Joy to that worthy mind that fondles them in passing!”
But his dour friend mocked at his now compassionate master:
“O man of many wiles, I know you well, nor does my mind
draw back from the earth’s sweet seductions you spread here.
Like a lone lion whom hunger has not pinched as yet, 100
you hold the fawn between your teeth with marveling glance,
caress your quarry first, and then you pounce, and eat!”
Before the man of seven souls could even reply,
the Serpent Sisters in the ritual ring all shrieked
and then stretched toward the sky their pale night-frozen arms. 105
Behold, the sun’s first rays had leapt and smeared with rose
the crisp and rigid teats of Crete, then with slow strokes
her famous, fabulous lover with his golden hands
caressed her haughty breasts and rolled down toward her belly.
The crowd glowed in the light and their hearts frisked like calves; 110
with their deep krytons then, the Serpent Sisters paced,
sprinkling the earth with milk and honey, and invoked
the sacred Bull-God’s secret, most erotic names.
Gold as a wedding ring, the holy moment hung
with heaviness, while mortals quaked, poor rustling reeds 115
that God adjusted to his lips and played like flutes.
The king then mounted his high throne, a monstrous beast;
he wore the skull of a black bull with shining snout
on which two golden horns stood stiff and flashed in light.
Leaping about him with shrill cries, the Serpent Sisters 120
broke in a swirling dance and screamed like hawks at dawn
that from the mountain tops fly out to greet the sun.
The king then raised his fist on high, the hubbub ceased,
and from his heavy mask his bellowing voice rang out:
“Welcome, O Bridegroom Bull, twin spear of piercing light!” 125
He spoke, then gave the ceremony’s secret sign,
and Diktena’s three Negro lovers raised on high
their sea-resounding conches, took deep breath, and blew
until the twisting valleys roared like slaughtered bulls.
Then suddenly on the riverbank appeared in dance 130
the sacred combat’s curly-templed, new-washed bulls
pushed by the plump bucolic girls that tend the cows.
The crowd leant forward, hushed, the palace dames rejoiced,
fluttering their painted lashes, and in secret yearned
to see warm human blood shine on those murderous horns. 135
And when they raised their eyes, their hearts began to throb,
for in the light of dawn at length, in the blessed ring,
the perilous games and passion of the suffering God began.
Body and soul, two kindred cows, mooed amorously,
and on a white bull’s hide beside a brazen cow, 140
trembling on the low ground, a votive beast, a bride,
the holy body of Helen wailed, with hair unbound.
Naked, she held a pure-white lily in her hands,
her new-washed hair was clothed in mist of saffron dust,
and as the rites decreed, she wept, tore at her hair, 145
then stooped to earth, let her locks fall, and pressed her mouth
to the black soil and thrice in dread cried out for help.
At her first cry the shadows in the sunlight spluttered,
but at her second cry drums beat and the earth rang
as though battalions broke far off, as though steeds sped, 150
and earth’s hide like a tom-tom beat to trampling hooves.
At her third cry tall, sturdy Mountain Maids took wing
and wheeled about her in a swift-paced swirling dance
as virgin Krino leapt and led the group with throat
held high, a slender cypress, royal branch unplucked. 155
They danced, and with their javelins beat their brazen drums
as their nude thighs now swiftly gleamed in light, now darkened.
Krino first raised the cry to strengthen Helen’s heart:
“Spirit, you cried for help! We’ve rushed to your defense!
The dark and burning bull-beast roars and longs to eat you! 160
Rise up in light, Dame Soul! Don’t cry; take up your weapons!”
But the voluptuous body raised its eyes and sighed:
“Dear God, I fear all weapons, nor was my flesh made
for wars, but to bear babies and to give them suck.
I fear and weep but I can’t fight the Bull-God’s will.” 165
The voice then of the crystal virgin shook with pride:
“I can admit the great male God as spirit only,
but you, for shame, wait for a bull to come and mount you!”
Then Helen’s mouth became an open, slow complaint:
“I wail, and long for God to come more tenderly, 170
but I’m a woman still and love his masculine odor.”
Then the bold chorus stamped on earth with wrath and yelled:
“We shall rush out to fight him, whether you will or not!”
