gold sunburnt beaches bathed like athletes by the sea,
all huts were drowned in light, and on the sun-drenched fields
the sluggish oxen cut the earth’s fruit-bearing womb. 735
But suddenly the earth and seashores shook, farms swayed,
and the whole island, trembling like a mist, rose high
and vanished like a cloud dispersed by the sun’s stroke.
Odysseus felt his heart fill up with freshening sea;
for hours he gleaned his country’s sweetness from the summit, 740
then feeling hungry, turned to his body, laughed, and said:
“Ah, comrade workhorse, let the long day’s labor cease.
We woke before cock crow, worked hard by the lamp’s light,
gave orders to the wretched living, and fed the shades;
now it’s high time to feed you also, faithful beast.” 745
He spoke, and then with haste plunged down the burning stones;
a bitter sea-chant rose and throbbed, beyond his will,
and beat between his towering temples like resounding waves.
He lunged down the descent, and with his salty songs
his solitude rose like the sea and bathed him whole 750
till dead and living turned to waves within his mind.
But all at once Odysseus stopped, his wild song broke,
for in an olive grove he saw blue smoke ascending.
A humble hut, nestling among the trees, stood guard
over a mortals goods: a jug of water, a bowl of clay, 755
the poor and holy tools of work, an earthen god.
Before the hut there crouched a bent old man who slit
fresh reeds and wove them in a basket skillfully.
“Good day, old man, I marvel at your crimson cheeks,
your supple fingers and your green old age. I’m hungry! 760
God is most great and swift repays a good deed done.”
The old man rose, and in the outstretched palms he placed
a bowl of water and a dry crust of barley bun:
“The crab, though poor, is thought a king in his own lair;
bread, water, a good heart, are kingly presents, stranger.” 765
He spoke, then stooped again to his reed-weaving task.
Squatting there on the ground, under an old tree’s shade,
the beggar, like a guileless beast, chewed on his bun,
and when he finished, turned and smiled at the old man:
“The bread was good, grandpap, it knit my weary bones, 770
good was the water too, it cooled my heart to the root,
but I have never taken gifts unpaid for, and now
I shall not rise till I’ve repaid you with good news.
Old granddad, prick up your ears, do not be’ frightened now;
renowned Odysseus moored in his native, land last night!” 775
But the old man only shook his sun-devoured head:
“We who must work day after day to eat, dear God,
what do we care if kings return or drown in exile?
We care about the rain, our vegetable plots, our lambs,
the holy bread the Immortals feed us with our own sweat; 780
kings are uncapturable birds, clouds blown by winds,”
The border-guard disliked these wry complaining words:
“For shame, old man, raise your head high above all need.
He’s come, and bears in his strong hands a vengeful bow
whose god perched like a black crow, on his shoulder blade 785
and for whose sake he’s strewn the ground with young men’s corpses.”
Between dry angers the old man crunched a bit of earth:
“I pity not the idle and scented youths he slew,
nor was the queen worth all the lads slain for her sake;
the lady passed her time well, weaving and unweaving, 790
shuttling with craft her yes and no from warp to woof.
Our master from a babe showed brashness—all his journeys,
his myriad cares and slaughters, have not sweetened his mind,
but forty millstones grind in his tempestuous head.”
The self-willed solitary glared at the old wretch: 795
“The mind was not created to grow soft by grinding
nor to be bent and yoked like cattle for men’s comforts;
the more the soul grows old the more it fights its fate!”
The old man sighed and answered with great sweetness then:
“The soul was made not to deny or shout in vain 800
but to stoop low and merge with the bread-giving earth.
Behold me, son: I was begotten, sprang to youth,
and when a light mustache bedewed my upper lip
I longed to see long braids beside me on the pillow
and sold my two lone oxen and bought me a wife, 805
for I could sleep alone no longer, nor eat nor drink.
When we had lain together, sons and daughters came;
I ate bread, worked the earth, but tax-collecting Death
passed by, and we shared the children half and half, like brothers.
Lately he’s passed again with his mule and snatched my wife. 810
I’ve seen and taken count: there is no greater good
than holy mute obedience to man-eating earth.”
Odysseus rose with arrogance and boasted proudly:
“I’ve also taken count: there is no greater good
than when the earth says ‘Yes’ and man with wrath shouts ‘No!’ 815
And I’m acquainted with one soul that never deigned
to stoop under the yoke of demon, man, or god,
but sailed and traveled till his heart became a wineskin
for all four good and evil elemental winds;
he scorned the comfortable virtues, nor made friends 820
with wealthy shepherds or with lambs or honest dogs
but outside his own sheepfold howled like a wild wolf.
People called him a beast, a god, and he but laughed,
for he knew well, quite well, he was not god or beast
but only a light drifting smoke, a passing crane, 825
I’d give him my one son to walk by his proud side.”
