The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

by Nikos Kazantzakis

  as fires have blazed within your huts to keep me warm! 1340

  Now I, the Good White Spirit, spread my sacred arms

  to guard your seed, my grandsons, and to bless your heads

  and stand as roof and aid above the dark abyss.

  Children, farewell! My grace be with you night and day!”

  He spoke, then trudged on toward the shore, and in his arms 1345

  he clasped his new skiff like a long shark smeared with fat,

  eager to launch it like an arrow on free waters.

  Meanwhile the yelping dogs were yoked to the snow-sleds

  and all climbed in and strove to see somewhere on land

  spring sitting sunnily on the infrequent grass 1350

  wearing the green wreath of a pallid willow branch.

  Flocks of pure white and azure birds streamed through the air,

  screeched hoarsely with shrill joy and fetched upon their wings

  the fragrant and warm breath of land, grass in their bills,

  all led by that wild dove, teasing and warm-eyed Love. 1355

  The whole town followed in a white unbroken row;

  the gallant youths in their swift snow-sleds rushed ahead,

  mothers and babies, old men, grandsons, rode behind,

  and middle-aged men, at their prime, brought up the rear.

  Their greasy bodies gently thawed in the thick hides 1360

  and the sun shone and glittered in each separate beam

  until the brave emboldened youths broke into song:

  “Ahoy, my lads, we’re saved, the sun once more leaps high,

  the heart of the wastelands has thawed, our hearts have thawed!

  My left hand clasps my love, my right hand my harpoon, 1365

  the sniffing dogs rush on ahead, and hung on high

  like a groom’s golden lamp, the sun shows us the way!”

  As the much-wandering man pushed on, he saw on snows

  his shadow tightly twined with his skiff’s shadow there.

  The smooth ice gleamed in the sun’s rays, the snows turned rose, 1370

  and the earth tingled, quivering, as the boatsman strode

  to reach the waters that glimmered green to the far sky.

  In the first snow-sled, the witch doctor’s buxom daughter,

  wearing with swaggering pride the brand-new bridal dress

  she’d chewed all winter long to soften, touched her groom: 1375

  “We’ll pitch our tent upon the highest peak, my love,

  so the old men won’t come to part our merging bodies;

  they say there’s no more forceful joy on this sad earth

  than to lie by your loved one’s side in the warm sun.”

  The bridegroom’s slanting eyes flashed with enchanted light: 1380

  “Words of our great forefathers, love, are never wrong:

  good are the sun and fire, tasty and good are seals,

  and good a woman’s body to hold in tight embrace,

  but better than all these, they say, is the first son!”

  The maiden blushed but laughed, and the young groom, grown bold, 1385

  looked swiftly round behind him at the long row of sleds

  where titillated youths and maidens laughed and sped,

  where women and gay children screeched with giddy joy,

  and the witch doctor, his father-in-law, rode by their side.

  What joy, for not one soul was watching the young groom! 1390

  He reached his hand to that quince-garden, his love’s breasts,

  and when with his right hand he grasped the firm round fruit,

  the brains of both for a long time swooned in a daze.

  As the green waters glimmered and the ice-sheets cracked,

  Odysseus thrust himself into his sealskin skiff 1395

  until his boat and body tightly merged in one.

  He gleamed like a sea-centaur then, half-boat, half-man,

  with knowledge brimming from a great god’s snow-white head,

  and a man’s heart between them throbbing, mortal, warm.

  The lone man plied his oar and his heart swelled with joy 1400

  as like an arrow or swift gull his kyak sped:

  “Thus from my mother’s womb should we have been well matched,

  O final form: god’s head, man’s heart, and a ship’s keel!”

  He spoke, then cocked his ears and heard the women’s songs

  as in the azure shade they hailed the unflowered spring. 1405

  “If I had blessings I’d give all to those poor souls

  who now ascend the ice and speed on toward the grass;

  I’ve ached much for the world this sterile winter here.”

  As the world-wanderer talked thus to himself, he raised

  his hand to greet his friends on the ice for the last time; 1410

  like bear cubs in their furs, the children laughed and played,

  and others in deep sheaths upon their mothers’ backs

  poked out their copper-green and slant-eyed heads with joy

  and watched their parents, the swift dogs, the rosy sun.

  The old witch doctor flapped his eggshells, and with care 1415

  brandished his long staff like a sword to guide his flock;

  still in his hand the young groom held his loved one’s breast

  and ached with joy in its warm touch and in the kiss’s swoon.

  When they drew close to the foothills of a sharp peak

  and the dogs pulled with panting gasps, and youths and maids 1420

  rushed on ahead to pluck the love-herb from green earth, 1421

  the old witch doctor suddenly stopped, and his knees shook,

  for deep in the bowels of earth he heard a roaring blast;

  the ground shook, his legs staggered, he fell flat on ice

  and yelled for the snow-sleds to stop, but the gay songs 1425

  and the glad shouts of children drowned his feeble cries.

