The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

The finger marks had turned to coral, his neck’s pride,

  now studded with his master’s tears transformed to pearls;

  he’d flung the tombstone from his grave, yelped frantically,

  and now his quivering and moist nostrils sniffed the air.

  From Hades he’d heard whistling, swift beloved steps 760

  that filled the earth and atmosphere and choked the shore;

  his bald tail sprouted hair, his white teeth gleamed once more,

  and he rushed toward the sea: “What joy! In his great need

  my master did not call his father, nor his great son,

  but from his island chose and called to me alone! 765

  Either my master is getting married or fights with Death!

  Forward, we’ll feast and revel if his boards are spread,

  but if he’s giving up his ghost, I’ll spread my legs

  and stretch out like a rough-hewn pillow at his feet.”

  Then the old hound, still trembling on his moldy legs, 770

  sniffed at the air about him, barked, and dashed toward the far south.

  When the dread outcry leapt from the cold mount of snow

  and flicked like flame, the memory of the lone man flashed

  and hung like a rainbow in the sun before it vanished,

  and the last blue-green stars with a soft blur lit up 775

  a lofty temple drowned in thick banana trees.

  Stone, sated lions, demons pure of heart kept guard

  by rich-wrought doors, held upright their long twisted tails,

  and laughed in a long row with gaping crimson jaws.

  Down on the sluggish river blazing vessels brought 780

  pilgrims and holy offerings, while on the curved prows

  great conches blared and heralds with loud cries proclaimed:

  “Our mighty Athlete, great Motherth, completes his task;

  empty, disburdened, turned all light, he moves through air

  and sits on the high summits and slowly fades away. 785

  O men, O wingless worms who yearn for winged plumes,

  push forward, leave your homes, give all your goods away,

  come swiftly, come in time before the Ascetic leaves!

  Joy to those eyes and ears that see and hear him now

  for they, too, swiftly will sprout wings and fade in sun.” 790

  The conches on the river blared, the heralds cried,

  and the wreathed athlete of the mind, with fainting heart,

  sat cross-legged by a leafless, fruitless, flowerless tree.

  Like the slim silkworm, he had eaten all earth’s leaves,

  the mulberry’s fresh green, and turned them all to silk; 795

  now round about him swarmed companions old and new,

  man-seeming monkeys, savage beasts, fowls of the air,

  and stared to watch how the great god of earth and air,

  the guide of the clear mind and guileless heart, would die.

  They saw how his pale hands had shrunk, his feet dissolved, 800

  his face become a snow-white veil that flapped in light

  and how Death’s odor drifted through the air like musk.

  Behold, some riding savage cranes, some on fierce lions,

  some on full-blossomed lotuses and some on clouds,

  the sowers of his seed came clad in yellow robes 805

  and raised their throats in funeral psalms to mock at Death:

  “Salvation’s Word is an imperishable, ruthless fire!

  Brothers, we were not sent to earth to found our homes

  with souls and stones, or to plant trees, or sons, or thoughts;

  fire is our only wine, our bread, fire is our home, 810

  our plow is a famished fire, and we have fallen on earth

  to plow and sow the sterile ground with burning coals.”

  A lean old man whose flesh the greedy soul had eaten

  sat cross-legged on the ground and clapped his wrinkled palms:

  “I’ve found salvation, I’ve left my ancient parents both, 815

  I’ve left my weeping children and all my weeping gods,

  I’ve freed myself from joy and grief, I’ve cleansed my heart,

  I laugh and clap my hands, blot out my mind and shout:

  the not see or hear or taste or touch or smell!’”

  A sweet disciple danced and waved a gaudy fan 820

  made of wild parrot plumes, red, azure, green and gold:

  “I do not love or hate, or want, or fear, or hope;

  I wave my colored fan and all my passions fade!”

  The great Ascetic smiled, and his bright hallowed head

  illumined all like a lit lamp, and the psalms ceased; 825

  he stooped, and his ten fingers wove, unwove in air,

  or stretched out motionless like birdlime boughs where perched

  all spirits, all blue thoughts, his inner butterflies.

  A faint smile glimmered on his pale translucent flesh

  and his voice rose like magic spells and hailed the world: 830

  “I bend my face and watch it flowing down the stream,

  I see the South Wind swiftly write my name on waves;

  may my long voyage fare well, comrades; farewell, friends.

  Like the blind fish that struggle in the ocean’s depths

  till their flesh melts to light and blazes through the dark, 835

  thus did I rage on earth to turn all meat to light;

  but now that little flesh remains, one drop of mud,

  I’ll summon my great servant, Death, to take it all,

  I’ll raise my hand in silence, and the world shall fade!”

  But as he raised his glowing hand to summon Death, 840

  an old man stooped with awe, kissed his frail feet and cried:

  “Master, before you die, grant us your wisest word!”

  Then the serene face shone with a faint smile that poured

  on the dark earth around him like dusk’s afterglow,

  but he spoke not, his words perched in his heart like birds, 845

  hawks, nightingales, larks, storks and cranes with bloody claws.

