Thus in his mind he mutely spoke and carved the walls
with secret signs of manly thoughts stamped on his brain: 740
a pointed upward-speeding arrow, a hungry flame.
Night fell, and when the glitter of the light-well dimmed,
the archer watched in the lamp’s light how his old friends
were calmed by that old crone, sweet numbing need for sleep:
like long, long rows of caravans with jangling bells 745
dreams passed along the desert sands and reached their minds
where they unpacked their camels in the brain’s cool cells,
bringing to one his babe, his mountains to another,
and to still others, buxom women, wine, and food.
The archer leant against the wall and fell asleep 750
until his sleepless soul soared from the flesh’s yoke
on wings scraped clean of mud, eyes freed of blindman’s bluff,
and the strong body, that dark middle wall, crashed down
until the mystery of the world shone clear as water.
Then the sleep-struggler slid in a dark stumbling dream 755
groped by pale slimy tentacles and grasped by tails;
wings, throats, and bosoms roared, thick jaws like millstones ground;
only a dancing flute’s dim sound was heard far off.
Odysseus longed to bow with awe toward earth and cry:
“Mother, I’ve plunged deep in your bowels! Mother, I’ve come!” 760
but his voice broke in sobs and stuck in his dry throat.
He choked, and flung his arms out wide to grasp some air
but as he raised his eyes he saw the sky rear up
then like a silent millstone start to grind the earth.
Between them both, the scared beasts on their bellies crawled, 765
and as the archer shook for fear the world would choke
he saw a dragon—man or beast—crawl on its hands and knees,
face down, and strive to raise the sky on its arched back.
It stumbled, buckled at the knees as its bones creaked,
and when it turned its anguished face, Odysseus paled 770
to see its eyes drip blood, its lips wrench with sharp pain
as from its mouth’s black cave a voice cried out for help.
An earthquake rent the earth in two: snakes, scorpions, ants
poured down like turbid rivers; all the wild beasts dashed
screaming from the dense jungled woods; oxen and steeds, 775
hearing their master’s cry, strove with their heavy yoke;
great apes ran howling, thrushes, storks, blackbirds and hawks,
even the tiny sparrow, sped with their armatures
and strove with gasps to raise the sky but a hair’s breadth.
All heaved in close formation and plowed up the ground 780
till earth’s great Son took courage, knit his splintered bones,
bucked up his hands against the ground, braked with his knees,
and hair by hair unglued the azure dome from earth
till with deep groans he raised the sky on his broad back.
He stooped to get his breath, and blood poured from his ears; 785
life breathed once more and moved in freedom, monkeys rose
on their proud hindlegs and began to screech with joy,
and two worms sprouted wings and flapped in blazing sun.
“Father!” the suffering archer cried, “Father, enough now! Rest!”
But the dragon dug in earth and strove in a new task: 790
to raise the huge sky like a head on his bent shoulders!
The archer flushed with shame, then with the savage beasts,
insects and flying fowl of the air he rushed to wedge
his chest against that foe, the sky, which strove to crush them.
Thus all night long, filled with huge horns and wings and claws, 795
he strove to help that athlete in his fearful task,
then stopped for breath at daybreak and half-opened his eyes,
but still the dream poured through his brain like swirling mist.
He looked on high and his heart lightened, for dawn smiled,
raw and rose-green and tender, from the round light-well. 800
For a long time he could not rise, his wild mind pulsed,
the tears that he had shed at night still drenched his beard,
and when his comrades pressed him round and questioned him
he looked for hours in their dark eyes but could not speak.
Poor glutton probed his friend with fear and cried, “Odysseus!” 805
Then the night warrior shook free from his dreadful dream
and, filled with welling joy, seized his friends’ heads and cried:
“I’ve seen him!” but his smothered throat could make no further sound.
Crouched mutely in a corner, all day long he hacked a block
of wood while surging waves reared in his blood and struck 810
his brains with rage as at moss-covered rocks, to smash them.
He rounded out the skull, strove to recall that dragon
who’d fought the sky like Death to save poor Mother Earth,
dug out the eyes, carved the mustache in high relief,
and branched two veins like horns between the glowering eyebrows. 815
But when the work lay finished in his hands at night
he flung it to the ground with raging bloodshot eyes
for his own cunning features gaped from the hewn wood.
He grabbed a new block then and slowly carved all night,
striving to drag up from his entrails that great warrior; 820
in his wild mind he still recalled those eyes and brows,
that dread, that stubbornness and grit, but his numb hands
could not impress them on the wood to free his heart.
For three long days he toiled and fought, but his thick fingers
formed fiery cunning eyes and mocking grinning lips, 825
coarse curly beards and pointed caps and old sea-wolves;
he carved his own soul still, whether he willed or not,
and the great athlete still lay hid deep in his heart.
