As he was speaking, mourners from his memory rose, 420
groups of lamenting women whose entranced eyes shone
like black, green, sea-blue stars within the ruined air,
each one with an entreaty on her firm-locked lips.
His heart remembered and rejoiced, took back its words,
for in the world he’d known a horde of wing-clawed men 425
who had drunk much, fought side by side, shared bread and salt,
yoked themselves many times like ox to plow this earth,
but their souls never once had joined or merged in one.
It seemed as though male bodies were hard shields that rose
between men and prevented the nude soul’s embrace, 430
that with maids only might full nudeness be enjoyed.
All good, all progress which his mind had known on earth
he owed to maids alone, for they tore down all flesh!
Only they felt his pain or took him by the hand
and stepped down to the holy body’s secret groves 435
where both plucked the most flaming flower of all flowers.
Bodies of varied tribes, immortal and mortal arms
had, each one, led him sweetly to most secret rooms,
each to a town unknown, shores seen for the first time,
forests filled with aromas, deep refreshing streams 440
where he kicked off his sandals and took the cool plunge.
And if he knew how the great gods lived in their sky
and how their huge hearts throbbed or how their vast minds worked,
he owed it to one bed-seducing star-eyed goddess;
if joy had ever spread into his softened heart, 445
if castle gates that parted souls had ever opened,
blessed be those lily-fingers dripping musk and myrrh
that held the keys of life and opened to let him in.
Splendid are the mind’s blazing lamps and the soul’s flames,
wondrous the heart that battles with all azure shades 450
and pours out all its blood on earth to rise in spirit,
but all—gods, demons, laughter, tears and giddy thoughts—
swirl swiftly like a whirlwind, merge in one, then sink
and drown in the curved womb that lies supine and beckons;
it only is real, all else on earth are gaudy wings. 455
“O thousand-faced pellucid good, nude womankind,
no one, although he live on earth a thousand years,
can quench his thirst if once he drinks your deathless waters;
for now, a hundred-year-old man, I’ve cast my thoughts
and giddy glories far away like patched-up rags, 460
nor do I want my son, nor call my home to mind;
ah, could I only arm death-battling ships once more
that you might stretch upon my stern, immortal maid,
that my old comrades might come, too—I like their stench!—
and push off to new voyages on Death’s vast seas!” 465
The lone man turned his head and looked back toward the world
as though, dear God, he sought to find his hastening friends
or a long host of women looming deep in light.
Sweetly swept off by love, he felt compassion now
for his tormented body scarred by many wounds: 470
“Like the fierce lion who returns to his deep lair
alone, but filled with memory, without mate or cubs;
like a pure airy spirit whose mane drips with dew
then gleams on the dark threshold like a funeral pyre,
and vanishes, thus have I seen you stand, O body, 475
at Death’s own door, brimmed full of memories and desires.
O faithful body, let most sweet compassion fall
like honey in your sated heart before you die,
for see, you turn your rough-hewn face, consumed by storms,
and slowly watch the light-filled world for the last time. 480
All’s well! I gaze with cheerful calm on all my roads
through earth and sea, on all my roads through every heart,
and if the fire and water that first shaped me merged
once more on earth, a second, third, or a tenth time,
I’d take the same roads once again, the same sharp arrow 485
would twang unsatisfied from my right breast forever.
I’d drink all bitterness again, I’d glean all joys,
but from the start I’d strive each time to go still further,
to cross and pass all roads with swifter, greater strides,
for the soul has no ending, nor can thirst be quenched. 490
Heigh-ho, in my old age I long to summon all
kingdoms and towns to council by Death’s door, and shout:
‘Come, you old elephants, come, rag-and-bone old men,
come, ancient worms, you secret councilors of earth,
gather about me without fear; great cares have struck me; 495
let’s form an old man’s council, brothers, let’s find out
from whence we come, my lads, and where it is we go.’“
His words still moved upon his tongue, his thoughts still held,
but gaunt Odysseus, life’s stanch warrior, that old crane,
felt tired now and dropped his head, immured in sleep, 500
and as Death watched him opposite with wordless greed,
like an old brother a much younger come from far,
the seven-souled man wanly smiled and slowly sank to sleep.
Far off rains fell and seized the world in their wide nets,
seeds stretched their roots in sleep, swelled up and filled with milk, 505
the dead lay naked in the loam and bulged with rot.
In sleep, earth is transparent and all rocks are crystal,
and the much-suffering man stooped low, gazed on the dead,
gazed on his father, and his heart broke, for not once
in life had he said one sweet word to him, and now 510
at the world’s end, in sleep, he thought of him, and wept.
Slowly the rain stopped dripping as Odysseus bent
and sniffed the savage smells of earth till his mind brimmed
with a thick poisonous tumult filled with ghosts and shouts.
