The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel

  ‘Beloved, I feel at length that we two are but one!’

  This is the second fruit of my erotic strife.

  Ah, I, at least, could never pluck a higher fruit.”

  The unsated warrior clenched his hand and spoke no word;

  his ruthless mouth was warbling like a mighty bow, 1200

  he felt his strength grow to a vast inhuman size,

  he pitied all weak souls a moment, then rose to leave,

  but turned and saw the prince who with his large eyes shut,

  his pale head tilted sideways, trembled for his reply,

  so that he opened then his holy mouth and spoke: 1205

  “Reach out your tongue-kissed hands spread with a lime-twig snare

  where I shall place the heaviest, sweetest fruit of strife:

  ‘Even this One, O Margaro, this One is empty air!’ ” 1208

  The black-eyed maiden shrieked and fell prone to the ground:

  “This dreadful word you give us, saint, destroys us all!” 1210

  But the worm-taken prince leapt up with cloudless joy:

  “My heart throbs and my mind glows! I hold freedom’s keys!”

  His black locks fluttered down his back, a lion’s mane,

  his youthful body in the twilight gleamed erect

  like a tall sword which an unseen hand sweeps through air. 1215

  “My saintly savior, give us the good word again!”

  Slowly and sweetly in the withering shades of dusk

  fell life’s and the ascetic’s highest, most fearful fruit:

  “Even this One, O prince, even this One is empty air!”

  The prince’s sallow cheeks grew flushed, his eyes grew clear, 1220

  his empty and sick entrails healed with inner peace:

  “Freedom, herb of forgetfulness that blooms on cliffs,

  most precious antidote and balm of poisonous life,

  home-wrecking Liberty, well met! Your good health, worms!

  Seven well-hidden paths lead to salvation’s grace 1225

  and I shall take the straitest road of black despair

  and empty my full heart of sorrows, passions, joys.

  Motherth, abjure your eyes, your ears, your nose, your tongue,

  forswear, Motherth, all virtues, glories, deeds, and minds!

  Forswear all earth’s creations, they’re but fantasies, 1230

  for we chase shadows, mounted on swift shadowy steeds;

  Death is a shadow, too, that hunts the shadow, Life;

  O Motherth, shut your eyes, your ears, your nose, your mouth:

  for even this One—do you hear?—this One is empty air!”

  Bitterness stung the god-destroyer’s blossomed mouth: 1235

  “O immature soft soul, you can’t as yet support

  freedom’s most dreadful bloom, and kneel like a low slave.

  Forward! Though life’s an empty shade, I’ll cram it full

  of earth and air, of virtue, joy, and bitterness!

  So long as I walk on earth shall earth walk at my side! 1240

  When butterflies flit by, I thrust them in my mind

  and hold them tight with their bright dress to keep them safe

  until I die and we both rot in loam together;

  thrust the earth like butterflies into your mind, my son.”

  The youth’s mind smothered like a burnt-out candlewick: 1245

  “I won’t accept strong wine before the butcher’s door

  so that in stupor I may not know toward what I go;

  I’ll stretch my neck to the sharp ax with clean clear eyes!

  Your great good word, by scattering me, has made me firm.

  The ax and my neck both are but frail azure shadows.” 1250

  Then Margaro clasped tight the world-destroyer’s knees:

  “Master, alas, I can’t bear now your bitter word.

  My heart has shriveled, my soft arms have lost their strength;

  dear God, how can I now embrace but shadowy forms,

  I, who love sturdy bodies and even their strong stench?” 1255

  The lone man of the double-ax but gently smiled

  then placed his right hand on the hair of the black-eyed,

  his left hand on the young man’s handsome, luckless head:

  “How sweet and full of flattery blows the cooling breeze!

  I see that shadows have grown long as the sun set, 1260

  I feel between my eyebrows the great Evening Star

  and two warm bodies floundering in my hands at dusk.

