and the warm night that smelled of woman’s thick-haired armpits!
What joy to anchor in the deathless deeps of myth
until both time and place roll on like twin slow streams
and Death comes in the likeness of an ancient blackbird 1095
and dips his beak and cools himself in the calm current.
The North Wind blew, and memories fell like almond flowers
before fruit comes, and whitened all the archer’s hair
as round him his untroubled comrades feasted well
and listened to their master’s heavy sighs that mingled 1100
with the erotic lamentation of the blue-eyed sea.
The future hour lies shut like an unopened rose,
and while departure’s arrow on the shore was aimed,
the son was plotting the destruction of his father;
both precious souls thus tilted on the scales of fate. 1105
Telemachus would leave the side door open at night
through which the armless leader slipped for secret talks;
prudent Penelope in silence felt the noose
grow tighter round her husband’s neck, but locked her mouth,
for her most faithful heart was scorched by myriad bastards 1110
who trooped in long rows from the shore and filled her home.
Carousing all night long upon the beach with tramps,
he shamed his son and house and all his noble stock:
“If only he still roamed on distant shores and longed
to see smoke rising from his roof, but found his hands 1115
unworthy still, O Gods, to touch his native land!”
O heavy-fated wife, such were your sad complaints
as in the night, alone, you tore your hair in silence.
The trickster felt the sting and guessed what treacherous nets
his son was spreading round his feet to trip him up, 1120
but his resplendent head reared with unfearing scorn:
“Dear Gods, I’m sorry for my wretched, well-bred son;
he stoops to drink but shies at shadows, eats and quakes,
falls on his bed to sleep, but nightmares crush him flat.
Sleep or awake, I crowd him thickly round and choke him! 1125
Be patient! On that night when I shall lock you fast
within your nuptial chamber that our race may flourish,
I shall unfurl my sails to windward, grasp a stone,
and chording on the deck, throw it across my shoulder.
Exile’s my country, and my son but froth on foaming sea.” 1130
When summer came, the mistrals fell upon the land
and all the wide sea smelled like a fresh fruit broke open.
The great grain-grinding then began for the son’s wedding
to bake the five-rayed ring-cakes in the bustling palace; 1134
nine women, but once married, sewed new mattresses, 1135
for the red sail had now been seen far out at sea. 1136
Felicitating sentries ran from the cape in joy
and spread the happy news from village house to house;
windows and doors opened and shut, stairs groaned and creaked,
red quilts were hung down from the roofs, rugs were unrolled, 1140
mules bore huge loads of berried laurel and myrtle boughs,
and the steep palace road was strewn with fragrant leaves.
Craftsmen untied their aprons and shut up their shops,
town elders with their clean white linen and tall staffs
descended to the beach in haste to greet the bride; 1145
the face of each man glowed as though he were the groom.
Then the gates opened, father and proud son appeared,
and people, turning, saw two lions descend in haste
and tread on stones that rumbled down and swept the road.
The crowd made way with fear, and when Odysseus stood 1150
alone, apart, an empty ring spread all around him.
But he, his eyes on the red sail, smiled secretly,
for there, fast in her scaffold locked, far up the beach,
his new-built vessel creaked and longed to sail—so might
his soul one day flee scaffolds of wife, son, and country! 1155
Standing erect, he glued his eyes on the bride’s ship
to lure it swiftly, that his bitterness might end.
Telemachus walked with joy and hailed the ancient archons,
then, turned, smiled on the workers, and all the girls caught fire
and longed in secret to embrace his noble form. 1160
and sought the help of every wind to make the port.
Crowded about the gunwale’s rim, shining like doves,
the well-born foreign ladies-in-waiting hailed the town;
then red sails fell down fluttering like a woman’s veil 1165
and all the ladies prinked and pranked, swaggered and swayed,
and when they leapt to earth, the harbor towers glowed.
The standard-bearer raised on high the bridal banner:
a long oar twined with pure white roses, on whose tip
the still unbitten virgin’s apple flamed and flashed. 1170
Behind the maidens came the bride’s old trusted lords
with their tall, gold-tipped staffs and their long, flowing beards,
and in their midst the Cretan minstrel loomed and glowed.
When he was young he’d slaked himself with spoils and wars,
but now in his old age’s honeyed afterglow 1175
he held his bell-hung lyre and sang his joys and toils.
To him her father had entrusted the young bride,
to stand beside her and console her in dark exile;
his head was a rich vessel filled with many toys,
with shoals of sirens, riddles, prophecies and songs 1180
with which to cheer the darling daughter wed afar
until she swelled with child and could forget her country.