For three long days God strove to see his own dark face,
and at the lone man’s failures Nile smiled mockingly; 830
“You’re flinging stones in sun! What shame to waste such strength,
stumbling on ghosts and scarecrows, trying to find God!”
But the dark struggler kept his silence until he tossed
his many-storied head and spoke to his close friends:
“Many here think man’s soul is slaked by bread alone 835
and gab lifelong of rich and poor, of bread and food;
those savage flames which speed like arrows from the brain
they turn into a poor housekeeper’s humble hearth
where old crones place their pots, old men their spindly legs.
I hate all virtues based on food and bloated bellies; 840
though food and drink are good, I’m better slaked and fed
by that inhuman flame that burns in our black bowels.
I like to name the flame that burns within me God!”
Nile turned with arrogance and mocked at the heart-battler,
but he dashed up like a wild beast with flaring eyes: 845
“I’ve fought with men and gods, I’ve weighed them well and found
the sea more firm than earth, the air more firm than sea,
and man’s impalpable soul still yet more firm than air!”
Thus in the earth’s foundations those two fought with words
as from the glorious crust of the carousing earth, 850
with hooves of painted crocus-color and bright red,
black steeds returned their archons from wild merrymaking.
Within the heavy air of midnight crammed with ghosts
/> magicians sank up to their necks and swam in silence;
foul witches milked their snow-white ewes under the moon 855
and cast the milk to the air-troughs from whence it flowed
like a calm river down to earth and breached all homes,
The archer, too, with open breast received the moon
that from the dungeon’s skylight dripped in pure-white drops,
a cool intoxicating milk that slaked man’s heart 860
At dawn Odysseus woke from sleep, cool and refreshed;
he’d passed the empty night without one dream, and now
his mind woke early like a cock with swollen breast.
In the first glimmer of dawn, he started patiently
with steady hands to whittle deep on a dark log. 865
His mind blew over him in a fair wind, chips flew,
the eyes became deep wells, the great skull a hard flint,
the brows a rock-strewn cliff, the mouth a deep dark cave,
and the wrenched lips hung loose and yowled like a wild beast’s.
Then the creator slit his vein, smeared God’s lips red, 870
smudged him with bloody fingerprints, carved out two eyebrows
and plugged the deep wells of his eyes with lumps of earth.
He felt relieved, and his breast cleared, his mind grew calm,
and then he gazed and marveled at his mighty son,
his son and lord, his grandsire and his entrail’s root. 875
Gibberish sounds and savage tunes sprang from his throat,
words poured at times like a crow’s caws or the sweet carol
of a small bird that soars and quivers in azure sky.
It was as though Death screamed, as though our little life
flashed for a moment in the light, a gay goldfinch 880
from whose bright beak all its erotic rapture flowed.
Hearing the cry, the comrades raised their eyes and screeched
to see the dark contorted mask hung on the wall,
cackling insanely in the dawn with blood and mire.
“It’s War!” they cried, and reached their longing hands with greed, 885
but the barbarians yelled “It’s God!” and staggered back.
Deep in the palace pits, deep in the dungeon’s mold,
all hearts shaped and unshaped their savage savior’s face,
but Nile kept silent and shook his bald head with wrath,
and the archer thrust his wood-carved mask at the mute worker: 890
“Comrade, make up your mind. Here, bear him without trembling,
here is your dreadful worker, your great God of Vengeful Wrath!”
Day shriveled in the upper world, the dry soil cooled,
and from the sands, like a mute ghost that stood and stared
before it moved on toward the roofs, the dead moon rose. 895
Dogs stretched their scrawny necks and wept, the jackals howled,
and their blue shadows scurried swiftly through the tombs.
The king’s rich-laden tables choked the starving poor
for this was his forefathers’ feast day when the dead
swarmed from the earth like honeybees till the boughs shook. 900
Lean, lily-footed dancers doffed their crimson sandals,
unbound their scented sashes, hung them on full boughs
until the tall trees gleamed as though a thousand snakes,
bright-plumaged birds, and the moon’s silvered phantoms perched there.
Groping the ground with their tall staffs, their heads held high, 905
seven blind minstrels stumbled in the rich rose-gardens
and held their ancient well-versed lyres in tight embrace.
On joy’s rich feasting boards the archons placed a coffin
as grim reminder to carouse till the world darkened,
till a gaunt mummy in their orgies loomed and beckoned. 910
One blind bard pressed his ear against his somber lyre,
plucked at the chords and heard a song as yet unborn
that kicked within his heart to erupt and please the king.
“Great God, who once gouged out my eyes, stuff up my ears,
thrust a large lump of mud into my greedy mouth 915
and tear my soul out as one tears a fish’s gills!
Dear God, I’m weary of singing now to thankless kings!”