  “Monstrous canary, yellow wing that skirts the cliff,

  sing us your final song to free our trammeled souls!”

  But then the Ascetic frowned and earth shook to its roots:

  “Aye, hermits, open your ears wide, make firm your minds; 850

  five roads run through my mind, five wings rise up to fly,

  I weigh all and rejoice, I’m free to take all roads.

  Shall I cry out with certainty, ‘Here’s to our meeting!’

  or shall I say that we shall never meet again?

  Shall my words fall like a serene and spreading stream 855

  to water deeply man’s dream-driven fantasies?

  Or shall an eagle plunge and seize the heart till both

  make love on desert sands and play for a brief hour?

  Or shall I tell you the whole truth and crush your hearts?

  Frail hope, despair, or beauty, or a sweet game, or truth— 860

  I’ve passed all these five paths, I’ve opened a new road,

  I’ve gone beyond the Word, cut through thought’s foolish nets,

  and fling you, for profound reply, a wordless smile.”

  He spoke, and his smile spread through all his glowing flesh

  like the full desert moon’s light-drenched and sweet caress, 865

  and in his answer his disciples’ brains were lost

  as all their aching shoulders suddenly sprang with yellow wings.

  Emboldened Death at last approached with reverence;

  the afterglow with girdling golden-silver rim

  like a distraught farewell poured out and wound the world; 870

  earth was relieved of the sun’s golden weight, the hour

  was sweet, the stars had not yet come, and earth and sky

  hung in a trembling mantle of pale v
iolet mist.

  The mighty Keeper of Keys then wished to signal Death

  who had stood waiting, trembling like a humble slave, 875

  but as he raised his finger quietly to give the sign,

  two well-knit men approached, dressed in a foreign garb

  and well-bound hair, a silver cricket on each shoulder;

  the holy hand hung in mid-air, and Death drew back.

  The two companions were engaged in rapid talk: 880

  “Dear friend, I think we’ve reached our journey’s final port;

  my loud heart bids me anchor by this holy river.

  We’ve passed great mountain peaks that shone clear and serene,

  great cities and translucent waters, gaudy birds,

  heavy barbaric treasures that rejoiced our eyes, 885

  traveling for many moons now at the world’s, far ends.

  Brother, I never knew that earth had such long wings;

  you may for years plod on beyond the walls of Greece

  and pass through mountains, seas and plains while all the sky’s

  foundations still unfold and earth spreads new wings still.” 890

  The young man fondled his strong comrade’s sunburnt back:

  “And I, too, brother, never dreamt so many roads

  led through world-wandering beauty and the heart of man;

  as soon as I return, with luck, to my loved country,

  I’ll step into my workshop, paint Athena’s lips 895

  bright crimson, once so savage and unkissed; I’ll hang

  clusters of playful curls upon her manly brows;

  I’ll carve celestial Aphrodite like a wench

  with firm round buttocks and in her soft hands I’ll place

  two slender feathers like two oars to rule the port; 900

  a garish Eastern peacock struts within my brain.”

  But the robust man with his sloping wedge-shaped beard

  turned round and seized his youthful friend’s stone-battling arms:

  “Speak softly, brother, a bright gathering gleams before us;

  old men and young sit grieving round a bloomless tree, 905

  and there a naked great ascetic lifts his hand

  and looks on the world’s tumult with a tranquil smile.”

  The young man stooped and his cheeks burned with crimson flame:

  “My heart frisks like a kid, my friend; I must speak out:

  that god glows here whom year on year we’ve sought together, 910

  and now at length we’ll hold him wholly in our embrace.

  See how his sacred arms shine like a falcon’s wings

  that hover in the blue air’s highest peaks of light;

  see how his myriad-featured face flares like a spirit!

  I fear to speak, yet I can’t keep this secret now: 915

  that bronze Apollo, whom I’ve brought as distant gift

  from lustrous Hellas, trembles in my breast with fear!”

  The young man was still speaking when an elder rose

  on tiptoe from the assembled group and raised his hands:

  “The great Ascetic hails the world for the last time! 920

  O strangers, don’t approach, don’t soil his sacred hush.”

  But the strong, bearded man replied with haughty words.

  “We’ve journeyed far on purpose to exchange two words

  and seek advice from this new archon of the mind;

  they say his every word is a precious heavy pearl, 925

  and now that we’ve flushed out our godly quarry here,

  your hands, old man, must not hold back our bold desire.”

  The elder shaded his dim eyes and softly said:

  “Far-traveled man, what soil may be your native land?”

  Then the wedge-bearded man replied with a proud mien: 930

  “Old man, we boast that from an earth with azure shores

  we set out on this pilgrimage to see your god

  who sorts, they say, the interests and the brains of man;

  we carry bronze to etch his wise words one by one.”

  The old man shook his head and spoke with a soft smile: 935

  “God, countries, laws and shores are smokes that fill your heads.”

  The elder comrade turned then to his youthful friend:

  “We must have reached, my friend, the lotus-eaters’ land.

