and, fierce with hunger, cast new flames in your rich vaults, 1240
and if I were here—then, who knows?—I might not raise
my hand to save you from the serpent’s mouth, dear friend,
for my soul forges forward, spurning loves and virtues.”
Choking his tears back painfully in his harsh throat,
he turned his eyes and marveled at man’s precious wealth; 1245
his eyes caressed the lovely woman languidly,
though not consoled, as though he bid all things farewell.
A hush fell, and the crackling torches dripped on tiles,
the nightbirds still sighed lovingly in olive trees
until a woman’s voice fell through the tranquil hush: 1250
“O sly, resourceful man, I’d stay awake the whole
night through, though stooped and shuddering, just to hear your tales;
I never knew an archon who so matched the sea
with her smooth beaches and her myriad bitter waves
as you, my dear, with your strange, vacillating soul. 1255
But sleep is also good, a vast sea and a god;
this day has ended well; tomorrow, when day breaks
with brilliance, choose whatever joys your heart desires—
sweet conversation, wine, or noble games of skill;
the guileless gods grant freedom only to earth’s masters.” 1260
Slim-waisted Helen, from whom roses poured, stood up,
and slave boys ran and seized the torches, lined the stairs,
stood motionless and lit their masters’ regal way.
A strutting peacock with a long and glittering tail,
thrice-noble Helen slowly paced the marble stairs, 1265
and her large black eyes, tinted to her eyebrows’ verge,
gleamed velvetly and mystically like cool dark wells
of peril in a wood where beasts come down to drink.
All stopped to part before the many-breasted goddess
where the sly man took from his chest an ivory box 1270
that like an eyelid hid the magic crystal ball
of myriad eyes, and placed it in her startled hands.
And Helen shuddered, as though she held a living head,
as though she touched the soft and tender hair of Paris.
“I greatly fear the gifts you bring, soul-snatching friend,” 1275
she said, but laughter boiled like water in her throat,
and on her deathless breast she hung the ivory box.
They parted, Helen led the way, the old king followed,
and soon both vanished in the labyrinthine women’s quarters.
The archer passed to the great hall where slaves had strewn 1280
the ground with red-gold woolen rugs on which to sleep,
but his dark lids would not shut like a tight trap door
to blot the world out and make fast the lambent brain;
day hung between his eyebrows like a jocund star
and shone with brilliance and with no desire to set 1285
The crossbeams of his room smelled of sweet cypress wood,
and the world-wanderer rose in bed with beating heart;
light poured through the low casement like an azure sea,
apples were somewhere ripening, gardens somewhere swaying,
until his hands and the night smelled of apple trees. 1290
Then the man-slayer’s mind was wounded and unhinged:
“So must her coffers smell of apples now,” he thought,
“her clothes, her hair, her breasts kissed by so many men.”
He leapt up from his mattress and rebuked his mind:
“What! Have you not yet learned to come and go uncaught 1295
yet eat within the snares of flesh, or walk in hunger
under that tempting bait and mock your own starvation?”
He spoke, his great mind blushed with shame, and then he laughed
and like a thief began to prowl the palace halls.
Deep stone lamps filled with oil burnt with full upright flames, 1300
gods smiled from every corner, all the bronze-work gleamed,
and row on row the embellished jars stood brimmed with grain;
carpets and woolen rugs lay heaped to the domed roofs.
“All very fine and lavish! What brazen opulence!
Hey, all you hungry hordes, come kill and plunder us!” 1305
These were the devious thoughts in the night-prowler’s mind
as he passed by and marveled at his friend’s great wealth.
And just as Victory, that winged bird with bloody beak,
wavers and sways between two vast, contending hosts,
so did his vacillating spirit flap and hover. 1310
“Farewell, O aromatic coffers, fruit-filled jugs,
rude, shameless murals, goddesses, and noble feasts!
Blaze with light, lamps, that I may see and bid farewell.”
Thus did he speak and gaze on all that vested wealth,
and as he wandered slowly in the lamps’ bright glow 1315
his soul turned peaceful drop by drop, his eyes grew heavy,
till not a single thought obscured his lambent mind.
But as he turned to his soft bed to rest, he thought
of Kentaur who had sprawled amid the storage jars
nor shown his barrel-bellied body at the feast, 1320
and wondered idly where they’d stretched his humble bed.
But Kentaur lay in a long hall by huge wine-jars,
drank from big-bellied jugs and ate from laden trays;
the slaves took heart until slave-girls approached with fear
and wandered round his thighs that spread like castle gates, 1325
and soon a small maid, growing bold, laughed long and crowned
his hippopotamus’s head with fresh vine leaves.
The glutton ate a whole young lamb down to the bone,
and then, dead drunk, watched the slave-girls with their short robes
running in haste and jostling on the stairs to bring 1330
their lordly masters fine rich foods and cooling drinks.
