his eyebrows at this sudden lordly man who spoke, 1410
a four-eyed mind that like a glittering basilisk
drew near as cunning words flicked from his flaming lips:
“Aye, feather of a peacock brain, lightheaded brother,
now that we’re all alone at dusk on this long road
and not a soul can hear us, tell me the real truth. 1415
I’m that ascetic you saw crouched on the cliff’s edge;
I held no roaring lyre upon my knees, no flames
blazed round my head, nor did I raise my throat in song.
On my fate’s spindle then I spun another life!”
But the hoarse cock of song then slowly shrugged his shoulders: 1420
“What do I care about your life, ascetic archer?
What do I care what’s false or true, what’s yours, what’s mine?
It may well be, you fool, I’ve sung my own pain only!”
But the god-slayer accepted the wild words with calm:
“May you fare well, my son; I like you. Flap your wings! 1425
The paths of life are seven, and with your song, my dear,
you’ve chosen the most cool, and fly from me forever.
My son, did not a chart of winds spread through my heart,
I’d seize an echoing lyre, too, and stalk beside you.”
But the disdainful, headstrong bard replied with pride: 1430
“Take your own road, ascetic, I’ve no need of you.
See, I’ve good comrades as I tread on mother earth,
for Death jeers at my right, the heart weeps at my left.”
The mighty athlete locked his lips, but his heart throbbed;
he longed for a brief moment to spread gripping hands 1435
and tightly clasp that haughty lyrist as dear friend,
but stood unmoving in the lanes of night and watched
with tranquil admiration as the bard turned dim
and disappeared, a deep star-cluster in the azure night.
XX
Captain Sole’s weapons wailed in heavy threnody,
his battered shield turned round and bawled to his blunt sword:
“Alas, how can I ever go to war or face a spear?
Bedbugs have eaten me, the filth of flies has shamed me,
mice do not fear me, and my belly’s but a sieve. 5
Ah, raise me, lads, that I may stand, or set me down,
and you, dear sword, don’t lean against me, go far off,
for if I see your cutting edge, alas, I’ll faint!”
The sword but sighed against the wall, and its sides cracked:
“Alas, I’ve rusted, brothers, my voice has grown hoarse. 10
Sharp side and dull are one, my blade is full of nicks,
I try to rouse my wrath, but can’t; my loins have shrunk,
my rusted studs drop out, I shake like a thin reed.
Dear God, I want now no man’s evil, I shun wars,
I only want to lie in a soft velvet sheath 15
all night and day and dream that we are all good friends.”
The slender spear leapt upright in their midst and cried:
“Ah, don’t weep, shriveled brothers, rouse your hearts, march on!
Hold me and I shall hold you, clutch each other tight!
Last night I dreamt a dreadful dream, and from great fear 20
my one and only tooth shook so, it soon will fall!
I dreamt of war, my lads, I dreamt of flashing spears,
oho, I dreamt our master stroked his black mustache!”
The helmet with its thousand holes then gaped and yelled:
“Alas, I’ve studied well our master’s air-brained skull: 25
it bellows like an empty gourd with not one seed.
If he goes off his bean, my lads, and takes a shine
to war, and comes to unhook us from our cobwebbed nails,
then farewell bedbugs, idle comforts, beds of dust,
for no soul shall escape our master, Captain Lackwits!” 30
The battered shield once more poked out its timid head
to urge with gallant speech that all withstand their lord,
when like a turtle’s head it suddenly shrank with fear
for their still drowsy master stood by the door’s mouth.
He was lean, gangly, gawky, his head flat as a pie, 35
his hair was matted and his ancient scars were dyed;
upon his waterlogged and sallow chest was drawn
a burning heart that cast its scorching flames and flicked
its tongues round painted signs of burning battle cries.
He raised his reed-thin arms and to his weapons cried: 40
“Brave lads, the time has come to let your hearts rejoice,
for night and day, most manfully, you’ve wept and wailed:
‘Ah, Captain, you’ve forgotten us! Remember war!
What shame to rot on our dull walls and hear outside
tumults of savage fighting and the slaughter’s din! 45
Pity our youth that goes to waste in idle ease,
let’s kick our heels in dance once more, let the world flash!’
Comrades, I’ve listened to your pains! To arms, brave lads!
O sword who long to thrust and parry, to cut deep;
and you, my shield, tall tower, ironbound and strong, 50
before whom dragons fall and whom no host may pierce;
and you, bronze helmet with your always upright plume,
forward, let’s march to war, for enslaved freedom calls!
Earth rots and goes to waste; let’s plant a new brave world!
I can no longer sleep, for I hear cries and pleas 55
of slaves that crawl in cells and widows who cry out:
‘Pity us, Captain Sole, raise high your slashing sword,
they’ve dragged our men to jail, they’ve slain our orphaned sons:
you are the world’s one comfort and our only hope!’
