The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

  and fishes floundered in the sun with goggling eyes 1125

  till the shore smelled and the poor fishers, hungry, tired,

  lay down or built a fire and strung the fish on reeds,

  then rubbed their hands and laughed to see their work well paid,

  for seven souls had toiled and seven homes would eat.

  A slender virgin-lad with flaming fawnlike eyes 1130

  raised his slim-fingered hands toward the clear sky and said:

  “Blessed be the grace of God, our one eternal Father!

  It’s He who from His love created fish and sea,

  it’s He who brims our nets and fills our hearts with joy;

  O comrades, raise your hands on high and cry, ‘Our Father!’ “ 1135

  They raised their calloused hands that still dripped with the sea

  and sweetest exclamations chimed on warbling shores.

  A deep and tranquil joy poured in the young lad’s face:

  “Dear brothers, all our hearts grow sweet, and the earth’s changed.

  Our bodies now feed well on a dry crust of bread; 1140

  one good word said, and all our pains fade far away;

  the black earth changes her grim face; like a large nest

  it hatches in the sun serenely, shines at night

  as small unnumbered bird-beaks open round its rim

  with hunger, point up toward the sky and call their Father. 1145

  Earth is our path, and the blue sky our destined home

  which we’ve set out to reach like brothers by nightfall.

  Courage, my brothers, I feel the sky will open soon!”

  But a fierce stalwart fisherman with a square chin

  frowned with frenetic brows and clenched his angry fists: 1150

  “On this earth, brothers, black injustice still rules all,

  the good still starve on whorish earth, the evil thrive;

  at night when I can’t sleep I step in my dark yard

  and the stars seem like flames that burn within my head:

  ‘Ah, sword-sharp spirits,’ I moan, ‘it’s time you came to earth!’ “ 1155

  Then the sweet voice of the lad who fished for souls arose:

  “The spirits indeed have come, my brother, and walk the earth

  but carry no flame in heart, no flashing sword in hand;

  they open their arms wide, kind words sail on their lips,

  for only thus, with love, shall earth merge with the sky.” 1160

  But the young man’s impetuous heart still raced and seethed:

  “Words without weapons, friend, can never dare to fight

  the two-edged sword of cruel injustice, and win through.

  I also like kind words, but with sharp sword in hand!”

  Once more the quiet voice was heard in sad reproach: 1165

  “Though we’ve lived long together, you don’t know me, friend.”

  He ceased, then laid his young head sadly on the sand,

  and an old fisher tried to reconcile both sides:

  “Brothers, I think no soul may step in our Lord’s house

  unless he holds his good deeds like a cutting sword; 1170

  knock on the mighty landlord’s door with your good blade

  and he must rise to open, whether he would or not!”

  But once again the sweet voice rose as the waves hushed:

  “I’ll tell you in a myth of my heart’s pain, my brothers,

  for though the strongest thoughts may fade and kingdoms vanish, 1175

  the myth can never fade or vanish from men’s minds.

  One day a mighty hermit died within his cave

  and fiercely rose toward heaven, grasping in his hand

  the good deeds of his holy life like a long sword

  and, like an owner, banged upon his Father’s door. 1180

  ‘Who knocks with so much boldness on my castle door?’

  ‘Open! It’s I, the great ascetic, that pounds your door!’

  ‘What beneficial acts or good deeds have you done

  that you come pounding on my door with your long sword?’

  ‘I’ve followed your strait path, obeyed all your commands, 1185

  I’ve never sinned with wicked word or evil deed,

  I’ve fed the hungry, cast my wealth to those in want,

  I’ve not touched wine or women, all night long I’ve raised

  my hands high to your holy heaven and cried, “My Father!”

  My good deeds now are this long sword with which I knock.’ 1190

  But the locked castle rang with mocking laughs and gibes:

  ‘O foolish saint, all your good charities and deeds

  can never pay me back for those two lustrous eyes

  I deigned to give you once to gaze on the green world.

  If you should cross the flashing threshold of my door, 1195

  you’ll owe it to my holy grace and my good nature!’ ”

  The pale lips smiled, and then in sadness shut again,

  but the impetuous youth struck back with bitterness:

  “Well, lads, let’s cut our hands off then, they’re of no use!

  Our good and evil deeds are both of no account! 1200

  Rudderless, pilotless, we’re tossed on a wild sea.

  No, God is not a father, he’s a fierce sea-wolf,

  and we’re his crew! Woe to the hands that don’t know how

  to rig the difficult sails with skill or pull the oars!”

  He was still talking when a shadow crossed the sand 1205

  as the freed athlete quickly stalked to the sea’s rim,

  his newly relished bow slung on his shoulder still.

  His ship gleamed on the waters as a smooth wind rose

  and he rushed down to hoist the sail, for in his teeth

  he held the earth like a green leaf and said farewell. 1210

  Among the fishermen he saw the slim lad glow

  like a black swan who sings with upright saddened throat:

  “Your word’s a bitter knife, my friend, that wounds my heart.