He spoke, then grasped the old man’s knees in deep regret:
“Grandpap, forgive me this ungrateful pay for bread;
by God, I measure often but find no measurement;
just like the two-faced queen, I ply the crafty shuttle; 830
now learn, old man, my warp is No, my woof is Yes,
and what I weave all day I swift unweave by night.
But why cast words into the wind? All roads are good
and blessed on earth, and your own road is holy too;
I kiss with reverence, grandpap, your exhausted knees.” 835
“Good journey, stranger; may God sweeten your proud mind.”
Through silver-branching olive trees, in azure dusk,
the old man watched the sturdy body plunge in fields
and vanish without trace, as though the wind had snatched it.
The slit reeds fell and scattered from his puckered hands, 840
his light dimmed as though lightning bolts had split his brain:
“That’s not the stature nor the tread of mortal man;
either a god’s descended to my hut to tease me
or my decrepit eyes have looked upon the dread Odysseus!”
While the proud archer chased the empty air and played, 845
his ancient father crawled across his blood stained threshold.
He crept to a hot windless pit amid the fields
and lay down without speaking, merged his back and hips
with the warm earth and the green clover flecked with flowers;
like an old scarab, battle-scarred, with broken wings, 850
that eats, works, spills its seed, then crawls in a dark pit
and has no will to live since all its guts have emptied,
thus did Laertes crawl and thrust himself in earth.
He smelled the loam and softly smiled, caressed the grass,
stretched out his bony limbs and yawned, then wryly sighed; 855
a thick black swarm of ants crawled up his withered shanks,
but like an ancient tree he suffered the dark mites
to roam his flesh, nor felt their sharp exploring bites.
Only one dark and secret wish perturbed him still
like baby’s whimpering or water’s murmuring 860
or dry reed’s moaning by the lake when the wind blows.
One prayer, one sole entreaty chirped in his mind still;
he gazed on earth, his lips moved and his words arose
like water lilies in his mind’s warm murky pools.
“O earth, dear wife, I’ve tilled you like a humble plowman, 865
I was your faithful king, the oxen my mute brothers,
I was your glowworm, crawling through your herbs at night,
delighting in your rain-soaked soil with my bright belly,
I passed above you, Dame Bread-Giver, and sowed my seed,
and you received it mutely in your guts, and slowly 870
and patiently we stooped and waited for the first rains.
I’m through, with tilling the earth now, I want my wages;
make my old body young again to breed me grandsons!
Like a great warrior who adorns himself for Hades
and girds the sharp sword to his side, and grasps his spear, 875
and paints his old scars red, and thus descends and slides,
so shall I grasp my scythe, my hoe, my prodding goad,
a jug of water, my two brothers the dumb oxen,
and like a bridegroom steal into your house at night;
the tender meadow grass shall cover up our bed 880
that I may lie, dear Earth, sweet wife, at your cool side;
make my old body young again to breed me grandsons!
I’ll not have them resemble my one faithless son
who spurned you; they’ll become field workers, worms of earth,
their minds shall gently steam with grass and soil and rain. 885
Lady Bread-Giver, I’m tired! Take me, but don’t cast me
on sands of disavowal or in Lethe’s well;
make my old body young again to breed me grandsons!”
The temples of the old man sank, he closed his lids,
his whole life seemed like a far buzz of honeybees 890
that slowly, sweetly fades away on flowering fields,
and he a stingless drone that lies supine, and dies.
He smiled, spread out his hands and touched the fragrant herbs,
leant back his head on the good earth and called on sleep,
and the god came like a light, downy death, and took him. 895
Three days the heralds, olive-crowned, beat on all doors:
“Elders, take up your staffs; young men, gird on your arms;
women, unlock your bridal chests of scented wood,
choose from your dearest dowry, your best panoply!
Minstrels, take down your lyres hung with ringing bells 900
and beat your brains like trees for the ripe songs to fall!
Let empty stomachs laugh and all dry throats rejoice—
brothers, our king invites you all to a rich feast!”
Under ancestral plane trees, still new-leaved and green,
row upon row the tables sagged with food and drink; 905
a savage lowing rose from beasts slain on the grass,
from the crowd’s helter-skelter and its husky laughter.
The furrows round the plane grove flowed with the beasts’ blood
and girdled the whole town with a red steaming belt.
It was a cool late afternoon, the evening’s dusk, 910
and as the mules descended with their copper bells,
the azure mountain with its white paths heaved and swayed
and roared as though cascades plunged down its pebbly sides.
The new-bathed women with their snowy kerchiefs shone
like constellations on the dusk-strewn mountain slopes; 915
behind them clanged young men in arms with pulsing hearts,
pounding their feet to see at last renowned Odysseus;
the old men with their crooked staffs came hobbling last.