He strained his ears to listen to the hurried news
brought from the upper terrace by the panting slaves:
“The stranger laughs and holds his golden goblet out,
and the wine-steward brims it over and over again.” 1335
“He talks now, and his head flings flames as though his hair
caught fire, and the night bums, and the sun-terrace shines.”
“He’s silent now and cleans his hands in a gold bowl
and contemplates with calm our mountain’s darkening bulk,”
The guzzler then held out no longer and burst out: 1340
“That man, my lads, is a great demon of the sea!
His nostrils smell of crabs, his lips of cuttlefish,
his brain’s an armored lobster thrashing in its lair,
his beard’s of sea-thorn made—beware its deadly sting!
One day he chanced to quarrel with the sea’s booming god 1345
about which of the two should hold the three-pronged spear.
They fought for years like lions, the god with all sixteen
strong, elemental winds on his proud seaweed chest;
but my sea-captain, mounted on a frail plank, clasped
his heart alone for helpmate, woman, friend, and god. 1350
At length he set foot on dry land, looked round and chose
a new crew for his ship and a brief lethal trip;
that’s how he hooked even me, my lads, one fine false morning!
But in his hands all souls are soon drained dry, and then
he throws them in the sea again and harpoons others! 1355
Farewell, my lads! I too shall melt in his hands soon!”
He spoke, then seized the jestful wine and gulped it down
and sent it g
urgling to his bellies’ bottomless pits;
it was a sweet old wine—his eyes, as round as eggs,
grew groggy, but he chased dull sleep away that sat 1360
upon his eyes like night-moths and caressed them gently.
A red-haired lad dashed from a column then, and said,
“When he had washed his hands well in a golden bowl,
the dread guest spoke with calm these strange and startling words:
‘A new god mounts from the soil now and rules the earth!’ 1365
Confess, dear comrade, you must know what god he means.”
Then Captain Sot, who from his wine-soaked mind now saw
all things like a great god, beyond man’s meager bounds,
spoke up, and raving in that dungeon, shaped a god:
“One day when we sat drinking by a sandy shore 1370
and talked of voyages and past heroic deeds,
I saw a god in starfire pass through mounting waves.
He sat astride a long-tailed ship, blazed through the sea,
shot piercing glances round, stooped down, bit his lips hard,
then gripped a heavy spear made of Hack bronze, the length 1375
of two tall men, to which a long-haired race bow down
high up in the far North, and secretly name it iron.’
God passed; the sea turned spume and all the seashores shook!
I fell down trembling, fearful that the god would spear me,
but my bold master leapt erect, reached for the waves, 1380
and his eyes harrowed all the sea with piercing glances.
The sky hung down pitch-black, the sea boiled up like tar,
between them both the iron spear like pure flame leapt,
and straight, inflexible, it held the sky from falling.
‘He’s waved to us! my master yelled, and his proud eyes 1385
shone from the iron. ‘He, too, raised his hand high in air!’
Thus arm in arm we looked afar at our salvation,
but in a flash god vanished, and our vision passed.”
Kentaur fell silent then, and his huge tears rolled down,
but his vast mouth, deep as a well, stretched wide with joy, 1390
and flinging out his arms to all the slaves, he bellowed:
“This flash on the sea’s waves is God, dear souls! Beware!”
He roared, and all the storage jars rang out with his harsh cackling.
And in that very hour Odysseus wondered where
the servants had laid down his sottish friend to sleep, 1395
but when he heard the reveler laugh, his heart leapt up,
and he crept softly down the cellar steps and stood
and filled the door’s huge mouth with all his shining length;
it seemed as if his head flashed with long, azure rays.
With piercing cries, the slaves crawled back into the dark 1400
for fear this was the guzzler’s god new-risen from waves;
but when the cunning man walked in that room with calm,
the gross man stumbled up, holding his bulging bellies:
“Forgive me, Cap, I found their food and wine so fine,
their company so good, I clean forgot your worship!” 1405
His master shot a hand out, seized the blue, grimed cloak
of his intoxicated friend and ripped it off
so that his body stood stark naked as a wine-jar,
and the sea-eagle marveled at this ballast made
of lard and fat that kept his craft in proper balance. 1410
Shrieking, the slaves thrust their flushed faces in their hands
yet looked with longing through their fingers on that huge
and shaggy bulk that stumbled up the creaking stairs;
his master followed after with his high peaked cap
and with both hands held up those monstrous bulging sides. 1415
Thus like one flesh they mounted to the great bedchamber
where with a mother’s care Odysseus tucked the drunk
in bed, the crown of vine leaves fallen about his neck
as greasy drops of sweat dripped from his hanging teats.