As the two rival spirits clashed in ritual rites,
a herd of bulls rushed in the ring till the earth shook 175
and the crowd quaked to see their sharp horns gleam in sun.
The lovely ladies of the court shook delicately
and on their backs and side-locks felt with secret joy
the bull’s moist nostrils and the steaming odors rise,
but all the Mountain Maidens clashed their shields with rage 180
and stood erect like fortresses about the bride
who crouched with lily hands and screened her naked breasts.
Then on the funnel-shaped arena’s edge appeared,
like doves with feathers puffed by an erotic swoon,
high priestess Diktena’s obedient slaves of love. 185
Like rabbits, their small bosoms shook in the cool dew
and then uncurled with pleasure in the sun’s first strokes,
and in their curly locks, new-washed with laurel oil,
a heifer’s golden horns curved like the crescent moon.
Weaponless, but with gleaming thighs, they climbed the stairs, 190
and the lords laughed and winked, but the poor peasant boys,
smothering with lust, schemed how to work for many years,
amass great wealth, and sleep with them for just one night.
What use is their poor life, dear God, their desolate youth,
why spill their souls on the cold ground, small drop by drop? 195
Better to lose all in one night’s compassionate arms!
Thus did the Holy Harlots unhinge the brains of man,
and when they met and clashed with the pure Mountain Maidens,
they raised their white arms high, their armpits smelled of musk,
and, as the rites decreed, both fought their verbal war: 200
“God swoops from mountain peaks to eat and play on earth;
we are his food and drink and even his sacred toys—
and learn, O sterile maids, we are his soft, sweet mates.
Let her now leave who fears to merge with her dread god!”
The scornful savage mouth of Krino flashed reply: 205
“We will not leave! We guard the innocent soul of man!
God is a spirit with pure white wings, a soul that sails,
light, disembodied, deep in our thoughts, without embrace.
It’s we who keep the world in bloom with virgin souls!”
Diktena opened her much-kissed, much-bitten lips 210
as blooms in sun a double-blossomed, curled carnation:
“O sterile belly, marble earth unplowed, cursed womb!
God is a stud in heat that mounts the human
herd,
nor does he ask you, Dame, what face he should assume.
At least he does not swoop down like a cleaving sword 215
but comes here like a guileless bull and plays with us.”
Krino then stamped the ground with a chaste downy foot
never caressed by a man’s thigh in lustful beds:
“The body is not a stable where God comes to browse!”
Diktena laughed with lips whose harvest has no ending: 220
“Flesh is an empty, worthless sheath without its knife.”
But then the unblemished lady-archer filing her dart:
“Every free soul may choose that god who suits her best;
my god is a tall mountain summit filled with flowers.”
“But my god is the flesh’s deep, dark, groping roots!” 225
The silvery vestal voice cut in with speechless grief:
“This is the earth, the bloody arena of man’s soul;
we fight our heavy god that, whether he will or pot,
he may assume a face as full of light as ours.”
The hoarse voice thundered then and all the firm earth shook! 230
“Forward! Unbar the doors! Smash every iron bolt!
O uncastrated guests of God; the wedding starts!
Your empty, seedless bodies that besiege the bride
keep her from God where she may blossom and bear fruit
and thus fulfill her sacred role on Mother Earth. 235
Lift up your tails with lust and flash your double-horns!”
The sun leapt up a sting’s length in the sky, and soon
in olive trees the crickets chirred to earn their wages,
and the court ladies fanned themselves in the great heat.
Thus the pre-rituals ended, and the Bull-King signed 240
for all to rest before the somber rites resumed.
High up where the poor sat, the people quaked with fear:
they saw the soul stretched on the ground, a votive beast
beaten by the conflicting powers of light and dark,
and their minds shook, nor knew now what great god to choose, 245
for comfort’s road dropped to the right, the rough ascent
rose to the left, and both roads seemed to lead to God,
while at the crossroads stood the human heart, and swayed.
The Holy Harlots leant above the lords, and laughed,
their bodies shimmering with a light and downy sweat 250
as shameless golden demons jangled in their hair.
A cunning archon fondled Diktena’s soft knees:
“Your song is sweet, O decoy bird of earth, you spoke
with craft, and he who heard you lost his wits, forgot
we play but games here in this ring to amuse our minds. 255
All art is laughter to relieve us from life’s griefs.”
