“Farewell, O thick grape clusters, hair of blue musk-grapes! 190
Farewell, rich vines, for now the harvester has come!”
But all at once he seized a column and held tight,
for he saw moon-browed Helen swaying like a swan,
her pregnant form upheld by her old nurses gently,
her holy belly swollen, a mature ant-mother 195
who packed unnumbered swarms within her egg-filled loins.
Her apple cheeks had sunken, her eyes had grown huge,
her pale hands rested on her fruitful belly’s prize
as, drowned in a sweet dream, she smiled on all from far.
Idomeneus rose, then grasped her supple wrist, 200
and full of pride and joy enthroned her by his side,
rejoiced to feel his son had formed in her firm womb.
But the all-knowing archer smiled, for he recalled
that a blond male ant grafted those notorious thighs
and planted a blond swarm deep in that ready womb. 205
Raising his hands, the king then prayed to his plump goddess:
“Mother of wheat and brain, O double dug of earth,
thrice welcome to our tables, bless our holy food,
let bread rise to our heads and be transformed to brain,
let meat sink in our loins and turn to a strong fortress, 210
let sweet wine tighten round our hearts like a red ribbon,
for mind, that keeper of keys, unlocks the holy flesh.
Welcome, O lords and ladies, to our wedding feast this night.”
In gardens, night blooms opened in a honeyed hour,
stars gamboled in the sky and stealthily stooped down 215
to see how nobles eat on earth, how ladies laugh.
All lanterns were put out as ships approached the town
and swiftly leapt from wave to wave; all rowed in silence,
until at length the harbor light-towers came to view.
The workers pressed in gangways and perked up their ears, 220
slaves bound their heads with kerchiefs, massed their children close,
stretched out their scrawny necks and held their doors ajar,
but revelry and laughter rang above them still,
and an old crone, to keep her dear grandsons awake,
embellished ancient legends and created kings: 225
“My children, once upon a time a great king reigned . . .”
Just then Idomeneus raised his startled head,
for his gold winecup clattered from his frozen lips;
he leapt in haste, thrust to one side his Negro slaves
then slowly slid on tiptoe to a darkened column. 230
His eyes were filled with holocausts and secret signs,
and stretching out his hand, he slowly groped the column
with moist blind palms, as though his fingertips could read,
and fumbled on dark heads and eyes, on flames and crows,
and on a sea-god who crouched low and aimed his darts. 235
The old king shook and stumbled, dark froth edged his lips,
for his gold sandals had now touched the archer’s heels.
Then Orpheus snatched a flute and played a rousing song
to turn aside the burdened soul of his tranced lord,
but he raised high his golden staff with rage, and struck, 240
till flute and piper’s teeth rolled on the wine-drenched tiles.
Thick shadows swooped on the numb king, black lofty wings
darkened his mind, passed on, and others plunged behind,
as though black vessels sailed upon his darkened features.
It might have been the pirate sails that moored in secret 245
which struck his soul, it might have been brave Captain Clam’s
dark shadow which that moment slowly stepped beyond
the great sea-gates that sealed the sea-king’s famous fleet.
As Captain Clam slid stealthily with tranquil heart
and held the tools of conflagration tight, he thought 250
of his far wife and grandson, sighed with grief, but when
he heard near footsteps, wife and grandson fled at once,
and he crouched low against the wall and cocked his ears.
The old king stretched his neck and listened, filled with fear,
but his drunk archons mocked him with suppressed disdain, 255
and the curled ladies swayed amid a cooling breeze
with joy, as though they waved and played with distant lovers.
Midnight; the torches had burnt low with spluttering sound,
new shadows smothered everywhere, the warm air tingled,
and Helen’s white and swanlike throat grew suddenly dark. 260
Slowly the death-condemned embellishments, the cups,
gold rings and frescoed walls, broke into wild lament,
and the stout columns quaked and tilted with great fear:
“Alas, a flame and two black eyes flare up on earth,
alas, if we could sprout wide wings and soar through air!” 265
An agile god of cedar wood, bound with coarse ropes 266
to a black column’s shaft that he might not escape,
heard the shrill cries, strained at his cords with all his strength,
but the poor wretch could not break through the cramping nets. 269
A nightmare swooped into a pale canary’s sleep 270
until it shrieked and woke with terror, flapped its wings
and pecked the bars of its gold gate with mounting dread.
A golden goblet with embossed wood-nymphs took wing
and fled from the numb fingers of its drunken lord,
but slavehands caught it quickly and returned it safe. 275
A snow-white feather swayed high on a fragrant head
and cried to the clear air to swoop and sweep it off
because a thin smoke rose, dear God, and it would choke!
It squirmed to flee the scented hair, swayed like a torch
with gallantry in peril, flapped with swelling joy 280
because it needed but one single gust to set it free,
but languidly a small white hand reached up and pinned it down.
