The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  He spoke, then steered his bulging prow straight toward the spitted meat.

  When the maids saw him with his gold canary cloak

  he seemed a great bird-hunting god come from the chase;

  they smiled and spread fresh leaves for him to sit and eat. 175

  Nightingales sang, the night was warm, and the moon rose

  like a round holy charm to exorcise the dark.

  Earth is so vast that man’s poor arms cannot embrace her,

  but greedy-guts embraced his troop and joyed to see

  women and children eating, growing, young lads dancing, 180

  his brave youths cleaning weapons with the wild boar’s fat.

  “Eat, drink, and kick your heels, for there’s no other life,

  we’re but a fistful of thin soil, a gust of air.”

  He spoke, and strutted by the fire, admired by all;

  nine youths then raised him and enthroned him on a rock, 185

  drums beat and howled, resounding to the emerald moon,

  and seven maids, placing their hands on their wide hips,

  began to dance and sing a song in glutton’s praise:

  “Blackness has fallen, monstrous thunder strikes the gorge!

  Is it the Earth Bull mounting, lads, or Death come down, 190

  dear God, to gulp the river dry with all its stones?

  Raise high your brave hearts, lads, fling wide your brazen doors,

  run to the rooftops, maids, and wave your handkerchiefs,

  for it’s not Earth Bull mounting nor dread Death come down,

  it’s broad-rump wrestling on the marble threshing floor. 195

  See, full of joy and sweat, he’s plunged for a long swim;

  in his left nostril ovens blaze, and in his right

  horses are stalled, two couples sleep on his broad back;

  he goes to drink the stream but pities the poor fields,

  he goes to raise his hand but pities the poor mothers, 200

  softly he walks on tiptoe so the world won’t sink!

  Friends, on a feast day, as he lunged from the high peaks,

  Death climbed the mountainside and smelled good human flesh,

  he saw the feast-boards strewn on two-and-forty trestles,

  he saw our brave men dancing in a twelvefold ring, 205

  and the great uninvited cannibal cocked his cap

  on his curled locks and set off for the laden feast.

  When the two giants met in dustclouds by two peaks,

  great glutton reached his hand and stopped Death in his tracks:

  ‘Friend, aren’t you gorged by now, hasn’t your heart turned red 210

  from eating man’s most virile parts and women’s breasts?

  Go toddling home to mama now, or I’ll swipe you dead!’

  But the housebreaker growled, stung by such brazen words:

  ‘Oho, where will you hide from me when your day comes?

  The lower world will fill with fat, where worms shall sail!’ 215

  But glutton, our great monster, laughed, his bone-joints creaked:

  ‘I know it, and you’re welcome, slayer, to all I’ve got,

  but when I woke this morning, stretched my arms and yawned,

  and felt my great bones creak, I took a solemn oath:

  aye, Death, my lad, you shan’t go to our feast today!’ 220

  The two huge monsters shook their spears, roared and replied,

  but when their word-war ceased, they grabbed each other’s waists

  and fought from dawn’s light on. At length the red sun set,

  the Evening Star appeared and beckoned, the songs ended,

  all placed their wineskins in wool sacks, tucked up their lyres, 225

  the young maids tied their kerchiefs, young men bound their belts,

  loaded their mules with crimson rugs, and the roads flashed:

  ‘We’ve had a good time, lads, and Death did not appear!’”

  Enthroned on rock, great glutton laughed with swaggering pride

  and his sweat trickled in the folds of his fat flesh, 230

  but when he thought of Death he scowled and clapped his hands:

  “Strike up the dance, my girls! Swirl on! May damn Death croak!

  But while I live, the earth shall stand, and while I breathe

  we’ll joy in bread, wine, love! Let Death come, if he dares!

  The dance lasts long—he’s welcome to all dregs and crumbs!” 235

  When Granite’s comrades heard the song, they seized their bows,

  for rage is blind, and rushed to choke the singing throats:

  “Dogs, you know well our friend lies wounded in great pain,

  yet here you go carousing with your drunken sot!

  Oho, sharp arrows, take up now their song’s refrain!” 240

  The women screamed and scattered, and the young men raged,

  but glutton jumped up, stumbling, and his voice roared out:

  “By God, you’re sticking in my throat! So far, no further!

  Out with your black swords, lads! Let Death fall where he may!”

  The bright full-bodied moon sailed to the sky’s peak 245

  at drop of midnight, shadows clutched like tangled hair

  and toward the lake shore mutely rolled in pallid light

  as knife blades rose and fell and flashed in the moon’s silver glow.

  But all at once a great cry rang, the pebbles creaked,

  and a long shadow spread on earth with lion’s head. 250

  As Kentaur swerved and looked, he suddenly crouched with fear

  like a sheep dog who by the penfold meets a lion,

  and shadows shaped like shooting bows fled through the woods.

  High up, the full moon’s bitter face turned soft and sweet

  and the great shadow swiftly knelt on a high knoll, 255

  the bowstring tightened, stretched, and reached to the right breast,

  and then the sheep dog’s shadow slowly unwound and stood

  upright within the moon’s full light to take the shot,

  and a hoarse cave-resounding voice boomed on the earth:

  “Shoot, I’m ashamed to face you! Have no pity, master! 260

  I’m still not fit to live in your shade or eat your bread.”