Like a deep river, slaves behind them dragged the dowry:
unliftable brass kettles, gold cloaks, amber beads,
and seven peacocks strutting like coquetting dames. 1185
Suddenly in the prow the bride blazed like a candle,
trembling and throwing timid looks on her new land;
and standing on the beach, the bridegroom shook with longing
to see what godly shape he’d hold that night in darkness,
then felt ashamed and turned his glowing eyes to the ground. 1190
When worldly-wise Odysseus saw the trembling bride
treading with slow and timid steps upon his land,
his heart, like that of a good man’s, was moved with joy,
for he remembered with what ache in his green youth
he’d stroked and touched for the first time a maid in darkness. 1195
He pitied youth and felt the unspeakable deep grief
of maids, and like a god spread out his hands and blessed them:
“It’s time that love and tranquil peace should rule on earth.
The greatest dowries are the sun, rain, trees, and soil;
now let the loving pair play a brief hour on earth.” 1200
The bride stepped lightly on the ground, and all the world
was dazed, for on her breast she wore the sun and moon,
her lips smiled like the dawn, her eyes were peaceful ports.
Kneeling, she kissed the knees of her father-in-law, then glanced
at her groom shyly, but quickly lowered her eyes in shame 1205
for her heart throbbed to glimpse his bearing, his slim form.
The bridal pomp passed on, all streets spread wide in welcome,
and two young sailors, crowned with flowing seaweed wreaths,
drew breath and blew their conches till the whole town shook.
High up on festive roofs a shower of women yelled, 1210
seashells and magic charms gleamed in their tinkling hair, 1211
and when the bride passed by, rained her with grain and flowers.
Girls hung from the high terraces and shrilly sang:
“Like the green vine that climbs a tree and takes firm root,
so may the bride spread roots about the bridegroom’s thighs!” 1215
Below, old crones winked at the bride and screamed with laughter:
“Red pomegranates hang from the groom’s savage belt
and in the center hangs, shy bride, his cool grape-cluster!”
Then when the pomp had reached the lion-guarded gate,
a rose-cheeked boy of living parents slowly paced 1220
and gave the bashful couple gifts of nuts and honey. 1221
The bride then fed the bridegroom, and the youth his mate,
that both might pass the dreadful sill with sweetened breath. 1223
She dipped bar finger in the honey, leant by the door,
and on its upper panel drew a crescent moon; 1225
the youth unsheathed his sword and with untrembling stroke
and deep desire carved on the door a large round sun. 1227
The bronze gates of the castle opened, and the world-sung
form of her mother-in-law appeared with open arms:
“My bride, my noble bride, welcome a thousand times 1230
with wedding wreath around your head, sons in your womb; 1231
our house shall ring again with children’s laughter soon.”
The virgin knelt with awe to kiss the careworn knees
and the pale hands devoured by looms and scorched by pain,
and when, her mother-in-law had kissed her on both cheeks 1235
they raised their right feet high and crossed the sill together. 1236
Odysseus watched his son who now with a strange girl
broke down his savage door, possessed his spacious courts’
and occupied with firm tread all his floors and vaults.
His father’s home was being uprooted from his heart, 1240
his land was being uprooted, and the bitter sea
flooded his rooted feet and crumbled them away.
The bride within the courtyard, meanwhile, stooped above 1243
the sonorous household well and bowed with reverence thrice.
Bending with fear, she watched her face sail on the water, 1245
then thrice called to the household guardian spirit, and said:
“I bow down low and greet you, grandsire! Good health and joy!”
The grandfather’s groan and the well’s rumbling sound were heard
so that the bride rejoiced and rose with cool, quenched throat
because the guardian ghost coursed through her bones like water, 1250
A mother, whose twelve sons were still untouched by death, 1251
from her breast gave the bride a flaming pomegranate
and she flung it against the tiles with all her strength
so that its rubies in the sunlight danced and glowed
and all the bridesmaids raised their arms and cried with joy: 1255
“May your womb soon become a swelling pomegranate
to burst and fill these spacious courts with sons and daughters!” 1257
They threw grain in her lap and she clucked at her hens,
greeted the oxen and the horses in their stalls
and fed the dogs who licked her hands of honey-bread. 1260
She passed the inner door with awe to the men’s quarter 1261
and by the smoked hearth where two logs of fir and oak
burned slowly, opened her arms wide and bowed with awe: 1263
“O Fire, great household spirit, mistress of the world,
who sit in vigil by the hearthstones all night long, 1265
I bend and bow low to your grace, O grieved grandmother.”
Then in the hearth she cast large stacks of laurel leaves
till flames between the oak and fir logs leapt and crackled
and Grandma Fire laughed with pride as though she bounced
a babe already on her knees and the house had filled. 1270
with infant laughter, lullabies, and bonnet bells. 1271
The shy bride crimsoned, then sat down next to the hearth
and like a mistress clapped her hands and gave her orders.