Dear God, the snares of fate are made with faultless skill,
not one small wire snaps, not even one hinge rusts,
nor has fate need for bait with which to lure us on; 285
the rats are better off a hundred thousand times
that lick at least—how fortunate!—a crust of cheese.
In vain did souled and soulless creatures cry for help,
even hope at last was lost, all huddled in hushed dread,
for in the court there suddenly loomed, and blocked all doors 290
and roads, the flame-clawed incompassionate hounds of fate:
broad-buttocked Kentaur with an iron sword well hid,
mute Rocky with a red belt lashed about his head,
and reed-slim Granite by a doorpost hidden well
that his proud bearing might not scare the feasting lords. 295
The king’s eyes glazed, and his mind split like a cracked jug:
“More torches! Light the courts!” he yelled, gasping for breath,
and as the hot flames lit their red and roistering flesh
the devious man grasped secretly his murderous heart:
“Brute forebear, clutch the columns firmly now, don’t quake!” 300
He cried, then turned with calm; beside him, knee to knee,
his hungry god perched like a vulture and crouched close.
Then the man-slayer leapt and boldly drew his sword,
but his invisible god reached out, grabbed his red belt
and like a wineskin dashed him at the column’s base 305
till the mute archer crouched beside his master’s heels.
Hearing the tumult at the shadowed plinth, the king
stooped
close, then stumbled back, for two still serpent-eyes
flashed in the dark and lured him helplessly toward earth.
He shrieked, like a small bird by vipers hypnotized, 310
and the man-killer turned and asked his crouching guide
whether the time had come to drop his sea-cap, raise his sword,
or to be patient still till laggard fate should come.
The Invisible arched his brows, and the killer understood,
jumped up, cried out to Orpheus to select a flute 315
and follow with a tune whatever song he sang.
The king sat on his throne, the senile skippers laughed,
and as Odysseus came and stood, tall as a column,
the sensual ladies of the court, the plump old dames,
turned toward him with coquetting eyes and pulsing hearts, 320
but arch-eyed Helen thrust her face behind her fan
and thought: “The time has come, his eyes are full of flame!”
then placed her hand on her full womb to guard her child.
His harsh voice like a vulture’s struck and shook the walls:
“Eat, eat and drink my lords, and I shall sing a song; 325
I’ve roamed the earth, both East and West—may it be cursed!—
but still my heart has not been slaked, nor all the holes
of my hard head: eyes, nostrils, ears, and bottomless mouth.
Dear God, I’ve trudged the whole earth, knocked on every door,
slunk through unnumbered thresholds like a snarling cur 330
and crouched with every housedog under laden tables.
I’ve played the tumbling fool and joked that very hour
when my heart bit its brazen chains or barked in vain;
I’ve crossed my hands upon my chest, bowed low and said:
‘King, may your reign and kingdom strike eternal roots!’ 335
At the same time my hand dashed from my savage heart
and struck his palace columns and his lofty walls!
Lads, I can’t sit much longer on the stone of patience,
for there’s no greater virtue on all earth than fire!
Eat, eat and drink my lords! . . .” his voice choked suddenly, 340
his song hung hovering in the air, his laugh rang out
and clattered through the royal courts like tumbling stones,
for Hardihood loomed in the door and gave the sign!
A panting messenger ran up, knelt down and cried:
“Alas, great king, your arsenals have burst in flames!” 345
The skippers groaned, lurched up and tripped on drunken feet,
for they saw wildfire leap afar, the sparkling flames,
and as they wondered what to do or where to go,
the old king grasped his head between his shriveled hands,
groaned like a bull, for a bright flash swept through his brain, 350
and he turned quickly round and screamed with fright: “Odysseus!”
for he divined what dread hand rose in the thick smoke.
Then the swift archer gave the signal, cast his cap,
and as he sped there rose with him his tall, invisible god.
First Granite rushed with speed, seized all the blazing brands 355
and thrust them, flame-down, on the tiles to blot them out;
Kentaur, too, seized and thrust all lamps under his arms
and from the terrace slung them swiftly toward the river.
The drunken archons scattered toward the doors in fear
and shrieked as with one voice, the court dames swooned, 360
and the mute Negroes circled round their king like towers.
The unmerciful killer in the thickening darkness raised
the iron sword of slaughter, leapt upon the tables
and called on his old comrade, Death, to come and join them,
and Death at once leapt up, pitch-blind and iron-bearded. 365
O night, hear how your starry slippers strike the tiles!
Dust rose on the king’s highways, heavy tread of feet,
until night stank with sweating armpits and bearskins
as the blond-haired barbarians rushed the castle gates.