  Woe to that man who clings to earth, who dares to judge

  injustice, hunger, cares, with but the brains of man! 1215

  Don’t place your trust in your dull mud-created eyes;

  neither slave galleys, chains, nor hunger, nor cruel swords

  can touch one soul that stands erect and looks toward heaven;

  let our flesh rot and fade, but let our souls be saved,

  let our feet mold in earth that they may dance forever.” 1220

  Disturbed by this strange answer, the fierce youth replied:

  “If an unjust and lawless man should strike me hard

  on my right cheek, what is my duty then, O fool?”

  “O then, my brother, turn your other cheek, and smile.”

  The archer listened, and his heart with terror shook; 1225

  he’d never heard on earth before so sweet a voice,

  but his mind mocked, denied those gentle words, and mused:

  “His lips are skillful artisans that weave words well,

  but if I raise my hand, he too will leap with wrath

  and raise his small hand to revenge his pain and shame, 1230

  and all his cloying words will vanish down the wind.”

  He crept behind the youth, then raised his hand and struck

  the unsuspecting lad hard on his tingling cheek.

  as all the friends jumped to their feet with growling rage—

  but the young fisher smiled and turned his other cheek: 1235

  “O white-haired brother, strike again to ease your heart!”

  But the sun-archer’s shriveled hand hung down with shame:

  “Forgive me, friend, I longed to measure your strange mind,

  to cast my plumb line and measure the dark depths you sail.

  The seas you sail are fathomless! O pilot, hail!” 1240

  He spoke, then deeply moved, sat by the blac
k swan’s side in silence.

  The old sun drowned at length in the blood-splattered sea

  and the great sower stalked the sky and cast fistfuls

  of stars in night’s black furrows, and all sprouted, bloomed,

  till light at daybreak came and swiftly gleaned them all. 1245

  The two still sat upon the beach, sunk deep in thought;

  the boy forgot his mother who wept for him at home,

  and the old man his ship and the fair wind that blew

  and listened to the world’s last voice with deep repose.

  The Morning Star pulsed in the heavens, a flaming heart, 1250

  the ground was flecked with crystal flakes, the weeds with frost,

  but slowly the sun strengthened as its light poured down

  from tall crags like a river and drowned all the plains

  till the sea raised her hands toward her first ancient love.

  Odysseus placed his hand upon the young lad’s shoulder 1255

  with a light touch, as though he feared to crush his bones:

  “To think I hastened with swift pace to leave the world!

  Time passes now, the North Wind blows, my swift ship leaps,

  but yet I keep my passion reined and can’t drink deep

  enough of your strange words that herald love and peace. 1260

  I fought on earth, the zigzag path I took was drenched

  in blood, I conquered till my backbone glowed with light,

  and now I hoist red sails to keep my tryst with Death,

  for he who still has hope puts his great soul to shame;

  yet I rejoice that suddenly a nightingale 1265

  saw me traverse this shore and sang to say farewell.”

  The young lad sadly leant on the god-slayer’s breast:

  “The words you utter, brother, are most sad, most proud;

  how can one man alone save his soul here on earth

  unless all souls are saved together in all the world? 1270

  If one babe starves on earth, then we all die of hunger;

  if one at the world’s ends should raise his hands to slay,

  we have all raised our hands, and we’re all slayers too;

  we’re all twined in one root, we blossom in one soul.

  Forgive me, brother, if my words now form a myth.” 1275

  With gentleness the archer clasped the god-struck boy:

  ‘Tell me your myth that the whole world may turn to myth.”

  The young boy smiled and with his sweet voice softly said:

  “They say that once when a great king gave up his ghost

  and his soul rose, he knocked on the Immortal’s door. 1280

  ‘Who pounds my door?’ God shouted. ‘I’, the king replied.

  There is no room in Paradise for two,’ God growled.

  The king returned to earth once more where year on year

  he lived like an ascetic, strove to save his soul,

  then rose to heaven once more and beat upon God’s door. 1285

  ‘Who pounds my door?’ God cried. ‘It’s I,’ the old king yelled.

  ‘Descend to earth’, the voice roared, ‘here is no room for two!’

  He plunged to earth once more, strove for ten thousand years,

  moaned ‘Ah!’ and ‘Ah!’ for the hard stone to blossom too,

  then once again the old king took the sky’s blue slope, 1290

  stood quivering by the sacred door, and softly knocked.

  ‘Who knocks?’ ‘Father, it’s You who knock on your own door.’

  At once God’s door gaped wide and the two merged in One!”

  The archer for a moment stood in silent thought;

  though the boy’s voice was sweet, it could not dull his mind, 1295

  for his thought flashed on Margaro’s most fragrant plot

  and he recalled the cruel word he had planted there,

  then gazed without compassion on the warbling mouth:

  “And this last One, this One is also empty air.”

  But unperturbed, the tender fisher softly smiled: 1310

  “Body and mind, both land and sea, are smoke and air,

  only this final One still lives and reigns as God,

  as the pure soul that broods on the world’s sacred egg.”

  Odysseus cast his glance on the god-taken eyes,

  large, waveless, without depth, certain of victory, 1305

  and felt they might one day, after much ardent rage,

  after much singing strength, force chaos to assume

  the tender face of God and rise up toward the sun.