Then memory, like a jackal, scratched in the bard’s skull,
his heart was coiled with venomous snakes, and his mind hung,
a blind thrush in its bony mew, and sang of Death. 920
The blind bard listened to the grim song in his heart
and shuddered, for he thought his voice this day would be
most sweet to hearten the dead and living among the trees;
alas, his mind swooped on the king’s feast like a black crow.
Meanwhile, as sweat poured down his sallow cheeks, far down 925
in the earth’s cellars, slaves spread out Death’s final feast
with tray on tray of luscious food and cooling wines;
bare-breasted girls brought roses and rich fragrances
that those about to die might taste all earth could give.
Nile’s savage forehead glittered like a shaft of light, 930
the blond sea-captains sat among the bare-thighed girls,
and at the table’s head, with all his friends about him,
the tall head of the castle-wrecker leapt like flame.
High on a nail the muddy and blood-splattered mask
of his wild god hung down, and the wall dripped with blood. 935
The old friends ate and drank and held their souls tight-reined
for fear they’d break out in great sobs and savage groans,
and then the piper drew his seven-reeded pipe
and played a scoffing, taunting tune to mock at Death,
but when the lone man turned and scowled, the piper stopped 940
and listened to the sage man’s noble calm advice:
“Man’s soul may seek for Death in many varied ways:
some wail, some laugh with fear, and some with boastful words
call manfully on the dark slayer to come and fight,
and some stretch out their necks like meek, obedient lambs. 945
We shall receive him like great lords, my friends, erect
on our two feet, and not with laughs and shameful cries,
but like great kings late risen from the world’s bright banquet
who, having eaten and drunk well, retire to sleep.”
Then glutton groaned and drained his winecup in one gulp: 950
“By God now, if I weren’t so shamed, I’d start to wail!
Ah, if I’d only known, how I’d have reveled in life!
But now, when I look backward, fellows, at what I’ve done,
it seems to me I’ve never drunk or loved or eaten
nor sailed the seas under your heavy shade, Odysseus. 955
When Death shall seize and hoist me on his steed’s dark rump
he’ll question me over and over again on my spent life:
‘Have you seen women, flowers, seas?’ ‘I’ve not seen anything!’
‘And small birds-warbling in the dawn?’ ‘I’ve not heard anything!’
‘And wine and bread and meat?’ ‘I’ve tasted nothing, nothing! 960
Life passed like a brief dream and now, Death, that I’ve wakened,
alas, you come and drag me by the hair to the cold ground!’ ”
Thus Kentaur stuttered, muttering incoherent words,
until the lone man seized his hands compassionately:
“Friends, I forgot to tell you: some receive Lord Death 965
with no esteem, with blathering tongue, stewed to the gills!”
Glutton jumped up in wrath and the words welled from his heart:
“All life with you is hard, and death with you still harder!”
&nbs
p; But Granite was not frightened and proudly tossed his head:
“Am I not free to do whatever I like, my friends? 970
Fellows, I’ve got a feeling I’d like to burst in song,
but not of friends or drinking, nor of upper worlds:
hardhearted man, it’s to your much-loved head I’ll sing!”
The mountain lad then leant his head in his cupped hand
and with a firm clear voice began an old brave tune: 975
“The forty-footed man lies dying on quaking earth,
skies flash with lightning, thunders roar, all Hades sways,
the tombstones shake to think of lidding his eagle wings.
No human house could shelter him, no cave could hold him,
he threw isle after isle in seas and stalked across them, 980
holding an oar in one hand, the North Star in the other.”
The archer spread his hands and spoke with quivering voice:
“Farewell, North Star and oar! Farewell, O gaudy world!
Good was the voyage, my bowels have brimmed with sea and brine.”
Midnight approached, jasmine had rotted in the girls’ 985
warm hair, and the barbarian chiefs began to groan
like buffaloes dragged before the slaughter-shed’s grim gates.
Nile struck his fist on the feasting boards and cried in wrath:
“What shame for soldiers to welcome Death with drink and dirge!”
The lone man struck back at the venomous-minded worker: 990
“My friend, they’re right to bid the world farewell in tears,
for come, admit it, life’s most sweet, may she be cursed!”
But Nile’s dry sword-sharp lips muttered in mulleined wrath:
“I bring Death no great gifts of joy or sweet delight
but the death-offering of a child who died of hunger.” 995
Then the world-wanderer shuddered deep to think how hard
a heart could grow, scorched by a cruel, unlaughing love,
and turned serenely to that stern black-mantled soul:
“The earth is good and of great grace and outstrips man’s
acrid, most wrinkle-bellied, parsimonious brain; 1000
sorrows and joys, falsehoods and truths, masters and slaves,
bottomless bellies that eat on, children that starve:
joy to that brain that holds all these and does not faint.”
But the great worker struck back with still stubborn head:
“The world, with brains like yours, grows wild, unpruned, undipped, 1005
but we don’t spoil the earth with fondling, for we fight her,
and water all good things she bears, and kill all evil.