Hand-laborers that toil on land, and crews at sea 60
who work all day and starve with no sure recompense
call stealthily at midnight till I leap to hear:
‘Aye, Captain Sole, we’re wasting! Make up your mind! Arise!’
I take upon myself the whole earth’s pain, for I,
as her most stalwart son, must give my stern account. 65
Forward, O shield and spear! Cast flames! Thunder and roar!”
He spoke, and then unhooked his thousand-wounded blade,
bound his pale shield with string to keep it all one piece,
wedged on his hollow head his towering casque of bronze
through whose rent studless cracks the whistling winds could rage, 70
then grasped his spear that bent and quivered like a reed
and all marched off together to a ruined stall
where in the sun a bony ancient camel wheezed.
“Lightning, rise up, we’re off to war! Let the world flash!
Hold on, don’t let your youth run loose, hold back your strength 75
until I snatch the great ascetic to a safe place!
They say that he, too, once set out to save the world,
but he knows nothing of arms now, he wields no sword;
ah, what great shame if our dog-foes should eat him up!
Pity him, Lightning, fetch him on your double rump!” 80
But the old camel’s face turned green, and her knees buckled:
“Alas, you’re off to die, dear master, and I with you!”
Then his poor mother came and stood by the door’s arch:
“Where are you marching off to, Son, to what war now?
Where to, with your old weapons, your decrepit beast, 85
with no gold in your purse, no army at your side,
with your white hair and beard? We’re all a laughing stock!
Turn back! The world is evil, Son. They’ll smirch your name!”
&
nbsp; “Mother, the heart can’t question; it but loves and cries!
Mother, I pity mankind and I hate injustice, 90
I’m off to bring bread, love and freedom to all men.”
He gave a hop and a jump, plumped on his camel’s back,
then swayed and preened himself, passed through his ruined yard,
and conflagrations flapped above his burning head.
Doors were flung wide as he passed through the village lanes, 95
the young men whistled, the girls laughed, the old men winked,
and children scoffed and jeered, then pelted him with stones,
but he, unbending, filled with pride, with spear erect,
looked on the hungry widows, looked on their wretched huts,
looked on the scraggly babes, and swore to wage fierce battle 100
till freedom glowed and all should find their place in the sun.
As he turned slowly and his bones creaked, he raised his hands
and looked upon his shameless town that mocked him so:
“Don’t wail, my town, I know full well your sad complaints.
Don’t run behind me weeping, I’ll do all I can.” 105
His bony camel shook and stumbled step by step
amid dark pointed stones and hellebore in bloom
and poisonous ripe poppies thrust in thorny brush.
When slim snakes flickered through the stones, the old beast shook,
her tongue stuck in her throat and she whined, pale with fear: 110
“Alas, you’re off to die, dear master, and I with you!”
But he still flailed his rusty sword in the wilderness
then cupped his eyes against the sun and strained to see
whether the foe or white sheep gleamed on the mountain’s ridge.
He perked his ears and gaped, yet could not quite make out 115
whether he heard the clash of arms or a flock’s bleating,
but when he saw black clouds roll down the mountain peak,
his craze burst like a falling star, and he spurred his beast:
“Follow me, lads, attack! Cut them to shreds! Assault!
Lightning, take wing, let’s reach that manly threshing floor!” 120
But his old camel reared, then fell flat on her face,
and the bold rider tumbled, stumbled, sprained his ankle,
and bit his lips to feel the pain, limped and cried out:
“What joy! Freedom, I’m wounded in my fight for you!
Where are you, Mother? Look on me with boastful pride! 125
Mother, I wonder you don’t sprout wide wings for joy!”
He twirled his curved mustache, then hopped with limping gait
and clambered up his camel’s back with gasps and groans
till the poor beast turned round and once more wheezed and whined:
“Alas, you’re off to die, dear master, and I with you!” 130
But now he scorned to listen to the mind’s poor cares
or the earth’s humble voices, and toward the black clouds
spurred wretched Lightning as he slashed both right and left.
He hungered, and stones steamed like bread in the wild wastes,
he thirsted, and snakes in the heat-haze flowed like streams; 135
pain ripped his twisted bowels, but his towering plume
flapped like a vanguard flame or banner on his battered casque.
That very hour the great ascetic climbed the rocks
rejoicing in the wastes as in a leopardess;
with pleasure he recalled his gardens, brooks, tall grass 140
and towns that hummed at dusk, but these bare mountain rocks
were his true gardens where his naked mind might stroll.
He stooped to earth and grasped a stone, and the stone leapt
and floundered in his fist, a bird that strove to fly,
till the disk-throwing athlete laughed and flung the stone 145
so that it hurtled down the cliff, full-winged and free.
The freed heart plays with pebbles like a carefree child,
rides horseback on a reed that bucks like a true steed,
laughs with all ghosts and phantoms, jokes and plays with spirits,
then thrusts at night its small fist in star-bins of pearls 150
like a fat miller who thrusts his hand in grain and flour.