  The monstrous shadow rose and its long bow grew short:

  “Cursed be my lion’s marrow that you’ve fed on, fool!

  I thought you’d sprout wide wings and follow in my steps,

  ayee, you cow’s dung, scram, go hang your head, be off.” 265

  After he’d trounced him well, he turned and roared for Granite,

  and when the gaunt man heard, he bit his waxen lips

  but sprang up fearless from the ground, strode through the grass,

  and came out in the moon’s light with his broken arm.

  The archer turned, approached him with his leopard cub, 270

  and all at once his mocking voice rang in the moonglow:

  “Oho, what shame! Great Granite smells of slavery too!

  One day of freedom struck him, and he lost his wits!

  And I, you fools, come bearing from the mountain peaks

  a flaming city with four gates and towering walls!” 275

  He spoke, and his new eyes of yellow flame struck sparks,

  and his sharp teeth within the stillness ground with rage.

  Speechless, alone, he roamed the forest for three days;

  his heart was sown with bristling thorns, his wavering mind

  at times longed for man’s herd, at times for the pure desert. 280

  At times the fierce thought struck him to clamber on high rocks

  and stretch his long bow taut, as once before, and pierce

  those thickset skulls that squandered God’s wealth shamefully;

  at times he bit his lips and swore that whether they would

  or not, he’d build his God with human souls and turn 285

  them
all to stones and trees to find salvation with him!

  Darkly he groped at both great roads, and longed to see

  which, in this forking moment now, his mind would choose.

  Gaunt Granite mutely followed his great master’s strife

  and waited with his upright soul for yes or no; 290

  the’d never beg him on his knees, he’d never exchange

  his haughty pride for all the mind’s or the earth’s loot.

  But Kentaur, sad and fasting, followed at his heels

  and trembled lest he leave and sink their souls in peril:

  “Granite, our fate hangs by a hair at the cliff’s edge. 295

  If only we could grasp our two-willed master’s knees,

  perhaps his friendship would return, his black rage calm.”

  Thus glutton blabbered to his old friend, starved for talk,

  but Granite wrapped his broken arm in fresh green leaves,

  scowled with disdain, then turned and talked to Pride alone: 300

  “Mother, who sits in wilderness and feeds all beasts,

  O rock-strewn and unlaughing peak of arrogant man,

  Mother, if all the great good things of earth should leave me,

  gallant deeds, friends, immortals, then I’d cock my cap,

  for at despair’s far verge you sit, I know, and beckon. 305

  Your clenched fists do not hold a blossomed laurel bough,

  nor food for farmers, a large stalk of fruitful wheat,

  neither an air-blown rose nor a seductive grape;

  Mother, you bid me welcome with a long sharp whip!”

  Thus did the two friends talk and scourge their souls, while all 310

  the calm troops cooked their food, nor did the slightest sound

  of these wild breaking waves pierce through their thick-skinned skulls.

  The third day, on a high plateau, the two-willed man

  saw a wild twisted pear tree blossomed in the sun;

  all year she’d fought the elements with gallant spite, 315

  the rain, the frost, the whirlwinds and the cankering worm,

  yet in her bark had slowly spun her pears with patience

  until she trembled like a bride and broke in flower.

  Joy filled the tear-drenched mind of the quick-tempered man,

  and for long hours, until the evening shadows fell, 320

  he admired his far victorious sister wedged in rock

  who took what fate had given, water, soil, and stone,

  and stubbornly in sun turned all to subtle flower.

  The archer also felt his twisting body knit

  and thrust its flaming head toward light as fruitful flower, 325

  and as the tree deep in its bark rejoiced in pears,

  he also felt with joy how deeds swarmed in his soul.

  His nostrils played and sniffed at the full-blossomed tree,

  and when his hungry mind gaped wide and filled with scent,

  he felt he swallowed the whole tree, both flower and fruit. 330

  Smiling, he seized the tree and felt its rugged bark;

  it was no ghost or thought, only a blossomed log,

  and as he shook the boughs, it showered his head with flowers.

  When he released the pear, he heard a wing’s light swish,

  then turned and saw the gaping mouth of a dark cave 335

  where a gold-feathered bird with puffed and blood-red breast

  opened its brilliant wings and vanished in the dark.

  The catcher of birds rejoiced that God, as he was wont,

  sent him for herald a small bird with colored wings,

  and then he crossed the cave’s dark mouth, threshold of fate. 340

  Much had his deep eyes seen, but never a cave like this;

  he lit a torch, and hours passed, and still he walked;

  glittering columns hung from high marmoreal domes,

  and from the earth black phalli rose hewn out of rock

  formed from small drops that slowly dripped dark age on age, 345

  and maidenhair about these pillars tightly twined.