Servants and slaves assembled, nurses and mammies swarmed,
and to these good souls she threw armfuls of fine gifts, 1275
brooches, embroidered kerchiefs, earrings, and bronze bracelets,
and all stooped low and kissed her knees and stretched their arms:
“May ycu stand upright in your husband’s courtyard, Lady,
like a tall cypress tree, or plunge roots like an oak,
or like an apple tree bear flower and fruit, and drop 1280
one daughter and eleven sons round you like apples.”
When she had finished with her wedding salutations, 1282
she raised a jug and slowly went to the deep well
to fetch some speechless water for her bridal bath that evening. 1284
Night, woman of easy virtue with her many beads, 1285
walked with slow strutting steps, passed through the palace courts
where the king’s wedding guests had come in his son’s honor.
The lords and the great chieftains sat on stools apart,
the poor and all their kind lay on the ground apart,
and in a place apart the fresh pair shone like stars. 1290
The youth felt secretly aroused in the warm night,
his strength swelled like a tree with bursting buds and flowers, ‘
and the bride acted like a bride and veiled her eyes,
but in the shade her heart leapt like a frightened hare.
Odysseus, standing, watched his son and lords with stealth, 1295
caught the sly looks between them, saw their armored belts,
and heard from dimlit corners choked and breathless whispers;
he felt their cunning in his heart, suspected all,
for treachery in his courts like snakes uncoiled and crawled.
His five boon brothers mingled with the wedding guests, 1300
followed his cares and watched him, waiting for a sign,
and he rejoiced to feel roads spread in him once more,
though he was late in choosing, since all roads seemed good.
But suddenly when he saw the ancient Cretan bard
rise in the night, his heart throbbed, for the minstrel held 1305
pressed tightly to his chest, as though he battled with it,
a lyre made of two curved bull-horns hung with bells.
Bronze dog-faced demons, golden gods, and echping shells
glittered around it like clusters of ripe grapes, and tinkled.
The small eyes of the minstrel gleamed like a wild beast’s, 1310
and as the flames’ reflection flickered round his body
and the resounding lyre’s horns flashed on his shoulders
he reared like a tall bull-god amid the feasting boards.
His eyes flashed, and his voice burst like a battlecry:
“The world throws stones at the fruit-bearing giant tree, 1315
and I shall cast a word, O king, at your high peak!
Good is your lean and meager coast with its cheap gods,
with all its sluggish windmills and its wretched lords,
and with its fertile gossip by each door at dusk.
I’ve wandered all the world, no narrow street can hold me, 1320
I’ve circled round all apple trees, I’ve eaten their fruit, 1321
sweet taste within the throat, most bitter in the mind, 1322
and my eyes brimmed with gods, grew weary of all men
till horses with red wings swooped down and swept me off
&
nbsp; past every boundary till we stopped at Lord Death’s door. 1325
Then Death and I went trotting with our gallant steeds—
all things were ours, and we admired the unnumbered flocks,
and passed through villages and towns, counting each man,
counting the great gods in the sky, the spirits of air,
just as the shepherd every morning counts his flock.” 1330
But the impatient king broke in upon the songster:
“I also have roamed foreign shores, fought gods and men,
I’ve even mounted, it seems to me, your crimson steeds.
Now, by the sword I wear, I too concede no boundaries!”
The old bard turned his head and spoke with bitterness: 1335
“The world is wider than Calypso’s cave, Odysseus,
and deeper than black Circe’s dense and curly pit.
Athena’s helmet, boys, has now been smashed to bits
nor can it ever again contain the whole world’s head.
All the strong gods you met on your slight voyages. 1340
are smoke that rises from a lord’s contented roof
or the long shadow of a startled slave at nightfall
I know a living land whose entrails are still burning,
where still the bull-sun mounts her like a cow each dawn;
her god is well knit, formed of sturdy flesh and bone 1345
and stands guard at his boundaries with black, iron swords.
He hungers, and when meat is scarce, invents new wars
and beats on iron pans to marshal all his tribes;
he feeds his buffaloes and stallions all alone,
and all alone smears his pronged arrowheads with poison, 1350
and by himself keeps sentry duty all night long.
He’s not a god to place his trust in rotting man;
he knows men well, they can’t hold out, they fret and fall.
Like soldiers, maids and youths stand by their tents in fear
as he inspects them like a general every dawn, 1355
prodding them silently in shoulders, knees, and loins,
and when he finds one profitless for war or plow,
with his mute sword he slits that useless throat at once;
hold your mind high, O king, this cruel god suits you well!
Forgive me, friends; heavy’s the speech I’ve flung tonight; 1360
my lips had longed to deck you with gay wedding songs,
to wish this loving couple life and ripe old age
that in their hands life’s withered branch might bloom and bear,
but suddenly on the threshold bent, ablaze with light,
I saw the still unsated bow of cruelty aimed! 1365