  Odysseus heard with fear the earth’s foundations roar

  as the ice shook deep to its roots and foothills swayed,

  and when he gazed far back he saw in the sun’s blaze

  the sleds, still unaware of danger, rushing headlong. 1430

  It was the bride who first cried out and lunged to seize

  the reins and stop the snow-sled on the plunging cliff,

  but the frenetic lead-dogs leapt in gaping waters

  as the groom seized his love, then leapt to save her, too,

  but both had only time to plunge, tight-clasped, to Hades. 1435

  Behind them rushed young couples filled with joy and song,

  their minds dazed deeply with the honeyed breath of spring,

  nor heard the old witch doctor’s cries, nor spied black Death,

  but rushed on as the ice-fields cracked and waters leaped—

  till they clutched vainly at earth’s edge by the mountain’s rim 1440

  and dogs and men and maids were plunged in lurching waters.

  Before the pale witch doctor could move his nerveless feet,

  or his numb throat break in a piercing, wailing cry,

  all dogs and all men drowned together in churning foam.

  The archer gazed with horror in that dreadful hour: 1445

  a soft swish as of tree leaves or of scurrying beasts

  moved for a honeyed moment in the springtime breeze

  as though men once inhabited these wastes of white,

  then the earth suddenly gaped and whiteness spread once more;

  the name of wretched man was writ on ice and snow, 1450

  then the sun rose, thawed it to water and sucked it dry.

  Odysseus bit his lips and held back blasphemies,

  for joy within him had turned to savage pain, flowed free,

  and as he watched the laughing sun flinging its roses

  on snows, on waters, till the summits bloomed with bliss, 1455

  he choked th
e rising sobs in his dry throat with rage

  then raised his hands and hailed the great world-sovereign disk:

  “O Sun, who gaze and shine on all this teeming world,

  who with no preference cast your rays on Life and Death,

  nor pity man’s misfortune nor his rectitude, 1460

  would that I had your eyes to cast their light on earth,

  on sea, on sky, on wretched fate indifferently!”

  Thus did the boatman speak, then clutched his whirling head,

  tore fiercely at his chest and to his soul cried out:

  “What shall I call you, O man’s soul, how shall I limn you? 1465

  Sometimes you seem like a lean ship that swiftly sails

  on the dark waters of despair, Death at your helm!

  You know well there’s no sea, there’s no safe haven home,

  but a black cataract has clutched and whirled you round,

  and though you fiercely fight to row back, O my soul, 1470

  and deeply feel at length that no salvation comes,

  how I adore you when you cross your oars like hands

  and upright on despair’s edge, with no hope or fear,

  break out in the wild wastes with a gay gallant song!

  O soul, you stretch your bottomless, your unslaked palms 1475

  to quench your endless thirst with that immortal water, Death!”1476

  XXIII

  Great Sun, O Father, Mother, Son, three-masted Good,

  you sleep with our pure women on the fertile earth,

  for if you do not thrust your seed deep in their flesh,

  man’s sperm is void and sterile, each drop lacks its son.

  You are our mother, too, firm breast that brims with milk, 5

  and all our open mouths await you, all lips gape

  to grasp your light at break of day and suck it sweetly.

  Great Sun, you cast your warm wings on the nested eggs,

  peck with your golden beak upon their fragile shells

  until the callow bills within peck in response 10

  and the thin middle wall falls slowly, the shell cracks,

  and fledglings drop into your lap and chirp for food.

  You are our son, you splash in water, roll on grass,

  cling to our breasts when hungry, turn blood into milk,

  and when, my sun, you wake at dawn and turn rose-red, 15

  a thousand birds wake in our breasts, a thousand cradles.

  O Sun, Great Son, profound joy of our earthen eyes,

  hold us forever in your palm, hatch us, dear God,

  turn all our feet to wings and all the earth to air.

  Take the old archer, Sun, in your caressing arms, 20

  don’t leave him here alone, for see, the worms have come,

  their hidden jaws are munching at his entrails now!

  Great Sun, flood down into his bowels, turn all the worms

  to thousands of huge crimson-golden butterflies!

  In a great blaze of wings and light, in salt embrace, 25

  make Death come riding down astride a gallant thought!

  Let Death come down to slavish souls and craven heads

  with his sharp scythe and barren bones, but let him come

  to this lone man like a great lord to knock with shame

  on his five famous castle doors, and with great awe 30

  plunder whatever dregs that in the ceaseless strife

  of his staunch body have not found time as yet to turn

  from flesh and bone into pure spirit, lightning, deeds, and joy.

  The Archer has fooled you, Death, he’s squandered all your goods,

  melted down all the rusts and rots of his foul flesh 35

  till they escaped you in pure spirit, and when you come,

  you’ll find but trampled fires, embers, ash, and fleshly dross.

  Old archon Time passed by and a small worm crawled up 38

  and sat aloft on his white head, herald of doom,

  then opened his frail jaws and swallowed all the world: 40

  “By God, what lands I’ve swallowed, what great towns I’ve smashed!

  I’ve just returned from the ice-fields and gorged myself

  with brides and bridegrooms, lusty grandsons and old men;

  I’ve swept the snows so well that not one soul remains.

