Let conflagrations blaze of scented wood, cast huge
piles of rose-bay and laurel boughs, of clove and nard,
and pour great jars of rose-oil that the flames may soar.
Then place her body on a bronze war-shield, and paint 1160
her lips, her brows, her upright breasts, that she may rise
with a great warrior’s holy honors in a tall blaze;
she used her body like a shield in gallant strife
and killed men with her strong embracements, two beds cracked;
the cycle now has come full round, her woman’s task is done!” 1165
In the soft luster of the moon Odysseus laid
his flute of dead man’s bone on the dark knees of night
and soon his dream with its curled russet tresses ceased.
On a stone pillow, on refreshing cool cliff-weeds,
the great mind-looter leant his white and wearied head 1170
so softly that the five souls round him did not wake
and still rejoiced a while in fates more great than theirs.
Then the ascetic, that soul-snatcher, shut his eyes
and raised his hands to the arch-cunning juggler, mind:
“O Mind, Great Steward, secret Father of all Time, 1175
the heart is but a slice of fat, a chunk of meat,
and clings and will not part from sons or fecund soil;
my virtue blooms on piles of dunghill infamies!
O Mind, all women wept and smothered in my breast;
earth was a narrow bed, how could she hold them all? 1180
Strong virile men would stifle and choke in my roused loins
until thick smokes of passion rose and my head reeled.
Seeds shouted in my loins and raised their sharp-hooked stalks:
‘Father, give us a body too, we’re cold, we’re starved,
give us a name that we may live, a brain to thrive; 1185
we, too, want to become both male and female spores
that we may pair off on the earth in a glad coupling.
We won’t live in your brain’s coils any longer now;
like a full harem’s virgins, shriveled and unkissed,
we listen at the lattices and horde the wealth 1190
of our firm thighs, man’s lust, the noises of the street;
Father, break down our bars that we may flee and live!
If only earthen arms would clasp us, that with love,
begetting, dying, we also may rejoice in earth!
Break open, head, and sow us in a sun-washed land!’ 1195
All unborn children yelled within me, stifled me,
my manly blood was grafted with deep, dark desires,
the soberest thoughts got drunk and decked themselves with wings,
most modest words like shameless parrots flew and cawed,
my soul became dark Africa’s barbaric revelry, 1200.
Black demons zoned me, Death turned lawless and distraught,
till you came, Savior Mind, gave order to disorder,
made firm the shaken laws of this most futile game
till longing wrapped you like a roaring holocaust
and azure smoke leapt from the fiercely burning brain: 1205
‘This is not joy or sorrow, this is not compassion
filled with new yearning men and trembling soil,’ you groaned,
‘these are but smoke rings rising now in open air.’
You spoke, then to that crossways dashed where five roads meet,
our five short-lived delights, the eye, the ear, the tongue, 1210
the lady of high birth who sniffs, the crone who gropes;
you leapt and danced, changed full protean shapes, then sat
on deep insanity’s dark shore and played your games.
You took and pummeled sand, then said, ‘Now you are meat,’
and swiftly it began to love and weep and shout, 1215
as though it were firm flesh indeed that brimmed with soul.
My entrails emptied and grew light, all my desires
were dressed in bodies, leapt in light and danced with joy,
freed finally from every pain and every need.
They call you Spirit, Lord, for you beget proud flesh, 1220
they call you Flesh, O Lord, for you beget all souls;
O Mind, you master sound, cut down the sun to size,
deceive the ears and eyes and bring the heart’s desire!
And when sad lamentation sweeps the untouched maid
she opens wide her empty arms and broods in thought: 1225
‘I see and hear, I taste, touch, smell, but all in vain,
my senses watch the sky and shout like greedy beaks.’
And then one night, O Lord, you mount her like a bull
until at dawn the maid with sated senses leaps
on the sun-terraces and hails the dawning world: 1230
‘Life is most good, kisses are good, and bread, and meat!’
And when the young man feels his brows have weighed him down,
then you become a great thought, you descend in deeds
till the young man grows glad as though he held his son
and were son, father, mother, all—three heads in one. 1235
You change and play, Lord, and rejoice in savage power;
there’s no one on this earth you love or even hate,
you’ve run away from father, mother, and left your sons
but houseless vagabonds that knock from door to door.
Nor hopes nor troubles fool you now, your hollow bones 1240
whistle like flutes in an invisible shepherd’s hands.
Like a black cloud you pass on high above men’s heads
and good housekeepers raise their eyes and greet you thus:
They say it’ll rain, that earth will cool, that seed will sprout.’
but you pass on in waterless and windless void. 1245
You blow, raise towns and countries till whole armies march,
but quickly bored, you blow once more and make all vanish.
A lightning flash thus tore the bowels of the abyss
and showed the reverent body of our Mother Earth
hung in the dark blue chasm of immortal Death. 1250
The lightning flash went out, and all things once more thrust
in the dry unflowering rind of dark Necessity.