As the echoing mountain rumbled downward toward the town,
and young men longed to see him, and the old recalled 920
his fierce glance, his proud bearing and his body’s swing,
the full round moon rose flaming in nocturnal air,
and as it rose the birds stopped singing, the old men screamed,
for as it swayed and dripped with blood, it forecast wars;
but the youths laughed and sped their pace, their nostrils flared 925
to smell thick greasy odors slowly mounting high
from slaughtered beasts that shepherds roasted on long spits.
On the white pebbled shores the town burst like a rose,
the soul of every peasant leapt high in his breast,
mules slipped and stumbled on the paths, the gravel sparked, 930
and window shutters everywhere were flung wide open
to watch the spangled peasants flooding toward the fair.
But as maids neared the feast under the plane trees’ shade,
stooped in their headbands, all dismounted silently,
though on the road they’d cackled like gay partridges 935
or like swift fountains babbling in a fall of waters;
but in the town now they felt shy and lowered their eyes.
The people swarmed, old country loves met once again,
old friends walked arm in arm and talked their hearts out, here
young men could stroll and eye the girls and wink their full. 940
Death pulls a long ill-tempered face when music comes,
and from the mountains plunged the minstrels, lords of song,
their sonorous heads adorned with berry-laden ivy.
Songs heaved and foamed inside their heads like heavy seas.
What should they choose to sing? All manner of songs are theirs. 945
They cultivate their flower beds in rows where bloom
in separate plots food’s wine-flushed songs, blue exile songs,
gray songs of the open road, rose-crimson wedding songs,
all fenced with the black songs of grief like cypress trees.
They sat on walls like a long row of spouting springs, 950
but one with a lean cricket’s shape and pointed head,
his reed pipe stuck under his arm, strolled by and laughed:
“Hey, Kentaur, hold on tight; don’t faint with the food’s fumes!
Take heart, my heart, we’re moored in the port of eat and drink!”
The grove of plane trees shook, for in the moon’s glow rose 955
a mountain of meat, three floors of belly and underbelly,
grunting and panting, heaving, drenched with streams of sweat.
“Orpheus, we’ll stuff our guts full at our master’s feast;
let’s make the rounds, my friend, let’s grab leftover meats,
for see, my bellies droop in folds, my thighs have shrunk.” 960
The squint-eyed piper laughed, swallowed his spittle, and sighed:
“Oho, the smells bash in my nose, I’ll faint and fall!
If only men had bodies like humped camels, friend,
then food and drink could flow in floods down two forked roads;
some could plunge downward toward the belly and others spout 965
high up the hump and there be stored till the back bursts;
then when you’re famished, the huge hump would slowly melt
while you sit idly like a king and eat it all away!
/>
Brother, what humps the both of us shall raise tonight!”
Kentaur, that splayfoot, bellowed like a hollow pot: 970
“Hey, chum, your pointed pumpkin head is stuffed with brains!
If I were God, I’d change the seas to muscatel
and all our ships to goblets, beaches to red meat,
our bodies to barrels that sail ashore to eat and drink!”
The two friends sighed and talked, greedily slunk about 975
the wineskins and the piled roast meat, and gulped with hunger.
At last the conches blared and all the heralds cried:
“Immortal gods, may you enjoy our food’s rich odor!
Welcome, O mighty archons, welcome, O great kings!
People, unloose your belts, reach out your hungry hands, 980
let the great feast of our thrice-welcomed king begin!”
First to appear and seat himself on the highest throne
was golden-crowned Odysseus, their much-traveled lord.
All voices hushed, and old men stooped and hunched their backs:
dear God, he’d grown to forty foot! How his eyes sparked 985
and swiftly pounced like two wild beasts on the poor crowd!
His long stride and his body’s lithesome undulation—
how like a leopard who slinks out to prowl at night!
This man was not a king or shepherd of his people
but a huge hungry dragon that sniffed human flesh. 990
The good and sweet-faced son sat on his father’s left
and like a lily gleamed on his rough parent’s cliff;
his curly locks swung gently down his sunburnt back,
around him his lean hounds like dolphins leapt and played
then leant their gleaming necks on their kind master’s knees 995
till the youth placed his hands on their quick-witted heads.
Two slaves upheld the body of the archer’s father
and carried it with care, like smelling meat gone bad;
his eyes and ears were dulled, his mind a stagnant marsh,
and he stooped low toward earth as though he knocked to enter. 1000
Odysseus shuddered at the sight, lowered his eyes,
looked on the ground and cursed the rotting fate of man;
his sturdy body, wedged between his son and father,
suddenly rotted on the right, bloomed on the left,
and for a lightning flash he choked and gasped for air 1005
then jumped up to shake off the oppressive company
but drew his heart’s reins tight and stopped at the cliff’s edge.
Goblets made of the purest gold, with gods embossed,
heavy and double-handled, glittered before the kings,