Meanwhile bold Hardihood among the Negroes slashed 370
and cut a road through black flesh toward the cowering king,
but as he hacked and yelled, a monstrous Negro swerved
and leveled fiercely at his head with his bronze sword;
blood spurted like a crimson spring from his cracked skull
and spilled about his temples like a regal crown: 375
The Negro sentry snickered; but as he rolled his eyes
and raised to strike again, Rocky forestalled him, thrust
his long sword through his belly till his entrails spilled,
slimy and green, and slithered on the courtyard tiles.
The king fell on his knees in terror as there loomed 380
above him the tall sea-cap and the sea-drenched head,
but when the pitiless killer seized his shriveled nape
and raised him high with one hand, like a shivering dog,
Phida dashed up in time and grasped that dreaded arm:
“Man-killer, stop! This old man is my rightful share!” 385
As both fought for the king, an ax broke down the door,
and a large strapping man seized Helen with a great roar
and vanished, striding swiftly through the blood-drenched tables.
The archons dashed to flee through the wide-splintered door,
pursued by the enraged archer, while his comrades seized 390
torches and sowed flame-seeds throughout the women’s rooms
as babies smothered in their cradles and young girls
clawed at their cheeks and shrieked to their Bull-God in vain.
The Rebels seized the stairs, clacked with their heavy clogs,
smashed all the storage jars, climbed to the upper floors, 395
piled high all silken pillows, golden robes, then shrieked
and thrust their torches in the heaps to feed the flames.
Groan after groan resounded, harsh and thin cries merged
with women’s shrill lament and groans of murdered men.
The shivering king had run and clasped his Bull-God’s neck, 400
thrust his despairing head between the towering horns
and hung there like a helpless votive beast for slaughter.
A woman’s arms and double-ax flashed in the torch glare,
and Phida rose up frothing: on her breast and throat
her father’s brains, warm, thick, and sticky, streamed in blood. 405
She opened her mouth wide to yell with frantic joy
but a tall Negro lunged full-bodied with a long lance
and pierced her through the back and entrails, thrusting past,
and as she fell, she clutched her father’s bloody corpse.
Her green eyes fluttered swiftly twice or thrice, then glazed, 410
her mouth gaped open, bleating, then her jaws hung loose
and retched up all her soul in lumps of clotting blood.
When the fierce Negroes saw their slaughtered king, they froze,
and their poor useless weapons slid from their numb hands.
Yelling, the blond barbarians drenched the walls with oil; 415
tall tongues of swift flame rose and licked the battlements,
the heavy roof-beams cracked and buckled, the; walls leaned,
all casements groaned, terraces creaked with shrilling cries,
and in the swirling smoke the plump court dames caught fire.
Then as the archer raised his eyes to admire the flames 420
—his slaves, his daughters—his amazed mind suddenly shook,
for through the smoke he saw a most strange fowl that spread
long novel wings and tottered in the reaching flames,
an awkward virgin-
feathered bird on cliffs of air
that suddenly rose with swift momentum, creating armor, 425
and calmly fled the flaming night down toward the sea.
“The old wood-carver!” the archer murmured in glad surprise.
“Good health and joy, O free mind, winged and sharp-clawed vulture!”
He waved his hands to wish the strange man-bird good speed,
but suddenly cast his flaming eyes down toward the town, 430
for highroads shook with uproar of tumultuous crowds.
Quickly he told the bronzesmith to cut off the king’s
pale head and plant it upright in the city square
enzoned by seven pirates bearing blazing torches.
“My friend, I’ve never taken back my word, I keep my vows 435
for this first land we’ve reached I place as a bright crown
on your rough shaggy head; take care, don’t let it throw you!”
He spoke, then grabbed the bloodstained hair of his old friend
and rubbed him like the upper grindstone of a handmill,
and the dark smith rejoiced as though he felt all Crete 440
perch on his bloody head with all her waters, towns, and beasts.
Day broke; the Morning Star laughed in the smoke-filled sky,
day stepped with her white feet upon the mountain peaks
and trembled, for smoke covered all her flaming cheeks.
The twisting palace creaked and kicked in roaring flames, 445
a blazing pine tree heaved a sigh and crashed in ruins,
and from the lofty mountain tops the vultures swooped,
mute, heavy-winged, as the archer raised his hands and yelled:
“Welcome, O guides and muleteers, carters of corpses,
be careful with your claws, no wineskins or fat sacks 450
of flour lie strewn here, but the regal heads of kings!”
Fresh, like a plump round boy, the sun leapt in the sky,
seized the white mountain summits till they turned rose-red,
spread out his fat small hands on grassy pasture lands,
found olive trees and fondled them, filled thorns with flowers, 455
then slowly groped until he found the plundered castle
and like a babe sucked at the conflagration’s nipples.
Fed by the South Wind, flames devoured the palace walls;
that night the dogs and crows had their full share of meat,
the vultures stuffed themselves like cows and chewed their cud, 460
the flames collected their sharp tongues amid the stones
and calmed down till the comrades’ raging entrails too
felt their own fires slowly dying and growing serene.