fumbles and cuddles close, then sweetly falls asleep.
As his great lashes fell and covered the whole world,
from his deep bowel’s threefold pod, dear God, there sprang
and quivered on his mind’s full-shadowed sill his frail 700
untouched rose-baby body and his bubbling laughter.
Time and space met and merged like fruit in his brain’s rind,
all distant things drew close, the wheel turned once again,
the past shone in his fist like deep translucent water
wherein the dying man in silence watched his face: 705
“Ah night, O flashing flint upon the nuptial bed
where my strong father merged first with my virgin mother!
O great soul-seizing sperm, filled with all light and mud,
in which I leapt invisibly once, soul, body, and bow,
in which I swept toward the dark earth, a blazing star! 710
In her ninth month my mother walked the sounding shore
to play with her handmaidens, to refresh her mind,
and to breathe free of the dark fruit that filled her womb.
Labor pains gripped an earth who’d slept with myriad men,
and she crouched low on stones amid her maids and yelled 715
till creatures of the mud and brain rushed up with fear
to help her as wind, soul, and bread, and noble thoughts
stood by like faithful midwives to await the child.
And as my mother calmly walked on the blue shore
she felt as though long wings within her launched and soared 720
as her son kicked her womb, that bolted castle door;
all seemed to her deep dreams, the air a turbid sea
through which with sweet fatigue she thrashed her arms to pass.
She saw an ancient fisher plod, weighed down with nets,
and a young hunter far away with a stretched bow, 725
and high aloft on a shore rock she saw a god
clutch to his breast a babe and gaze far out at sea:
‘Your health, begetting mother, eagle-nest that gapes!’
Then the young mother laughed and with the pebbles played
as the waves washed her feet and cooled her naked knees 730
till a great swordfish swam close by and ripped her womb.
A tall black ship then drifted by with a red mast,
from which a robust sea-chant rang, and as the mother
stretched out her cool and snow-white neck to hear with joy,
her belly grew serene and her son listened also. 735
Then as the pallid mother followed the red sail
and all her soul like a red sheet flapped in the wind,
pains gripped her suddenly, and before her maids could come,
her son rolled out on shore like a hot burning coal
entwined with seaweed, splattered with salt blood and sand.” 740
Thus in his ancient coffin on the edge of space
and time, the ancient athlete through closed lashes watched
with pride the raw babe wailing on the distant shore
as the maids rushed with fear to save it from the sea.
All earth felt light again, the waves like dolphins leapt, 745
far off ill-fated castles trembled and maids laughed,
whole fleets cracked in mid-seas, a great and noble island
with a bull’s golden horns bellowed with fear and rage,
and twelve gods who had swooped on mankind’s rotting corpse
raised their crammed guts with fear and scattered like black crows. 750
The archer then remembered his soft sprouting body
that played amid his parents’ gardens, thrust in mint
and in curled basil leaves which reached high as his shoulders.
One day his father had fed him honey in fig leaves,
and all, brains and soft head, became a honeycomb; 755
if he ate grapes, then his mind filled with vineyard fruit,
if figs, he turned to fig, to wells if he sipped water,
for his mind, like soft wax, took all the world’s impression.
Now he’d returned to his dread mother, the vast sea,
and brought her back his battered, once rose-misted flesh. 760
A chilling mistral suddenly blew, and his frail body
flapped like a tilting vessel’s sail which a light breeze
wheedled and gently coaxed to rise and leave, for now
the red sail would be rigged and the world float away.
He fumbled at his rocky knees, his ancient shins, 765
played and tried out his rusty joints, stretched out his arms,
slowly caressed the sun’s twelve labors round his loins,
the twelve bright constellations which enwrapped him round,
opened his eyes and watched how the sad sun caressed him,
then stood up straight and felt it time now to tear down 770
life’s holy toy made of earth, water, fire, air, and thought.
Odysseus spread his hands and blessed his famous body,
his five night-long carousing friends, and said farewell;
“O Loam, thick prudent dowry of mud-mother earth,
O strong hutch of the homeless mind that like a tramp 775
roams far and rots in sun and rain, by ghosts devoured,
O Loam, who open your arms wide to take him in,
I feel you like mute heavy ballast in my bowels,
gripping with strong foundations so the mind won’t wreck me.
You wrap my heart with fat, stick to my shanks like mud, 780
drag me to earth that I may not fly off and vanish!
You grip tight like a peasant in my entrail roots,
stoop down and plow my riches, count what strength I have,
sell your goods slyly, cheat your spendthrift neighbors short,
slowly enlarge your fields and farms, increase your wealth, 785
then at the crossroads sit enthroned like a great landlord.
The heart runs on ahead and whips you to take wing,
and sings to give the narrow earth more breadth and scope,
but you, O elemental loam, tag flame on foot
nor haste with longing, for you know toward where you go 790
and even rejoice when your feet sink in earth’s warm mud.