Once more the swelling oak trees crouched in acorn husks,
and earth, that precious lustrous peacock, closed its tail
and pecks now at the dung heap like a famished hen. 1255
All things from heady drunkenness returned ashamed,
trees, waters, men, and gods, and once more thrust themselves
in grease-smirched working clothes, in humble daily tasks.
All was a visionary dream, a dancer’s mist,
the mind but turned the wheel of love a bit more swiftly, 1260
then all at once, in one breath, the five weather-cocks,
the imagination’s five creations, loved, died, rotted.
O Mind, last born of demons, pregnant head like that
broad mare the castle-wreckers raised before Troy’s walls,
O pure unpitying eye, O lash of light that whips 1265
the brainless night and flogs her flesh with lightning bolts,
thank you for scattering my great pain in a sweet game!
The man most virile holds the dreadful keys of life,
locks and unlocks with no sure hope, disjoins but air,
groans not with blows, nor trembles, but with courage thrust’s 1270
into desires nonexistent palace built on air
and gladly girds himself with the great Keys of Nothingness.”
The sun was still unborn, the day-star laughed long still
under the sky’s profound and gold-smoked wings, and still
the archer blessed and praised his playful, juggling mind. 1275
&n
bsp; Now sated, slaked, his heart played on the chasm’s edge
and in great calmness waited for the sun to rise.
Slowly the boundless sunlight spread, the day-star shrank,
dawn bound her golden kerchief, all the leaves turned rose,
and the lone man’s white hair turned red by the cliff’s edge 1280
till his heart filled with mountains, morning stars, and wings.
He leapt and seized that gold-rimmed heavy wheel, the sun,
which had bogged down in the mind’s mud, and set it free.
He moved, and mountains swayed like roses in the light,
he zoned his waist with tender vines, then cut himself 1285
a flowering staff, serenely walked from rock to rock
and joyed to feel the dawn’s fuzz on his newborn skin.
As he lunged down the blossomed slopes in joy that dawn
with a small laurel spray that filled his mouth with scent,
the dawn’s light burst within his heart till his head swayed 1290
and leapt like disembodied fire in lucid air.
He laughed until his wide smile stretched from ear to ear:
“Now that my brain has cleared and sees that earth and sea
and sky are but the eye’s creations, the fierce beast 1294
that guards the well is slain, the deathless water flows, 1295
smashes the dams of memory and the brain’s thick walls,
pours fiercely down from the high mountains of man’s head
and sweeps into the plains with ships, fish, stars, and trees,
moves all the windmills of the mind and the heart’s wheels,
streams on, hails all, then plunges laughing down the abyss. 1300
Brothers, so long as our lives last, heigh ho!, let’s brim
that earthen cup, our bottomless and thirsty heart,
and drink the deathless warbling water, its cool sound!”1303
An unexpected sweetness seized him as he spoke,
for in his heart the brothers, Mind and War, embraced, 1305
and he stood still to enjoy the world’s conciliation.
Deep in that silence then he heard his bones break out
in warbling song like rows of flaming flutes in sun,
as though a wealthy wedding pomp set off from far
and swiftly poured down mountain slopes to find the bride. 1310
The archer’s knees gave way, he knelt on the rough ground,
bowed low with reverence, kissed his Mother Earth like bread,
and as he touched her body, a dream slowly spread,
an ancient myth, and on his quivering lashes hung.
He saw Earth lean her dugs against her monstrous rocks, 1315
then reach her trembling hands amid the soil’s warm smell
and blindly stroke with love her two most mighty sons.
The sons grew savage, rose, and envy coiled and twined
in their dark loins like a green asp with coal-hot eyes:
“Dear Mother, hold me on your knees, give me your lap, 1320
for I am War, the first-born son of your strong bowels;
and by my birthright all your wealth is justly mine.”
The smallest flicked his hissing voice like a sharp fang:
“Dear Mother, take me on your knees, give me your lap,
I am your pet, your handsome youngest son, the Mind; 1325
blind Mother, I’m the light that cuts new roads for you.”
Their mother spread her hands and fondled both young heads:
“My boys, set out together, circle round my globe,
and he who first returns shall mount my lap, a king.”
The first-born jumped upon his russet mare, and sped; 1330
the youngest pressed his ears against the earth and heard
the hooves beat in the distance swiftly as stones sparked,
then circled and adored his mother’s body thrice
and slowly mounted up her vast beloved knees.
When frothing War returned from the world’s distant ends, 1335
a fuming passion seized him and he yelled in wrath:
“Mother, why do you hold him on your knees? While I
roamed these long years, he wasted all his life nor left
your loving side, nor helped his friends, nor fought his foes,
but stooped and idle, with pale hands, played on his flute!” 1340
Mother Earth fondled in the dark her youngest child:
“My son, you circled once earth’s outer rind, but he
flashed thrice like lightning round his central core, the Mother.