He covered Kentaur with a scented sheet, then stood 1420
and watched the myriad folds of flesh sink down in sleep,
and when the wine-soaked breasts, immersed in a deep calm,
swelled up and down in rhythm like a halcyon sea,
the man of many passions slept near by on royal fugs,
An unexpected love, huge, harsh, now crushed his breast: 1425
he pitied all men, foe and friend embraced within him,
and he recalled his home, his son, his peaceful shores,
and sighed, for now his heavy soul denied them all
He brought to mind those faithful friends who by tall waves
awaited him, though all knew well no soul could flee him, 1430
yet followed, though they knew none would return.
Where were they heading now? Why leave their rich good times
on sandy shores, their high thrones by the plane tree’s shade?
At midnight still his mind was roaming round the world;
the deep sea fell asleep, all brains dozed on, and dreams 1435
flung wide their fabled casements on close-lidded eyes;
like dappled beasts who ate their fill, the cities slept,
and sleepless owls perched in olive trees, and wept.
The archer’s wide eyes flashed with fire in the dark,
his ears perked up and hearkened to night’s muffled sounds: 1440
the beasts slept fitfully by their troughs and softly sighed,
from the arcaded courtyard round he heard the slaves
snore deeply as they sailed unfettered in their sleep,
and now, for the first time, he felt he loved all men:
he loved their eyes, their bodies and their clay souls, all— 1445
loved the whole wretched earth and all its precious cargo,
and as he lay stretched out on Helen’s luxurious rugs,
His mind flew far away while dawn burst on the, world
and trees in the warm night cast pearl-drops on the ground; 1450
earth worked with patience darkly in the boughs of time
to turn the hanging, acrid grapes to drops of honey;
so did his thorn-pierced heart, he felt, deep in his breast
hang crude and heavily in the night to ripen slowly;
thus clusters turn to honey soon, bark into fruit, 1455
sun, air, and water merge, the good soil bursts, and all
our shaggy forebears in their grandsons sprout with wings.
The suffering man, the pirate of the sea and brain,
grew tranquil now between the embroidered linen sheets
woven by Helen, until his seething simmered down, 1460
and his voracious mind, that whirlpool, lay becalmed.
The daughter of the swan, no doubt, had slipped him herbs
so that the mistral strengthened, his brain opened sail,
and his soul vanished in the deep blue sea of tranquil sleep.
IV
Dark night shook loose her glaucous hair then slowly turned
and took off her old ivory comb, the crescent moon;
stars browsed for salt like white lambs on the foaming waves,
and the black rooster shook his wings, though night still reigned,
for he had dreamt of suns, and rose to crow in darkness. 5
He’d roosted in a spacious pine in the king’s court
and now half-raised his wings and skimmed from the low boughs.
Old Menelaus’ sleep came dear that night, his eyes
at dawn were open still, for still his mind could smell,
with fear and joy, the lion-stench of his old comrade. 10
But as the red cock raised his
heavy wings to crow
at crack of dawn, sleep fell on the old king like lightning;
and as one sprawled beneath a flowering tree when strong
winds blow feels in his lap the flowers fall like petals,
so dreams in a deep hush fell thick and fast on the king’s chest. 15
He dreamt they both had mounted two white steeds and shone
in the dark night like stars, like wings, with brimming minds:
“This is not earth, dear friend, nor do we tread on land,
for my heart opens, my chest soars with flapping wings
until the worms of misery turn to butterflies. 20
It’s not the mind which squats now in my brittle head
and, stooped with cares, counts and recounts the world’s dismays—
a nightingale with full throat sings in my skull’s cage! . . .
‘Farewell, dear wife; we’re on our way. Go to your loom,
weave a firm cloth of two fine strands, embroider there 25
your husband on a pure white horse, his friend beside him
with his seafaring cap, and in his huge hands place
the four winds like four birds of multicolored plumage.
Then place the red sun right, the white moon left, and let
them run behind their masters like two faithful hounds . . .’ 30
I ordered it from my poor wife, remember, friend,
while she filled and refilled with wine our golden cups.
‘Sweet love,’ she wailed, ‘take me with you to hold the taper
while you wash in gold bowls or change your handsome robes;
my lord, I’ll be the earth you tread, the cup you sip, 35
let me but sail, dear love, within the wine you drink!’
We laughed, leapt on our steeds, and then I said, remember:
‘My wife, you speak a thousand truths, but we ride far;
the world’s too small even for one, and two’s too many;
listen: the past is past, swept clean by the four winds; 40
we ride like two blood-brothers, and there’s no returning.’
We whipped our horses, and her black eyes vanished soon.”
He spoke, then spread his arms to touch his silent friend:
“Brother, give me your hand, this is what great joy means:
two friends that ride embraced and drain their hearts with talk.” 45
The archer reached his hand, huge as a dragon’s paw,
and horsemen and their horses, sun and moon passed through
tall mountain ranges till they came to a green field:
“The trees have blossomed, brother, or is this a dream?