You hear the mad heart flap its wings and long to fly,
but you plod on, speak with coarse words and mock the bird:
‘What shame, you dolt, to long for skies when earth’s at hand!
What a great crime if my hard heels should sprout with wings, 795
for the green earth is sweet, and I have heard it said
that even in the Elysian Fields souls weep for earth.
My belly, my coarse hands, my feet adore the earth,
nor do wild wings torment me nor far gods enchant me,
for if our eyes are made of clay, they shine like stars!’ 800
Dear friend, you speak with your thick head, you open roads,
and bent with patience to the yoke, a sluggish ox,
you pull at the mind’s brilliant blade and chew your cud;
but dusk approaches now and your day’s work is done,
it’s time to drop your yoke, to lie stretched in your stall, 805
O father, loam, and faithful ox, and the mind’s earthen rind!”
Then the mind-archer ceased and his sad heart felt light
as though his ballast of mud, stones, and heavy earth
had suddenly sunk and his freed body had sprung in stature!
He stretched his hands and blessed his second element: 810
“O Water, wandering female source of life, I cup
your flux to give you a firm face and say farewell.
You warble swiftly, vanish, fluctuate and slide,
you turn all the mind’s mills and all its fantasies,
nor
condescend to faith, nor know what pity is. 815
You pierce through the black earth with rage, play with the sun,
you make the rainbows and the water-kingdoms bloom
then blot them out once more and play with other toys.
You are no peasant to strike earth’s roots in my heart
but a swift-vesseled sailor who’s squandered all his wealth, 820
glad to set sail at daybreak in a walnut shell
and leave behind all certain good, his home, his son,
virtues and feasts and comforts, all his useful gods,
and roam nude through stark foreign strands, a weathercock.
I’m neither flesh nor mind’, you roar, ‘I pass and flow 825
like laughter after rain, the seven-stringed sky’s bow!
The mud-brained peasant lifts his startled eyes and shouts
to see my yellow, crimson or green zones foretell
his golden grain, his red wine, his green fragrant oil,
then licks his lips with greed and welcomes me with joy, 830
yet I’m but the rain’s toy and one of the sun’s smiles.
I’m not Landlady Earth, I don’t sit all day long,
faithful beside my honest hearth, to await my husband,
for I sport night and day with all the sixteen winds,
and though I pluck virginity’s crimson thorn-filled rose 835
it blossoms once again nor ever shrinks or fades.
Some call me sea, and when a ship plows through my waves,
I close its blue wake, and my honor once more blooms;
some with due reverence call me soul, an inner sea,
and deck me like a bride with breastless and dry virtues. 840
They call me deathless, pure, without one lump of earth,
they say I long to flee from the frail body’s shame,
and though I listen to their words, I clasp flesh tight
the way a fierce girl clasps her sweetheart in the dark.
I’m not a shriveled spinster, I’m not pure, unkissed, 845
and I’m not chaste, nor came on earth to live a saint,
and once I clutch a body, it can’t shake me off,
for never have I yearned for skies or longed for gods.
Archer, I’ve loved you much, and now that you must go
nor leave me either your strong hands or virile thighs, 850
don’t sigh, my tight-twined love, our time has been well spent!’”
Thus did the deep voice murmur in the archer’s heart,
and when it ceased and the wave closed his bleeding wound,
the deeply bitter voice of the flesh-wrecker rang:
“O my heart’s female element, O washing wave 855
that waters me, you draw me with you night and day,
but now we’ve reached that parting where embracements end.”
He spoke, bent down and scooped some water in both palms
then joyed to watch it falling from his fingertips
drop by slow drop, sad, multicolored, in the sun-washed sea. 860
When his palms emptied, he turned then to his third friend,
to his third inner element, and said farewell:
“O greedy greyhound, O my leopard heart, O Fire,
you who disdain both earth and water, who lick cliffs
then leap to the twin peaks of my despair and strength, 865
hear me, O Fire, mother, daughter, hear and obey!
My ancient bones are empty now and hiss like reeds,
my backbone spills into the sea drop by slow drop,
earth’s left me with indifference, turned to loam once more,
and roguish faithless water once more flows to sea; 870
you only have stayed faithful in my middle brow
O Fire, O noble dancer, dance-adoring flame
who seek new kindling always so the world won’t fade!
To scrape joy from their joyless hours and loveless goods,
the prudent landlords of the earth with their fat brains 875
gossip with poison-nosed, sharp virtue stealthily
or hold the keys of power and let loose every shame
or fondle some seductive girl on a soft bed,
but I choose only you, O Fire, with your tall cap!
Ah, leopard-spotted, we’ve played well together, pierced 880
through castles, stormed through hearts and cast fierce sparks
till all—stones, wood, and hearts—gave up their final bloom!