  But he still liked to goad the new soul like a tempter:

  “Man has his body only, a flask filled with sweat 1300

  that glows like phosphorus softly in the endless night;

  I bow to its great grace, it flames and fades like lightning.”

  Startled, the gentle boy then touched the old man’s knees:

  “The body’s but a bridge for souls to pass through chaos;

  dear friend, do not blaspheme, do not think thoughts of sin; 1315

  worms, when they love the rose, change into butterflies.”

  The archer ceased, and gazed into the boy’s large eyes

  as his mind tossed like sails struck by opposing winds;

  he then caressed the virgin hair and slender back:

  “How may a heart that never loved seductive flesh 1320

  speak of the spirit or dare to judge the chastened soul?”

  The boy felt shamed and dropped his head, but his voice rose:

  “Only he who has never touched the bait of flesh

  may speak of spirit, brother, or rule the chastened soul,

  for then his heart fears not the earth’s seductive wiles.” 1325

  Then that despairing form, that freed mind, that strong heart,

  the bold death-archer, jumped to his feet and touched the youth:

  “You’ve made my last hours here on earth both blessed and good;

  your song is good, my friend, and it’s refreshed my mind,

  but I’ve no time to stand and listen to your tunes 1330

  for the fair wind of last farewell looms now, and blows.

  May you fare well! Let each one take his own road now;

  good are your words of love, but my mind walks the earth

  with a bold stride, alone, and has no need of balms,

  a wasteful wax that burns and lights not one man’s path!” 1335

  Then the boy’s gentle voice was heard with a sweet sadness:

  “I pity souls that live and die far from their God.”

  “And I, too, pity both the soul and flesh of man,

  and all the earth, our wretched mother, and God the father;

  I pity them all and sing, I pass, and they pass with me. 1340

  My brains have filled with knowledge, my wide hands with deeds,

  and to this day my heart’s remained bold, joyous, warm,

  and loves all things, both life and death, but with no faith.

  The festival has ended now, the feast is over,

  the wind but etched my name on sand in passing haste 1345

  and left but one fruit in my hands as my life’s loot—

  open your hands, my brother, take it for parting gift.”

  The young lad cupped his hands and stooped, as though he bent

  to fill his palms with water from a cooling brook,

  and the old man stooped and laughed, then proudly cast his word: 1350

  ‘That man is free who strives on earth with not one hope!”

  He ceased awhile, as though he’d sunk in a dark fog,

  but raised his head again, and his mind filled with sun:

  “I’ve seen and loved much on this earth, I’ve gleaned sweet hopes,

  and sorrows, too, I’ve harvested the mighty gods; 1355

  the frigate of my heart brims full and hoists its sails!”

  He spoke, then raised h
is hand and said his last farewell:

  “You love that giddy golden finch, the soul of man,

  that’s caught in the lime twigs of flesh and flaps its wings

  high toward the empty air-brained sky and strives to flee, 1360

  but I love man’s sad flesh, his mind, his stench, his teeth,

  the mud-soaked loam I tread upon, the sweat I spout,

  but best of all that dreadful hush when war has ceased.

  Farewell! Our meeting was most good, and good your words,

  but better still this parting which will last forever.” 1365

  The young lad clasped the old man, and his downy eyes

  streamed with tears down his cheeks like a new-wounded fawn:

  “God is compassionate and great, and he can save

  at the last hour even that soul that does not want salvation.”

  He spoke, then bent his head and slowly dwindled down the shore. 1370

  Then the slaked white-haired athlete seized in his strong arms

  his small skiff like a girl and thrust it in the waves;

  he slung his bow across his back, hung round his neck

  his tinder and his precious double flints for fire,

  then plundered the great pine of all its useful gifts. 1375

  As he braced strongly with his feet to launch from earth,

  he suddenly heard a swift crunch on the sands behind him

  and, turning, saw an old hag, painted to the gills,

  running, her apron filled with pomegranate fruit.

  His heart rejoiced to see Dame Goody, that old whore, 1380

  stand laughing by his side, opening her fruit-filled apron

  to give him pomegranates in a last farewell.

  Odysseus seized the crimson fruit with deep desire

  until his cool fists felt refreshed and his eyes brimmed:

  “Ah, dear Dame Goody, I never hoped for such good treasure!” 1385

  The dame of night-doors smiled with mirth and her eyes glowed:

  “One day I heard you shouting by yourself, alone,

  talking with spirits, and my soul pained for you then;

  my dear, I’ve plucked my garden bare of fruit for you!”

  Profoundly in his mind Odysseus laughed and thought: 1390

  “Ah, how I love this last gift which earth hands me now!”

  He gently touched the thin knees of the much-kissed whore:

  “Dame Goody, if a god exists to pay a man’s good deeds,

  he’ll sit you throned on high beside his greatest warriors,

  for from the casement loopholes of your sentry-box 1395

  you’ve cast long looks like spears and wounded passers-by

  who stood alone and brooded on their many cares,