  But what’s this shameless skiff I see that leaps the waves? 45

  Dear God, the fearful white-haired head glows in the poop

  that year on year I’ve longed for on all lands and seas!

  It strikes deep roots like a stanch oak or sturdy rock,

  I stoop and hear strong demons thrash their swords within it;

  alas, how can I lay it siege or pierce its bones? 50

  I’ll take a deep breath first and buckle on my arms.”

  The sun broke into wild lament, gazed on the sea

  and saw the rosy worm gird on its arms and twist

  and turn high on the head of swift-approaching Time.

  It stooped and gazed, broke into tears, nor wished to set: 55

  “My heart shall break now if I wash and rest in waves

  and leave you in the dark alone to fall in Hades,

  for on your brow already I see the first worm crawling!58

  Alas, there where you long to go, where now you cross,

  there is no sea to cool you, no swift ship to sail, 60

  there are no men whom you may juggle like dull stones

  or flip on high with heads or tails, just as you please,

  nor gods where like a scorpion’s tail your brain might rear

  and cast its fearful sting in their blue hearts of air.

  Alas, there where you long to go they’ll snatch your weapons, 65

  your ears, your hands, your lips, your still unsated eyes,

  and fling your mind, dust of all dust, on their dim shores!

  Who was it once saw sails on seas, or foam on waves,

  or the winged passage of a hawk in azure air?

  Who has seen trace of the world-traveler on earth and sea? 70

  It was blue smoke that vanished, fire that disappeared,

  the rustle of tree leaves at noon, heat-haze on rocks,

  red lightning flash on a wild singer’s darkened brows!

  Alas, at our black parting now my eyes grow glazed,

  I can’t distinguish joys from sorrows, truths from lies; 75

  the myth falls headlong like a star in the vast night

  and leaves a smothering trail of sulphur and of jasmine!

  Sun of an inner sky and sea, peak of an inner world,

  O Mind, I rose and sank in your world-famous head,

  roamed round your walls and thus encircled the whole world, 80

  but now I’ll vanish with you, too, and drown in waves!”

  Thus did the sun lament and veil its pallid face

  with a sad tender cloud until the whole world shriveled,

  then on the humble coffin it slid its pallid hands

  and softly stroked the white head of the death-doomed man. 85

  But as the seven-souled man watched the sun, yet heard

  no words, it seemed to him his friend was drenched in tears,

  and he raised high his calloused hands to comfort him:

  “Dear Sun, I’ve sailed days without end on these cold seas,

  I’ve been abandoned by all men and the heart’s passions, 90

  my heaving breast has emptied, ebbed away and dried,

  the gleaming pebbles have grown dull, the nymphs have fled,

  for all have smelled the dark abyss, sought other seas,

  and only you still follow, O red faithful hound.

  Go back! The hunt is ended! No wild game remains!” 95

  But the sun melted the thin cloud, marshaled its light,

  then cast it longingly on that ripe distant head

  and held it softly, sleeplessly, in lustrous hands,

  and t
he archer raised his eyes and scolded tenderly:

  “O Sun, your light obstructs the myriad stars about you; 100

  go off to your good-fated mother now for she

  has strewn you tables of rich food, soft beds for sleep;

  unyoke your snow-white steeds at last to browse on waves.

  Don’t weep to watch me disappear; I’ve cocked my cap,

  for soon the lyres will ring, and my white bride will come. 105

  Sink in your waves, don’t see her, or your heart will break.”

  But still the sun refused to listen, and roamed in rings,

  spun the white head with light, wove and unwove with rays

  tall candles for the dead, and flaming silent wreaths.

  The slim skiff gleamed and quivered in the unsetting sun, 110

  tall icebergs broke off, far away, without a sound,

  and slowly, slowly sailed, rose-red, on the green waters.

  Somewhere the fins of sharks flashed by, and the sea shuddered,

  somewhere the black seals barked and wailed like weeping babes,

  somewhere resounding clouds of birds swept on white wings. 115

  But as the lone man raised his head, his brains were filled

  with the shrill cries of air, warm bellies, and white wings,

  then spread his arms and on the wild birds’ passing necks

  hung messages and salutations for the living world.

  As moments passed like sated years, he bid farewell 120

  to earth and life and fondled them with aching palms.

  A great gold ship of air loomed on the sky’s sea-lanes;

  high in the upper airways blasts of wind blew by

  and the cloud swelled and puffed, changed many shapes until

  it piled up high like weightless cotton and shed its wings 125

  as the Old Man watched its myriad gambols silently.

  Sometimes it seemed like a thick smoke that would soon scatter,

  revealing, as far as the eye could see, the burning castle;

  sometimes it floated on blue shores like a huge town

  with towers, walls, and fishing boats, but winds blew by 130

  and the town molted and hung down in straggling threads.

  “Hail, O small airship, little sister, land of cloud,

  winds blew and shaped us, winds shall blow and we shall fade.”

  The lone man spoke and waved his hand to the upper land

  but it had scattered down the sky and left no trace. 135

  Meanwhile the sun leapt up, full-armed, and shrieked aloud 136

  like an unsleeping guard who watched a town besieged;

  he’d seen the danger and cried out, but neither god