I’ve had these weapons from my father and he from his,
passed down through many generations. Arm yourself, son!
First take the trowel to shape the clay, the straight plumb line 585
to find what’s upright, then the trusty water-level,
the squared right-angle and toothed chisel, crowbar and awl,
strong holy weapons that I entrust you with, my son,
that you in turn may give them to your own first-born.
To some were given spears or swords to slaughter men, 590
to some the mighty thoughts by which the world is ruled,
but fate has given us in trust the mason’s tools.
Each soul has its own grace. I worship and bow low,
O faithful, true co-workers, old ancestral tools
who’ve helped even me to earn my bread on earth, and now 595
in my son’s hands begin a new day’s work and wage.
O trowel, aid my son; O plumb line, hang down straight;
dear water-level, please forgive his awkward hands,
but they’ll mature, you’ll see, and even surpass me soon;
go with my blessing, holy tools, to my son’s hands.” 600
The father spoke, subdued his pains, then stood erect
like his old forebears when they, too, bequeathed their tools,
and as from his dear father’s quivering hands the son
took the old weapons, they turned young in youthful hands.
He stooped and kissed the honest tools in salutation: 605
“Welcome, grandsires! May I deserve your blessings too!”
Thus did the father entrust his craft’s new destiny
to his son’s hands, when all at once a voice rang out:
“At the cave’s mouth a lion threatens our saint! To arms!”
The son rushed through his yard, flung wide his outer door 610
on a deep night where flickering lanterns swayed in courts,
where yelping dogs in fear thrust through their masters’ legs,
and old crones cast and shook dry beans in sieves
to find out if a lion or fierce god stalked the cave.
Two elders with a kerchief tightly bound their heads: 615
“Give us our cudgels, grandsons, we shall climb the cave.
Ah lads, we’ve heard such dark news that our old hearts bleed.”
All the youths felt ashamed and buckled on their arms,
and the young mason’s son cried to his sister then:
“A lion may be stalking our old hermit’s cave! 620
Don’t weep, dear sister; help me gird my weapons well,
for I’m ashamed to leave the old men to their peril.”
Meanwhile the ancient hermit once more sighed and groaned:
“Ah, could I only start my life’s road once again!”
But the world-roamer, silent and unmoving, held 625
his greenly glinting eyes wide open in the dark,
and his heart slowly cracked to hear the futile sighs;
he found their taste so bitter that he locked his lips
as his mind flowed, a far-off mist, and rolled to sea,
but he unlocked his lips in pain for the old man: 630
“Health to your hands, grandfather, which all woods obey!
Take up your tools and carve a god, who’ll give you youth
that you may spring from earth reborn and take new roads.”
But the old man smiled bitterly with lips awry:
“Now that I’ve shrunk, the gods perform no miracles; 635
when I was a strong man and carved from wood, they say
the gods became strong men in turn and smashed the world;
but now that my sides ache and all my loins have shrunk,
the gods’ loins also rot and their sides throb with pain;
great Savior, I can’t find my own salvation now.” 640
He ceased, then suddenly raised his ten thin fingers high:
“These are the only ten almighty gods I have!”
Again he deeply sighed and made the tomb resound:
“Ah, were I young, I’d gird my weapons round my waist
and set out with my friends as though all life were ours. 645
I’d never spread again my begging hands toward heaven,
but I’d become a great king, taste all wines and meat,
spill blood, then go to my good wife when war was done.
I would be handsome, just, and good; in my great court
my kindliness would stand like a luxurious cow 650
and sweetly moo for all poor folk to come and milk her.
I’d ask no questions then, but laughing, loving, weeping
with all mankind, I’d plumb the secret of the world.
I know your lion’s odor now, and my life’s changed!”
As though the heart-seducer fed him with youth’s herb, 655
the old man’s loins grew strong, his joints knit once again,
he cocked his cap and felt his hunting mind fly off
to foreign lands in chase of wider wings; he leapt
from cliff to cliff as a cool wind assailed his brow,
and round his mighty head, where tossed his raven locks, 660
a bloody twisted cord wound in a crimson crown.
Like a young warrior stepping then in his bronze armor,
the old man softly glowed and slowly, slowly stepped in sleep.
“Brother, fear not! Let all the faithful raise their swords!”
The brazen mountains seethed and smoked in the sun’s blaze, 665
and the sea licked the seashore with her rasping tongue.
Armies of giants leapt, and their bronze armor gleamed,
the young men lit tall crimson candles and green lamps, 668
and mothers screamed until the earth cracked wide to hear.
Death’s mother clasped her lethal son and begged in tears: 670
“Son, pity the poor mothers, pity the young girls;
son, don’t you hear their weeping and their wild lament
and the small children laughing, and the sweet soft talk
that young pairs whisper secretly at dead of night?