Phantoms plunged in his entrails, the dead woke and rose, 515
the holy tree of sleep swelled with a rustling sound,
and from its downy branches hung thick-blossomed dreams.
Leaning against the tiller, the mind-roamer slept,
but his mind still kept vigil back of his dark lids.
Like an old archon or a mighty king who greets 520
his faithful lords, his servants, and his next of kin,
the great mind greeted graciously the noble spirits
and opened wide his swelling chest to hold them all:
“Open my spacious courts, O slaves, my doors, my gates,
rip off the heavy roof, that all my guests may come, 525
for I hear birds and spirits, and all my doors are jammed!”
The kingly mind thus cried and hailed the holy heralds.
His roof gaped wide till, tightly locked in their warm wings,
the quivering birds descended softly, slowly there,
and stooped down, twittering mournfully, to say farewell. 530
The grosbeak and the chaffinch came, blackbird and hawk,
vulture and partridge, jackdaw, eagle, all at peace,
their sharp claws sheathed, their blackest passions now wiped clean
in that great evening all the sated peaceful birds
perched in his myriad-nested head to pass the night. 535
This was the very first winged hour of holy night.
Next came the beasts, the hairy brothers of our hearts,
and like a heavy river licked the lone man’s feet;
with sated teeth a
t length, their savage eyes grown mild,
brooding like thoughtful men, they trooped in, two by two, 540
jackals and foxes, lions, bisons, wolves and lambs;
some silent, some in tears, their tails between their legs,
all stooped and said farewell to the mind’s shepherd-king.
Their claws turned into idle ornaments, their horns
turned soft and hung like two long locks on tranquil brows; 545
the hares no longer trembled, fawns with leopards walked,
snakes, tigers, scorpions, bears, played with disburdened heart
in the dark forests of a mind serenely dying.
That was the second, shaggy hour of holy night.
Then to his faithful flocks the shepherd said farewell: 550
“Goodbye, you have toiled well, and in the savage strife
you have well given your tasty meat, your furs, your hides
to help imperiled man in his first sentry hours;
don’t weep, another master will come soon, you’ll all
rejoice to spend your strength on one greater than you.” 555
He spoke, then raised his glowing face toward the vast sky;
deep from the darkness the stars armed themselves and came—
some dripped like blood, some raged as in a drunken fire,
some swept through darkness, yellow as a leopard’s eyes,
some laughed and showered down with joy’s erotic orbs. 560
Like wings, fires, waterdrops, enormous battlements,
like funeral candles for the lone man’s dying mind,
like large warm tears that slowly dropped on his white head,
the stars passed by in silence, sinking down the West.
At last the trembling stars dissolved, the full moon sank, 565
and the whole dome of heaven plunged between his brows.
That was the third and star-eyed hour of holy night.
Then as the stars like a long necklace decked his throat
and the mind wrapped itself in shrouds, lean horsemen dashed
in furious gallop on pure-white moon-breasted steeds 570
across the plundered and deflowered sky of night.
Unripe youths shone and dashed ahead, and old men followed,
old warriors with deep sword-cuts on their sunburnt chests;
these were great thoughts that dashed on steeds to find and greet
their father, Mind, who now passed through man’s last frontier. 575
Wars had enflamed them year on year, discords had wracked them,
some stooped to earth and toiled with patience and with craft
to free enslaved man’s heavy soul from fear and darkness;
some screeched and cut like vultures through the blazing sky
and dared to bring back in their beaks the godly fire; 580
and others smashed the earth’s foundations ruthlessly.
But all great thoughts set out at length, foe merged with friend,
the night crushed down, earth reeked, the stallions stamped and neighed,
the brothers rushed together swiftly on white steeds
and all swept through the archer’s temples with swift pomp 585
as the great archon hailed his mighty sons with joy:
“A thousand welcomes, O brave lads, my giant sons!
I’m sailing toward the lower world, but you’re still firm!
Go mount each sturdy brain you find, mount each bold heart!”
He spoke, and the thoughts scattered and took myriad roads; 590
they’d met in their brave father briefly, and then parted,
and some rushed down to earth once more, some swept the seas,
but the most daring pierced the sky to loot the stars.
This was the fourth outriding hour of holy night.
Now with hermetic rituals the dark spirits passed 595
mutely, with folded wings, to bid the mind farewell;
all dark and lustrous powers passed by arm in arm,
night ghosts and demons, angels, gnomes, elves, trolls and fates
entwined their shaggy bony arms and golden wings
and felt for the first time, in the great dying mind, 600
friendship’s and freedom’s sweet unutterable joys.