  They’ve tasted of the fruit and they’ve forgotten all;

  they’ve reached the pure-white cypress tree before their death; 940

  they’ve drunk the stream of Lethe till their heart’s a sieve,

  a cracked jug from whose slits the whole world drains away;

  but I shall answer them and steady their dim brains.

  Forgetful man, that burning tower was no mere dream

  which our world-famous parents sacked one holy night; 945

  and when on conflagration’s peak their hands raised high

  the flower of all Greece, rose-breasted Helen’s body,

  that was no mist, but a warm woman’s giddy flesh.”

  The old man smiled, then to his silent comrades turned:

  “Brothers, these are the imagination’s famous lads, 950

  the fish that flounder in the fishermen’s thick nets

  although they think they still skip free in boundless seas.

  Their history is mind’s vertigo, a traceless dream,

  poor barren fields and azure seas, nude bodies, songs,

  and nonexistent ghosts. Once, in their scattered wits, 955

  they manned armadas, rigged their masts, sailed for a span,

  scowled in the sun, then on some land discerned black signs:

  ‘The foe, ahoy!’ they yelled. There’s the great town of Troy!’

  then rushed at once pellmell along the phantom shores,

  merged, parted, merged again with shades on empty sands. 960

  Unhappy wretches, don’t you know all these are games

  of that sly god who sits on high and plays with men,

  who builds his famous castles out of dew and light?

  Your Helen passed like fleshless shadow, a loot of air!”

  Repressing nobly his great anger, the youth replied: 965

  “If Helen was but empty shade, may she be blessed!

  It’s for this empty shade we fought with widening minds;

  when old at length we turned back to our longed-for land,

  our minds crammed with adventures and with manly deeds,

  our ships, like heavy-laden caldrons, brimmed and spilled 970

  with oriental honeyed maids and golden shields.

  The world, O great ascetic, is a fresh-bathed Helen;

  she wears veils stitched with castles, foreign strands and seas,

  she guards her breasts with both hands, weeps with happiness

  and follows the most stalwart youths, yet as she walks, 975

  her small, small steps, like those of Victory’s, glow with blood.

  Black bread, clear water, and blue air are good and real,

  they sink deep in man’s entrails, give him flesh and soul,

  till slowly with great strife all shadows turn to meat.

  You sit with crossed and idle hands, sunk deep in thought: 980

  ‘There is no Helen; all on earth are shade and mist!’

  But ‘Helen’ means, old man, to live and fight for Helen!”

  Yet still the ascetic shook his shaven head with pity:

  “For how long, like male scorpions, will you squirm in Earth’s

  erotic honeyed claws, that fearful female scorpion? 985

  A pity for your eagle eyes, your lofty brows!

  Awake at last, uproot your wants, abjure your nightmares,

  smother your hearts and your thick brains so they won’t shout,

  perk up your ears, for mountains, trees and waters roar:

  ‘Come, come and merge as one with earth, with mother roots, 990

  merge into
one with sacred winds and the good showers!’”

  The ascetic’s voice allured with sweet intoxication

  until the man with wedge-shaped beard embraced the youth:

  “Don’t answer him, his brains are waterlogged and drowned;

  let me now cast him strong round words like whirling quoits: 995

  Aye, old ascetic, your eyes lure like snakes in vain,

  we’re bound by other laws and ruled by other gods;

  they’re nude, they’re lightly smeared with balms, their nostrils steam,

  they sit at our own tables, drink, leap in our beds,

  make sweet love with our wives, and we in turn with theirs, 1000

  until our warm bloods mix, the sons of men grow fierce,

  and the gods’ strength grows sweet, grafted with female ways.

  We’ve conquered fear by planting on the abysm’s edge

  the pure and tranquil features of man’s virtuous deeds;

  we work with futile thoughts as though they were firm bronze 1005

  and now, behold, we’ve brought our Victory’s statue here,

  rich gift from Hellas for your lotus-eating saint!

  Make way, old man, make way now, don’t obstruct the light,

  I love to talk with gods alone, and face to face.”

  He spoke, then with no reverence pushed the sage aside, 1010

  took two bold steps within the dazzling light-drenched ring,

  then spread deed-loving hands and hailed the holy saint:

  “O clear yet subtle thought who balance with great skill

  the soul’s immense conflicting wings, both Yes and No,

  for love of you we’ve come from the earth’s inner heart. 1015

  We, too, adore immortals, found and build great towns,

  fight in our rings on feast days, carve on slabs of stone

  our thoughts and deeds of gods and men so they won’t fade,

  but inbred civil discord wrecks our homes and towns,

  brothers in unfraternal strife that dooms our race. 1020

  Rise, sage, and give us, if you can, new laws of love!

  Our great ancestors proudly came from plundering raids

  and brought deceitful Victory in their bloody hands;

  help us cut Victory’s wings so she won’t fly away!

  Let order rule anarchic rage, let the Word reign, 1025

  let’s give the glowering demons a soft smile of light,

  let Death merge peacefully with Life deep in our hearts.

  Your comrades round you stutter, trip, and can’t recall;

  make firm our minds to stand guard on the black abyss,

  help us to turn our mutterings to integral thought!” 1030

  The warrior was still speaking when Motherth turned slowly