Let pain subside awhile and let the bright sun laugh.” 675
Death hung a rose over his ear, twirled his mustache:
“Mother, this is no wedding feast I’m going to!
The iron-hearted king has sent his heralds here,
the greedy raven, the black jackal, the blind worm,
and ordered me to sack all towns, to smash all doors, 680
so plug your ears with wax, Mother, to drown their groans.”
He spoke, then spurred his steed and disappeared in dust.
At that same hour a king leapt in his brazen armor
and mounted his white mare as mountain ranges shook
and trees raced backward swiftly till the stones struck sparks, 685
and in that mighty onrush all men shrank to ants.
At dusk at length the young king stopped and wiped the sweat
from his flushed face with a gold handkerchief, then stooped
and in a glittering river rimmed with willow trees
glanced at his noble laughing face, his gleaming teeth 690
and the red ribbon woven round his hair with kisses;
he gazed on castles he had burned, towns he had wrecked,
young children he had orphaned, all the souls he’d snatched,
and Death beside him with a rose hung from his ear.
His heart was suddenly moved and his mind sweetly dawned: 695
“Run off to your old mother, O foul butcher, Death,
for now I pity men and want this dread war stopped;
I want songs now in every room, the hum of looms,
and mothers cradling their young babes at evening’s door.
Death, I too am a newlywed, my mind drips honey; 700
I’ll cast my brazen armor off and d
ress in silks,
I’ll stroll through grass in gold-embroidered, limber cloaks,
I’ll fight my Lady now with bows of flowering bay,
and with red roses tip my shafts to stain our bed,
and all shall come and clash their shields of happiness. 705
Dear Death, you’ve served me well; take for remembrance now
my pearl-stitched waistcoat and my golden-hilted sword,
and fare you well, for evil times have gone forever.”
He spoke, and grim Death vanished from the water’s glaze
and only frail rose petals drifted down the flowering stream. 710
In fields the branches blossomed with the first red shoots
and in the marble palace court the slim queen sighed
and two fawns followed tamely her long velvet train.
Stooping, she asked the marble lions that rimmed the well:
“Dear lions, have you seen my loved king in the meadows? 715
He rides a white mare, eagles dart in his blue eyes,
his long hair is adorned with a red twisted cord
which my own hands have woven and my own blood dyed.
Dear lions, if you see him, tell him to return.”
The waters leapt and fell upon the lions’ manes 720
as through the wrought gold gate the horseman dashed, and reined.
In the dark gardens, pomegranate fires bloomed
and all the pictured carvings woke on painted walls:
the gods spread out their hands as though to bless the earth,
ancestors laughed in rows with their marmoreal lips, 725
the horses smelled their master and neighed stone on stone,
and a small worm crawled in the court and burst with wings—
for the king held his sweetheart in his arms all night.
Next morning at her window, with her jet-black eyes
drowsy for want of sleep, and through her golden grille, 730
the slim queen envied men that walked the roads below.
Then like a bride in whom the seed has caught, her heart
hankered for curious dishes and for strange desires:
“O passers-by, my heart beats so, I long to come
and tread your earthen streets and walk in mud awhile; 735
I can’t bear more, O passers-by, and I shall weep!”
She watched a hobbling hag walk barefoot in the mire
until she also longed to sink her feet in mud.
Then the king ordered hundredweights of clove and spice,
and hundredweights of nutmeg, cinnamon, and mint, 740
and hundredweights of ginger root in mortars ground
and heaped high in the court and drenched with oil of rose
to form a clay mass that the queen with her white feet
might in the dawn descend and walk on fragrant mire.
The king’s heart sprouted wings as though to soar with joy 745
for from earth’s tree he’d plucked all sweet fruits, one by one,
till no desires or joys remained, and the world wasted
before his heart could fully taste its brimming strength;
but still the king was not aware he’d reached the abyss.
He crossed his city and his streets with marveling joy, 750
held high the scales of justice, with his people shared
possessions of the earth and sea, and the heart’s graces.
He heard the slim maid’s loom, the mother’s lullaby,
and from the palace terraces at dusk he saw
glad women hang in clusters, clustering children play. 755
Rich heralds from the world’s far corners came and fetched
humped camels weighed with heavy gold, round rings of slaves,
bright trees of coral, precious ostrich plumes, until
the marble lions gaped and laughed and the king twirled
his jet-black hooked mustache and like a tiger stalked 760
his spacious marble courts, his golden corridors.