The evil spirits held in their sly hands fine gifts
of crimson and refreshing fruit, wine, women, towns;
and the good spirits spread their empty lily hands
and sang, though silently, great freedom’s massive dirge, 605
As all ghosts sang and faded in a quivering mist,
and all the varied beasts and birds, the thoughts and stars
sank, scattered, fled like smoke until the world grew light,
the seven-souled man smiled and his mind winked and played
as though a good dream drifted past his snow-white beard: 610
“Those were not gods, nor beasts, nor trees, those were not men,
those were not sorrows, loves, or joys, that was no heart
that throbbed within me like a sea and stormed the world;
they were brief lightning flames in which I shone and vanished!”
That was the deepest light-winged hour of holy night; 615
downy and warm, it meekly bent its silent head,
crouched, wrapped in tender wings, a lump of earth, and slept
caressed by the great mind of the death-traveler now
who also shut his weary wings and huddled close
like a dark eagle settling slowly by his mate’s warm side. 620
His mind slept wrapped in wings, and far away in woods
roamed the blood-splattered beasts as ticklish day awoke
naked in light at break of day with giggling smiles;
and as the first soft beams of dawn licked at the stones,
the startled peacocks woke, the shameless monkeys leapt, 625
the slim and spotted vipers poked through sand and raised
their bloated throats to drink the light like tiger lilies.
The daughters of the sun passed by with their warm feet
till on all heads the upright noon hung like a sword,
and at the wild abysm’s rim, the earth’s cold claws, 630
the tranquil archer slowly was unsheathed from sleep
and felt rejoiced to see his old friend at the prow
like a black-feathered and death-smothered savage swan
that raised its silent neck serene to sing in air.
Still down his whitened temples poured the ghostly dreams, 635
for stars, beasts, birds and thoughts still streamed along his head
as though dark phosphorescent lights licked at his bones:
“Death falls like a black sun on our soul’s flowering groves,”
he thought, and slowly raised his eyes to laugh at Death,
but ah, the prow plowed empty through the shattered sea! 640
Old Death had vanished without trace, his mighty guest,
and left the lone man orphaned, one heart now, not two,
that pounded with profound throbs and strong double strokes.
Feeling the miracle draw close, the dying man
then crossed his oar and heavy hands, crossed his mind too, 645
and let his death-boat drift upon the sweeping tide.
He stretched his feet and scanned the length of his small craft:
his measurements were true, his coffin fitted well,
and coffin, sea, and body tightly merged in one
as Death blew like the sweetest and most fragile breeze: 650
“O Death, the soul is a dry branch! Blow, make it bloom!”
The thousand-eyed sun ached still for its precious friend
and with warm tentacles caressed in gentle strokes
his hoary hair, his chest, his knees, his feet, his hands,
and as the hopeless warrior felt the sun’s warm palms 655
and the
ir smooth tenderness, he shook, his coffin swayed,
and both world-wanderers slowly, deeply said farewell:
“Aye, I’m departing, Captain Sun; take courage, friend,
don’t weep, all pain’s forgotten soon in forty days!
Strengthen your heavy heart and to your sad mind say: 660
‘The sunlit game of life flashed well on earth and sea
and on the lambent air! Enough now, fare you well!’“
But the sun stroked the hard-burnt body speechlessly
and in its dulled mind sadly said farewell, and wept;
but the swift-minded man, guessing his friend’s ache, cried: 665
“Dear Sun, a couplet in my throat coils like a snake
and I must shout it out, O Sun, or it will choke me:
‘Sun, let’s pretend I’ve never seen you! Ah doom, O doubt,
I’ve held a slender burning candle, and it’s gone out!’”
As in the narrow coffin the two leopards played 670
they suddenly saw in the rose mists, erect on waves,
a tall broad-breasted mountainous snow-castle loom
and drift by, mute, despairing, the dead’s sacred isle,
a soul transformed to a pale ghost that sought to breathe.
The ancient athlete did not speak, but bit his lips, 675
and with bent head gazed on his lonely bloodstained soul
as it sailed silently and swam on the green waters.
When the ice-mountain dwindled in the drifting mist
and vanished like a phantom in the sun’s pale beams,
the lone man shivered secretly and his eyes glazed: 680
“This must be Death who passed by, sad and pale”, he thought,
“fumbling the sea like a blind man in vain to find me;
this must be that white elephant I soon must mount!
O mind, since all your wiles and tricks won’t work here now,
turn dread Necessity to pride here, if you can, 685
and with no swoons or false bravuras bravely mount
that pure-white elephant that passed, and let it take
me where it will without vain protest or surprise
as though I had myself selected the same road.”
He spoke, then tightly bound his ax about his waist, 690
slung his curved bow of stag-horn down his shoulder blade
and round his shriveled neck hung his two precious flints;
although he knew well that no weapons now could aid him,
he wished to scatter to the winds full-armed, erect, and proud.
He shut his eyes serenely like a full-fed babe 695
who drops his mother’s nipple and on her warm breasts