  If I could raise them on my wings to see Death whole,

  to see the muddy spotted crust of the whole earth

  that freedom’s cry might burst and scatter all things wide! 1265

  But our seductress hangs upon the cliff and weeps

  and longs deep in her heart for an immortal love;

  our prince stands upright on the cliff, denies all things,

  but can’t find strength to soar with wings above the grave.

  I know a man on earth with two long grasping hands, 1270

  and if he hungers for warm bread, he dines on dirt,

  and if he thirsts for water, he drinks the savage brine,

  and if he longs for a cool chat as evening falls

  then he and Death, like two good neighbors, laugh all night:

  Welcome, good neighbor Charon, O great shepherd, come 1275

  and let your muddy-headed human herds go hang!

  Let’s sit like lean wolf-chiefs tonight and chat awhile.’

  They laugh and talk of grain and vineyards like two lords,

  they prate of massacres and voyages and war,

  and like green youth in rut they gab of firm-fleshed girls, 1280

  of Lenio’s flouncing breasts, of Rala’s flashing thighs.

  ‘Ah, Death, man’s heart, that crazy flapping flag, is good!’

  They sit on the low walls of joy, eat well, drink deep,

  then clash their drinking-cups at dawn like brazen shields.

  Man’s mind, erect and clear, takes long deep drafts of Death 1285

  as of a white full-flowered rose warmed by the sun,

  but Charon stammers and can’t bear the heavy weight

  of the mind’s laughter and the free heart’s conversation:

  ‘Dear friend, this wine is much too strong! I must leave now!’

  He stumbles, lurches down the court, trips on the sill, 1290

  the wild wine makes him sick, he heaves at his mouth’s door

  till he spews all he ate and drank, befouls the tiles,

  and I, his neighbor, mock and hoot at him with glee:

  ‘Ah, Charon, wine and the mind’s laughter are both good,

  so is man’s friendship, but it needs bold, brave companions!’” 1295

  As the archer talked, he stroked his hoary beard which fell

  down his broad bosom like a river and flowed in night,

  while his snake eyes with sweetness lured pale Margaro.

  Now by the sun-washed wine of his proud words entranced,

  she felt groves opening in her heart where gallant youths 1300

  of a new race walked proudly through her lofty trees

  bearing huge curling poppies thrust into their belts

  and knocked upon her crimson door and sought her kiss:

  “Ah, Margaro, come quick, for Death yelps at our heels!”

  The tender-hearted whore rushed out to welcome them: 1305

  “Quaff all my kisses, lads, before your red lips rot,

  eat my seductive eyes, lads, for earth swallows all,

  come cling, though for a moment, lads, to my warm flesh!”

  While thus Odysseus talked, in Margaro’s white breast

  salvation’s path with shadows, flowers, and fragrance bloomed, 1310

  and with her coral lips she kissed the ascetic’s hands:

  “The wound you gave me blooms in me like a red rose!”

  But in the
ruined bosom of the sallow prince

  a naked chasm gaped on freedom’s peak, stripped bare

  on the wing-bladed air of comrades, shade, or flowers. 1315

  The sickly prince leapt up and tossed his hands like wings:

  “Aye, Motherth, doff this worthless golden shroud you wear,

  cut off your raven locks, scented with laurel oil,

  cast in the mud your bracelets and your golden sandals,

  abandon your dear wife, your son, your eyes, your ears, 1320

  until stripped naked, with no virtues, wings, or robes,

  wave your pale hands and bid these thick shades disappear.”

  He spoke, then clapped his hands and called his faithful slaves:

  “Run to my palace, slaves, with my white elephant

  and tether him, bare, orphaned, in my marble courts; 1325

  fall down with low obeisance to my ancient sire,

  then take my golden crown and cast it in the river,

  give all my golden garments to my wife that she

  may stand decked by her door and take a new betrothed.