O Fire, you know the secret that has burned my heart:
‘I don’t love man, I only love the flame that eats him!’
When as a lion I prowled through the low homes of men, 885
I did not rush to save a single body or soul
for my mind scorns the ash and dross you leave behind you
and with dread fear hunts only you, O mystic flame!
You flapped above my bold head like a tattered flag,
you shouted and I shouted too, and your tongues leapt; 890
earth’s and the heart’s foundations tumbled down and left
but warm ash slowly smouldering in my hollow hands.
You did not stoop to earth to heap up peasant wealth,
nor felt a sluggish joy in the wave’s yes and no,
but rushed ahead and knew well where you aimed your shaft: 895
to burn down towns and hearts, to burn your master too.
You scorched and cleansed the earth to cut new furrowed fields
till better sowers come and the soul bloom once more.
O Fire, the wolf’s your shepherd, the fox guards your vineyards,
you scatter wealth to the four winds and shout to all: 900
‘Come, I’m the landlord, seize my wealth and goods, eat, drink,
for all’s mine, towns and brains, and I want none, I choke!’
That’s why I’ve loved you, leopard, with your upright tail!
Well have we played and burned together our lives long
when your claws made my body bleed or cracked my mind, 905
when all night in my sleep I heard your cackling tongues
lick my hands clean of skin and strip my brains of meat.
I walked in rains and sun-blasts of the wretched earth
alone, with no dog, children, friends, no gods, no hopes,
and strove with you alone, O Fire, to outstrip you only; 910
but you leapt over the head’s ferocious battlements
and fixed me firmly with your famished flaming eyes
for you knew well how tasty a master’s flesh can be.
Rise, eat your father, Fire, that we may die together!
Wrath and compassion choke my heart, I won’t play now, 915
my soul leaps like a fiery breath from bough to bough,
clutches and claws head after head at night and shouts:
‘O Fire, wipe out whore-mongering earth, my sons have shamed me,
my daughters have shamed me too, and I shall blot them out!’
I watch the crimson thread that slowly mounts the earth, 920
the bloody turbid phosphor of glowworms that crawl
and squirm with lust and couple in the mud, then fade
within the rain-drenched ruts of man’s imagination;
I watch, but scorn to play here on this whorish earth!
Soul, country, men and earth, gods, sorrows, joys and thoughts 925
are phantoms made of water, loam, and the mind’s froth,
good only for those quivering hearts that hope and fear
and those air-pregnant brains that belch their sons to birth.
Our trembling bowels groan: ‘From whence, and why, and where?’
our heads groan too, resounding in the boundless night, 930
and now a voice within me leaps in bold reply:
‘Fire will surely come one day to cleanse the earth,
fire will surely come one day to make mind ash,
/>
fate is a fiery tongue that eats up earth and sky!’
The womb of life is fire, and fire the last tomb, 935
and there between two lofty flames we dance and weep;
in this blue lightning flash of mine where my life burns,
all time and all space disappear, and the mind sinks,
and all—hearts, birds, beasts, brain and loam—break into dance,
though it’s no dance now, for they blaze up, spin, and fade, 940
are suddenly freed to exist no more, nor have they ever lived!”
The spark lives in the body, roars, and both our lungs
feed it like bellows till our bowels burst in flame,
and the archer hailed the conflagration like a dew
then turned with calm to say farewell to his fourth friend: 945
“O Air, who gently rest on conflagration’s dome,
who hold light like a mystic task, flame’s final fruit,
invisible, secret stature high above our heads,
descend, amass yourself in the head’s crown, then vanish!
You hold the cool pure light, you conjure smoke away, 950
for as the lily stares on its mud-roots in earth,
you look down on the smoking flame and rise up purely.
You take the ash that drifts, still warm, in my coarse hands
and scatter it like a good plowman who sows his seed
till ash turns wheat once more and the world once more sprouts. 955
You smash the body’s dungeon till all passions merge,
sing like a carter, pass from flesh to mystic flesh,
jump past abysms and fetch secret news and breaths
to hospitable hearts that bloom and brains that bear.
I felt you blow in my sad heart like a strong wind, 960
you were the sun’s unseen corona, virgin down
about my rough and ruthless head and my cruel words.
You sprang from my deep entrails like a bridegroom bee,
like a proud drone in springtime when the heather blooms
till the chaste honeyed queen-bee with her fragrant body 965
secretly sighs, within her regal cells constrained,
and spreads and tries her wings, then licks her body well,
for honey-cells have brimmed and all await her spawn.
Then the drone dons his armor, arrays himself in sun
and wraps himself in love’s most sacred panoply. 970
His eyes dilate like a gold cap, spread round his head,
then swiftly sweep, though motionless, through the sky’s dome
and spy on the whole azure globe to catch the bride.
His small ears open wide, and if a feather fall,
he hears the whole wood ring as if a tree had crashed, 975