamed at the bottom stairs;

  the old man longed to raise his pitch-black banner high

  and like an army march erect to meet his dark ancestors.

  Night hooted through the chambers like a mournful owl, 225

  waters within the courtyards leapt like gurgling streams,

  and Rocky dimly made out huddled shapes that fought

  with silent rage amid the jangling bells, but no

  grim slayer’s growl or choked voice of the slain was heard,

  only a dim contorted form fell from the throne, 230

  rolled down the seven steps, then sprawled on the straw mats.

  At once a naked glowing pair leapt from the dark, 232

  a still unmounted girl and well-knit virgin boy;

  according to their sex, they held soft sticks or hard,

  crouched on the ground and rubbed the sacred pair together. 235

  Their black arms glowed like snakes, and from the holy wood

  an ancient god rose in the dark and sweetly laughed;

  a spark leapt high and the fire caught, the kindling flashed

  like newlyweds who with the body’s strokes and strife

  blaze up until their joyous son leaps in the dark. 240

  The lamps cast a great light and licked the palace roofs,

  the conch now of salvation blared, doors were unbarred,

  and six black heavy hands placed into Rocky’s palms