  Body of man, awake! O soul, fly from your sheath! 1330

  Dear slaves, I see wings fluttering on your shoulder blades!

  O landlords, fling your cellar keys down deepest wells

  and free yourselves of food and drink, of women too,

  come free yourselves of brain and God, of fear and hope,

  and save the fragile soul from flesh that it may soar and flee!” 1335

  But the great athlete slowly rose and blessed the trees,

  cool water, bread, and the small downy body, too,

  of Margaro that gleamed amid star-blossomed boughs:

  “All things have cooled the mind and fed the body well,

  and may fate grant you time, O Margaro, to wedge 1340

  in tighter armor these bright shades that hedge you round—

  trees, golden garments, sweethearts, and most envied youth.

  Never to say: ‘I will not kiss these empty shades!’

  but to fling wide your hungry arms, embrace the shades

  and say most sweetly, as they suck oblivion’s milk: 1345

  ‘O shades, great shades, my travelers, come to haven here!’

  I place my old hands, Margaro, on your black locks—

  bear the war well, my gallant sister, never leave me!”

  He turned then to the seedless youth who had stripped bare:

  “Ah, if I only had your youth, your curly flower! 1350

  Like a new bridegroom first uncovering his shy bride

  I’d strip earth naked and cry out with lust and joy.

  But you—shame on your raven locks, your bridegroom’s face!—

  abandon the earth, your lovely bride, and spurn the game.

  I’ve heard it said that in old times two bosom friends 1355

  were cast in a dark slave-ship to be killed at dusk;

  the first lost heart at once and his eyes sank in pits,

  but his friend’s sturdy spirit stood erect and gazed

  on the blue sea and mountains, smelled the briny air,

  tasted a cup of wine, possessed a lovely lass, 1360

  and moments passed like sated years as he caressed

  the earth and life with his deep palm and said farewell.

  Aye, king’s son, both were souls, but who is worth your love?

  Who can we say is a free soul, and who a slave?

  Come, cast your judgment, prince! We’re both in a slave-ship!” 1365

  But the transported youth crouched mutely on the ground,

  folded his golden robes, tore off his regal gems

  from his curled locks, the sacred and great ring of state,

  that poisonous and golden wound, from his pale hands,

  then heaped them with contempt and called his faithful slave: 1370

  “Dear friend, behold, my butterfly and gaudy wings

  I’ve stripped off one by one till I’m earth’s worm once more.

  Most faithful friend, I touch your knees with reverence.

  If ever you have heard me call you slave, dear brother,

  I beg your great forgiveness in this fearful hour. 1375

  I thought I was perhaps immortal, a gold bird,

  and you the dust that rose and vanished at my heels.

  Now in Death’s lightning flash I recognize you, friend,

  for slaves and masters are all kin at the worm’s feast.

  I beg you, do not weep; I’ve freed myself from shades. 1380

  Greet for me one by one my much-loved skein of shadows,

  my father, mother, my newborn son, my sweetest wife,

  and tell them that I’ll hide in woods, I’ll free the earth,

  that though I shall not move, I’ll set the mind’s strength loose

  to fly ahead and melt the North’s cold crystal ice, 1385

  to turn South, right and left, toward sun, away from sun,

  to reach the crimson East and the all-swooning West,

  to slash across the heavens with no love or rage

  and smash at last the innocent and brilliant powers,

  then plunge to Tartarus and harvest those dark roots 1390

  that flow like crimson veins and water all the soul.

  It’s time for the five shameless elements to part:

  air, water, fire, earth, and man’s most fertile brain.”

  As the soul-snatcher crossed the young whore’s garden plot

  he stood upon the threshold with resounding heart 1395

  and dragged all things in his eyes’ nets for the last time:

  the fragrant body of the maid, the downy youth,

  the faithful slave who lay prone on the earth and wailed,

  and the slim handmaids running with swift rosy heels.