I’ll cut a spray of the wild olive tree to wreathe his head.”
Prone on the earth, the archer listened to both sounds 1345
deep in his entrails, and rejoiced, and asked himself
which one was he—the first son, War, or darling Mind,
then laughed, knowing that this was but an ancient myth,
and that both Mind and War, frail thought or sturdy deed,
feather of peacock, or the war’s unpitying blade, 1350
changed places freely in his juggling hands, just as he pleased.
XVIII
Life hangs like a Queen Bee on the earth’s flowering branch,
and the four winds, all bridegrooms, clasp her secretly
and feel her fuzzy belly gently brim with dreams,
with future joys and distant wings; but the brave mind
can only for a lightning flash, one breath of air, 5
fight with black Death or stroll through chaos and there beget
great gods and thoughts, imagination’s flights, and give
nobility and breed to the earth’s puckered hide.
The archer, highest blossom which the world can sprout
after most fearful strife with phantoms and with gods, 10
walked on the earth with dry nostalgic eyes and said
farewell caressingly to all the living world,
until the flowers filled with teardrops and the leaves with dew.
He passed through many roads and cut through many woods;
how the world shone! as though made virgin, like his soul; 15
rocks laughed as though the sun had pierced into their hearts
and the dry white-thorn laughed and wept with crystal dew.
He held his heart and mind now like a double-ax,
and numberless sweet-throated memories soared and perched
in the great tower of his mind like cooing doves; 20
women within him cried like seething, chattering towns
and hamlets laid their passion-smothered bosoms bare;
the flesh got drunk and sprouted souls, and the mind, too,
the famished son of need, got drunk and burst in song.
A giddy sparrow, that thickheaded bird, flew high 25
and gazed upon the archer with black beady eyes,
then twittered round him full of joy and wished him well.
The sly bird-catcher waved his hand and hailed the bird:
“Good morning, my dear sparrow, my most darling flute.
Ah, how I love your soft small body, your warm belly 30
filled full of tiny eggs and seeds of grain and song.
If only the soul of man—what luck!—were like you too!”
For the first time the wanderer felt the world his home,
as though he smelled grass or saw trees for the first time;
he reached his hand and cut a spray of flowering sage 35
and the scent rose till his brains smelled like mountain slopes.
For the first time he raised his eyes and saw birds fly
and felt their bodies’ holy warmth cupped in his hands.
Like an old hen that sprouts a crest and hoarsely crows,
day rose on terraces, and as the lone man walked, 40
the distant hamlets woke and chimneys belched with smoke.
A new-we
d Negro rose at dawn before doors opened,
stumbled, and woke his bride, then both knelt on straw mats,
placed iron spheres before them, smeared them with fat grease
and the man raised his pleading voice in the dim hut: 45
“O precious dowry of my wife, I bow and worship.
Don’t let us die of hunger, O strong God of Iron!
Deign now to fall into our fire, soften a bit,
become a slashing double-ax and guard us well.
O fallow deer, gazelles, wild boars, I call you, come! 50
Stay firmly in my hands now, ax! Don’t shake! Strike hard!”
He spoke, then lit a fire, and his young, faithful wife
knelt down and blew it with a reed and fed the flames
till in the hearth the spheres began to redden slowly.
In Africa’s deep heart the human herds awoke, 55
the sluggish river woke, the caïques tossed and swerved,
and a grim plowman hunched his back and clove the soil.
He had no other comrades in his wretched life,
dear God, than his two faithful ox with steaming snouts,
and thus he turned to them and told them all his pain: 60
“Giddap, my Russet, giddap, Gray, even this shall pass.
The Master, high in the far heavens, lifts his goad
and pricks our wretched backs, for he’s in a great rush;
and here, the master of the earth sits in the shade
and he, too, pricks our backs in turn till the blood flows. 65
Patience, O brethren ox, the world’s a heavy yoke,
the earth’s a hard and stony field, hunger wrecks all;
wherever he is, my brothers, day by day Death comes,
fetching cool water in his palms, hay in his lap,
and sweet black wheaten bread, and he’ll unyoke us soon. 70
Giddap, my Russet, giddap, Gray, salvation’s close at hand!”
As thus the plowman talked with his stooped lowing ox,
the sun fell on their backs until their foreheads glowed
as though it were a gold sphere wedged between their horns.
Day ripened and rose high on earth like a white sail, 75
crews rose with the red sun to start their daily tasks,
the earth, a three-tiered galley sailed in the bright air
and the archer, her old sea-wolf, stepped from rock to rock
on balanced tiptoe, till his glad heart swelled with winds
and like a holy compass showed the surest way. 80
At noon a cricket clung to his right shoulder blade
with gleaming, thin, smoke-silver wings and sparkling eyes,
The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel Page 91