But one dark night alone amid his flowering trees
he drank a sharp wing-voyaged wine, and his heart swelled,
his life rose like a lotus in his memory’s pool
and he sighed deeply till his dim eyes filled with tears. 765
The world lay wholly at his feet and swarmed with wealth,
his body was an ivory tower where women perched
like nightingales at dusk with fluttering wings, and sang,
but his heart suddenly sighed with sadness, his proud hands
spread like a beggar’s in the night with greedy palms. 770
He screamed and burst in tears until the palace cracked,
and the dream-sages huddled, exorcisers mouthed,
heart-healers rushed with charms, old men with magic herbs,
and all the palace’s disease-wise quacks dashed up
with their long beards and cunning eyes and clacking tongues. 775
They babbled of their nostrums with most subtle guile,
puffed hard to blow the evil away, smeared magic salves,
brought healing snake-balms and a honeyed sweetroot soup,
but the king wailed on unconsoled, his heart felt choked,
and laughter, that uncaught bird, never more returned. 780
Then his dwarf jester cocked his cap and bells awry:
“Give way, I’ll make the unlaughing king cackle and caw!”
He mewed, crawled on all fours on earth, crowed like a cock,
cackled and cawed like partridges, like vultures screeched,
and his protean throat broke in a goldfinch song. 785
But the unlaughing king in nausea plugged his ears:
“I will not hear that fool who shames all mankind thus!
Cast him in iron cages with the monkey tribe!”
A slim maid stretched in bed and dimmed the sun’s own face:
“It’s I who’ll make the unlaughing king cackle and caw!” 790
She wore the heavens on her breast, the sun and moon,
she placed gold scorpions in her hair, pinks at her ear,
then swaggered toward the palace gates with swaying hips.
An old man sinned to see her, a child gaped with awe,
two burghers met her and their purse-strings snapped in two 795
so that their gold coins rolled and gurgled on the ground,
and the young sentries of the palace flushed and glowed:
“It must be dawn! The palace pillars burst in flame!”
“The evening air in afterglow is filled with scent!”
And the third sentry shouted “Fire!” and raised the sign, 800
a crimson flag of flame, so that the whole town seethed.
The Negro hangman who stood still by the king’s side
turned and unsheathed his shining sword and loudly yelled:
“Great king, through your wide threshold a slim maiden sways!”
The sun and moon on her firm breast gleamed and approached, 805
she stripped bare, the gold scorpions stirred, and the pinks fell,
then silently she placed her head on the king’s knees.
But deep within the woman’s eyes the king discerned
an infant that spread chubby hands to clasp him tight,
and he jumped up, turned in despair, and called his slave: 810
“Her bosom seeks a child! I loathe it! I don’t want it!
Take her, my slave, sleep with her, cram her belly full!”
An ancient sage then stroked his snow-white hair with pride:
“It’s I who’ll make the unlaughing king cackle and caw.”
He crouched on a low stool at the king’s feet and wove 815
for seven days and nights the world’s grim chronicles:
for seven days and nights his knowing mind unwound
the wars, disasters, lusts, and wiles of all mankind,
but on the seventh dawn at length t
he king cried out:
“Man’s history is a heavy shame of wars and tears, 820
the earth’s a blood-soaked slaughterhouse, there is no truth,
nor joy, nor virtue, nor reward, nor saving hope.”
He huddled on his throne and ordered his black slave:
“Cut off the wise man’s tongue, he’s poisoned the whole world!”
At last toward midnight a blind minstrel came and raised 825
his darkened eyeballs high to the unpitying heavens
then broke into tormenting wails, a proud lament,
and though the king stooped low, he heard no lucid words,
but his mind flashed, he reached his hand and cried, “It’s true!”
Then he flung off his crimson sandals, his tall crown, 830
his gold two-headed eagles and his golden seal,
and two by two lunged swiftly down the palace stairs.
His father in the courtyard reached his hands to stop him:
“I am your ancient father, son!” “I never was born!”
His son forestalled him by the gate and blocked his way: 835
“I am your son, don’t leave me now!” “I have no children!”
His wife opposed him in the public road and clasped him tight:
“I am your wife, have pity!” “I want no children born!”
The king traversed the road, passed through the city gate,
crossed through his fields and vineyards, climbed the low foothills, 840
stopped for a while to listen, and then rushed on again:
behind the trees he heard the far sea’s bitter roar,
behind the rocks he heard the far sea’s bitter roar,
behind his lustrous forehead broke the thundering waves.
“My kingdom’s but an island and the sea’s its noose!” 845
Hungry, he seized a crust of bread to rouse his soul,
but still he heard the mocking sea behind the bread
and flung it on the stones, nor wished to eat again.
The king took to his heels once more, crossed road on road,
and lo! a dragon with nine pairs of heads leapt down 850
between two lofty mountain peaks and blocked his way:
“The mind to conquer me, great king, has not been born!
I am the Law, father of virtue, thorny hedge
that guards man’s ordered way, the sacred boundary line
behind which spreads the desert with no hope or god!” 855
But the unlaughing king still heard behind the Law’s
blood-splattered heads the thundering of the distant sea,
and the earth gaped and his mind suddenly gulped the dragon.
The young king crossed road after road, the mountains swayed,