  For a brief flash his eyes grew glazed, he pitied man, 1400

  and once more struck and scolded his still shallow mind:

  “In truth, you’re very strong, for many times I’ve felt

  you smash my skull and break through like a heavy beast,

  but yet you lack the greatest and most noble power,

  O mind, to hold your full strength back with a strong bit.” 1405

  But then the lone man tossed his head with pride, and smiled:

  “All’s well! Let the word loose—it’s not pure gold to keep

  hid in deep coffers for your son’s inheritance;

  plant it like a great seed, free it like a fierce beast!

  Behold how here, in Margaro’s wide courts, my word 1410

  leapt up like fire, a pomegranate tree whose boughs

  hang heavily down with seven different kinds of fruit;

  the sensual whore strains hard to pluck the one most sweet,

  but the sad prince would choose with pride the bitter fruit,

  and other hungry birds will come to peck and bite. 1415

  But soon that day will come when freedom and despair,

  wild brother, savage sister, will meet beneath my word

  as though from the same belly, fed with the same milk,

  and seven varied fruits will merge in one whole fruit.”

  Dark smothered all the gardens, and unnumbered suns 1420

  hung dancing in a male row on the thighs of night;

  low in the scented courtyards, in the azure dark,

  the maiden’s thousand-kissed soft features glittered still,

  the prince’s golden garments and his new-shorn locks

  lay gleaming on the tiles like funeral ornaments. 1425

  But as the white-haired athlete crossed the threshold where

  so many feet had trod, he tripped in the vast night

  so that the pale prince raised at once his star-washed face—

  his eyes and bare breast shone, his eager lips at length

  sucked at the sterile teats of the wild wilderness. 1430

  Seeing the great ascetic trip in the dense dark,
br />   he thrust a burning brand in his gold clothes to light

  the traveler’s way, till in the gardens the flames leapt,

  flared on the laughing nurses, on the weeping slaves,

  on Margaro who stooped and followed with mute awe 1435

  earth’s white-haired old bellwether with his silent bell.

  The lone man’s shoulders also glowed in the gold flames,

  and Margaro stood still and marveled in the wilderness.

  Slowly he crossed the streets, passed through the city gate,

  thrust in a wood, stopped by an open clearing then 1440

  and stroked his beard, rejoiced in the starry solitude.

  He was once more alone, and turned his white-haired head,

  nor did his feet know now what road to take, nor did

  his mind, that great road-pointer, know what to command;

  his soul spread like an open sea, and roads ran everywhere. 1445

  XIX

  As fog rolled down the mountains and mist drowned the fields,

  the wild hare trembled, eagles gathered high in air

  and hovered with long-voyaged wings and hoarsely cawed:

  “Alas, great darkness falls and drowns the floating earth.”

  “Brothers, this is no downpour, nor a smothering pall, 5

  I see a dragon in the sky with thrashing tail,

  he swoops with open mouth to swallow sun and all!”

  “That is no dragon, friends, that is no raging storm,

  I see Death dash across the fields on his black steed!”

  Thus did the eagles quarrel on air’s tumultuous peak 10

  while down below on flimsy earth’s worm-eaten crust

  Odysseus stood erect in the fresh dawn and watched.

  Slowly he turned, looked right and left, before, behind,

  perceived his shadow spread like a black-petaled rose,

  and his mind flashed and saw at once all his new road. 15

  He had no God or master now: the four winds blew,

  and in his chest his compass-heart led on toward Death.

  The lone man’s mind grew vast, he took a new road then,

  hung a carnation on his ear and bit his lips

  as life flared up and faded on his salty gills 20

  and Death perched like a cricket on his shoulder blade.

  Petal by petal fell the full-blown rose on earth

  till but the stamen stood, rough, filled with fertile seed,

  and sped erect with joy to burst down the abyss.

  Odysseus spread his hand serenely in the cool dawn 25

  and like a beggar calmly stood for alms to fall

  when suddenly two huge drops of warm rain pelted down