  Beneath the earth a mighty river swiftly rolled

  with roaring sound of the invisible water’s rush;

  rock-swallows built their nests within the noisy clefts

  and from the domes in tangled clusters hung the bats. 350

  Now parched with thirst, Odysseus fell on a scooped rock

  and to his heels rejoiced in God’s refreshing coolness

  for his bones creaked and blossomed like the jasmine vine,

  and as he slowly nestled in a throne-hewn rock,

  he bent and heard the sacred river’s lion-roar, 355

  and as he listened, slow time dripped and turned his mind

  to stone till God’s voice spoke within the heart of man.

  Ah, what great joy in the wilderness to feel God fall

  drop after drop and turn to phallus deep within you!

  To feel his holy hand within the freshening dark 360

  groping to find your hand and clasp with a friend’s grip!

  For hours the lone man listened to the mystic voice,

  and when his heart had brimmed and his full mind was slaked,

  he rose from his high throne and tossed his flashing head:

  “All of God strives in greatest peril in every breast. 365

  Great King, you’ve ordered all things well, all shall go well,

  nor shall those passes in my trust be ever betrayed!”

  He spoke, retraced his tracks, then stepped in the moon’s glow.

  He made his mind up calmly, then called his two friends

  and stretched with them by the campfire, laughed and ate, 370

  though no one spoke a word, not even his fellow runners;

  this was the day, they guessed, when he would aim and shoot.

  When they had eaten, the arch-cunning man reached out

  and grabbed his comrades by their curly faithful heads:

  “Fellows, at noon today, on my God’s rocks, I saw 375

  a tough and twisted pear tree blossoming in the sun;

  its leaves and flowers shook, then sang with human voice:

  ‘How long shall I deign to guide you, fool? No matter how

  you boast, disdainful man, or strive to shake your yoke,

  you’ll still plod, shackled, round and round man’s threshing floor. 380

  Accept your fate with no false shame, and you’ll surpass her!

  What else did you expect from the rank herd of men?

  Their hearts are airskins, their brains mud, their loins manure,

  but yet I love them and I like the stench of earth;

  I know well how the spirit blooms, how God is shaped, 385

  what filth my black roots browse on in the darkest gloom.

  See how I milk the rock, suck up manure, and turn

  all into flowers with patience, with despair, with love,

  and now I stand firm in your path, a blossomed pear;

  behold me, take me for your model, start your work!’” 390

  Then the much-knowing man stooped low and raked the fire,

  and Granite heard the lash swish through his mind with pain

  but took his punishment, nor moved, a just reward;

  and Captain Glutton would not raise his eyes in shame

  for fear his tears might then be seen in the fire’s light. 395

  The lone man threw some boughs until the flames reared high

  and for a long time watched their flickering tongues in thought.

  The flames danced in his eyes and turned his beard bright red:

  “We’ll plant our town’s foundations, then, at break of day;

  deep in my brain its seed shines like a small, small flame 400

  and from my brain will leap to earth and spread its roots,

  sprout leaves of babes and women, blossoms of brave youths,

  and at its tip my God shall burst
as the flame’s fruit!”

  With his sharp knife he drew a circle around the hearth,

  raked well the fire with a lit torch, quartered it well, 405

  raised in the center a tall heap of burning coals

  then thrust in its hot heart his tall black-hilted knife:

  “Open your brains, my brothers, this is our town’s seed,

  and God stands on its peak with burning brands about him,

  women and strong men at their prime, youth in their bloom, 410

  and fresh twigs at the left, children not yet enflamed,

  and burnt-out embers further off, the black old men,

  while round our city loom the tower-breasted walls.”

  He spoke, and his two comrades, stooped in night’s black pitch,

  watched marveling how their city shone for hours on earth; 415

  and when they had well sown her in their furrowed minds,

  the archer swiftly scattered the fierce flames and stamped her out.

  Day broke, and God smiled like a sun in the pale sky,

  the people woke, swarmed festively, and splayfoot led

  the herd while his voice roared along the wooded beach: 420

  “Your health and joy! Perk up your ears, I’ve got great news!

  We’ll cast the deep foundations of God’s city here;

  the past is past, now kiss it all a dead goodbye;

  brothers, we’ll plant here a new iron-headed earth!”

  The conch blared as the archer opened the new road, 425

  and at the mouth of the black cave the pear tree glowed

  at rose-red break of day like a sweet conflagration.

  The city-builder turned and seized his famous bow:

  “Brothers, I shall cut walls of air with my swift arrows!

  O sun, rise at this hour and let our earthbound souls, 430

  and let the crawling worm sprout upright soaring wings!

  Black demons, run and hide, for I shall shoot my shafts!”

  He spoke, looked to the North, then stretched his heavy bow:

  “Oho, quick-tempered North Wind, hear me out, don’t growl!

  Fetch us a race of white men, wheat, and buxom sheep, 435

  send us your swifting swallows with flowers in their bills,

  and if you bring us news of our native land on wing,

  it’s welcome, let it fall on us like the sweet dew!

  All, native lands and exile, in our minds are one;

  our native land is where God is, all earth is ours! 440

  Descend, O North Wind, come, we’ll take your measure now,

  dash like a horseman through our city’s northern gate!”

  He blessed himself, shot his swift whistling arrow north,