He plays horse with his great thoughts as with slender reeds,
jigs with them till they snap, then picks still other reeds
and shapes them into flutes and plays what tune he wills
till the whole wasteland brims with his wild cackling cries. 155
As he looked round him, a strong joy rose in his mind
till, glad among all ruins, his heart throbbed and cried:
“When earth at length flicks from its hide this lice of men,
thus shall all stones glow, bare and free, in the hot sun,
thus do my guts already seem to flash and laugh.” 160
But suddenly, as he basked in solitude, he heard
laughter and voices, tramp of feet in the deep glen,
then stretched full length on earth and hung over a cliff.
Black armed men scattered here and there on scorching rocks,
shouting and laughing as their slaves, bound with bronze chains, 165
picked brushwood and lit fires to roast the spitted meat.
An old man in their midst stood straight, bound hand and foot,
a crown of shavings on his proud and narrow skull;
he groaned, then cried with toothless gums to the wild waste:
“Freedom, for you I die! Others shall come behind me, 170
a host of sons and grandsons, and they’ll set you free!
Lady, don’t cry, I’ll come back from the dead to save you!”
Odysseus pitied this long-faced old man, and thought:
“By God, we’re well met in these wilds; here’s a new friend!
The spits are ready, the flames leap, but he stands straight 175
and dies in a denial of death, and shouts on freedom!
Aye, gnarled old man, your madness is a mate to mine;
I’ll rise and yell and snatch you from the jaws of death,
for we are few, nor must our kind fade from the earth.”
The blacks then heard a mighty host that shook the cliff, 180
snorting of frenzied horses, clash of rock on rock,
but when they raised their heads they saw, white-haired, serene,
the old ascetic stumbling down with flapping rags.
Frightened, all ran behind their fires for barricade:
“Ah, that’s the great ascetic, lads, the dreadful lion 185
that roams the earth half-starved and bites all trembling souls.
Careful! Don’t rouse him! He wields the dread thunderbolt!”
Thus did they mutter as they crouched behind their fires.
When the old codger saw the ascetic, he strained his hands
to break the cords, to free his arms and clasp him tight: 190
“Welcome, O equal friend, you come in a good hour!
We two shall now march on and save the entire world!
I shall march first with sword in hand and slash new roads;
I’ll smash the chains of slavery, knock down castle walls,
and you shall plod behind and set all things in order. 195
I’m Freedom’s true right hand, armed with the flashing sword,
and you’re her left heart-hand that pains for all the world.
Forward, the time has come! Follow your leader! March!”
Odysseus smiled and looked with pride on the old man
who strove with his bound hands to clasp him in embrace: 200
“Friend, you deny what’s near your nose, and sing in flame!
Here’s to your health! Though you’re a slave, bound hand and foot,
your mind soars with the wings of fancy, the h
eart’s rage;
you draw your sword wherever slaves are weaponless!
But raise your eyes and look: the blacks have hewn your spit, 205
you’ve no time now to save the savior of the world!”
But Captain Sole laughed slyly and consoled his friend:
“Come, place your hand here on my heart—that’s where I am!
Fear is a beast that we must also kill, my brother.
These are not flames you see, that’s not a pointed spit; 210
don’t weep, these are but crimson wings, an archon’s staff;
hold onto patience for a while, your mind will spin!
I am that deathless bird who, when it turns to ash,
leaps from the ash in joy, for the devouring flames
turn into wings as long as oars and mount toward God!” 215
As the black chieftain’s heart grew bold, he poked his nose,
raised the spit high and laughed, then turned to Captain Sole:
“Aye, brave old man, I know an ancient fable too!
Forgive me, great ascetic, if I tell my tale:
Once long ago, they say, a female ape came down 220
to men to learn their crafts and all their subtle wiles;
she learned how to walk upright, how to cook in hearths,
to dress her shameful parts with gaudy crimson robes,
and to bow down before a painted log called God.
One day she sighed and pitied her unlucky tribe 225
that without God crawled on all fours like naked beasts;
thus, with an anguished heart, she thought to make beasts men.
Then she roamed rivers, woods, and caves and shrilly cried:
‘O brother beasts, come close to hear my words! For years
I’ve lived with those erect pigs that reside in homes, 230
and now I’ve come to teach you all their secret craft.
Elephants, tigers, lions, wolves, come out and hear!
Come, bring your children to my school! I’ll make them men!’
Next day the cave of the ape-teacher was crammed full
with screeching schoolkids whom the schoolmarm shaped to men: 235
she taught them to walk upright and to cook raw meat,
to hide their hairy shameful parts with plantain leaves,
to wear a cap and flip it in polite salute.
She held a switch, and as she whipped, her mind grew bolder.
One morning, when the lion cub forgot his breeches, 240
the ape schoolmarm in anger switched him on the nose
but the cub opened playfully his gaping mouth
and with one bite gulped down the foolish marm, kerplunk!