God’s harlot laughed and seized the old man’s thinning hair:
“Since you can’t reach the grapes, you fox, you call them sour!”
Then the seductress slid like an eel toward the young men.
Slaves sweated in the palace meanwhile, ovens swelled, 260
cattle were slain, confusing shouts and orders rang.
To please the archons’ gullets, the cooks toiled with skill,
and slaves stooped with their handmills and ground finest flour
sieved seven times, pure white, to bake the choicest bread.
A mother in a corner crouched and fanned her child 265
that, pale as wax, lay dying on the moldy ground;
she held her throat with one hand to choke back her sobs
and with the other flicked the death-flies from her son,
for they had smelled a corpse already and swarmed from flowers
to lay their eggs in his blue nostrils and sunken eyes. 270
But all at once a three-lashed whip whizzed on her back;
she bit her lips, then stumbled backward and blindly groped
to find her wretched handmill in the murky dark.
Day flung the courtyards open wide, and the great sun
poured through the light-wells gladly till the frescoes woke: 275
there partridges with brittle beaks kissed with their tongues
and flying fish with longing fluttered in white light;
amid a garden filled with crocus, a boy strolled;
on a wet pebbled shore, a plump sea-goddess sat,
held with one hand her breasts and with the other gave 280
thick poppies to nude men who came to adore her grace.
O sun, you force awake old ghosts on painted walls
then spiral downward toward the ritual threshing floor again!
The Bull-King gave the sign once more and three blacks seized
their conches, the crowd hushed, the palace dames fell silent. 285
Then seven bulls with tails erect leapt in the ring,
and their black nostrils dripped with sweat. They sniffed the air,
and from near fields where grain was winnowed, smelled the chaff,
then bucked with sighs and snorts and dashed back to return.
But from the shadows suddenly Mountain Maidens leapt, 290
balanced on tiptoe delicately with slender forms,
and gliding toward the fuming beasts with stealthy stride,
waved in the air red mantles to arouse their rage.
A lean black bull who still retained his sperm unspent,
for whom all earth still seemed a fat and greening pasture, 295
bellowed to see pale Krino stand erect before him.
The blood poured in his turbid brain and turned to mud,
and his admired body swayed like a lean bow
till all the palace ladies paled, sucked in their breath,
and watched their star-browed bull, their own enormous pet 300
who was the first to start the dance and charge to battle.
Light-footed Krino fixed her eyes on his, and waited,
but when his sharp horns touched her belly, hard as marble,
his sword-sharp flashing horns in both her supple hands. 305
The young bull roared with rage and shook his neck with fury
to uproot those virile hands that forced his tossing head,
but Krino, with the onrush of the wild bull’s strength,
swung herself forcefully, upside-down, her feet in air,
in a swift backflip, then stood upright on his shining rump. 310
She clapped her hands high in the air, kicked the beast hard
with naked feet, turned a full somersault, and fell
into the ready arms of a swift Mountain Maid.
Then Krino smiled and wiped the sweat from her pale body.
Meanwhile the other bulls played with the mountain girls; 315
sometimes they frisked and tussled sweetly, man and maid,
sometimes their hot blood swirled in storm, and their eyes rolled.
The crowd sucked in its breath, the palace dames stretched out
their perfumed necks in a deep thirst for human blood,
and the mind-archer marveled at the boundless grace, 320
the hidden, gnarled and twisted strength which bursts in joy
from the strong hands and feet, the faultless loins of man.
With steady, stiff-necked virtue, with firm stubborn hope
the flesh distills into the unconquerable pure spirit,
until it grows divine, turns into mind, and flaps its wings. 325
Ah, God, if only our strong souls were like our bodies,
to throw ourselves in difficult battles pitilessly
that bit by bit, with hardy love and wide-eyed patience,
we might pass on beyond the bounds of cowardly man!
Such longings blazed within the warrior’s great mind; 330
the bull-ring seemed the head then of a m
onstrous man,
all bodies seemed like great thoughts filled with strength and grace
that could with delicate ease and playfulness throw down
and conquer musky demons and thick-headed gods.
The spinner of minds turned round and eyed his glowering friend, 335
but he sat huddled with his head pressed on his knees,
and as he scowled and brooded how the strength of man
is spilled on earth in vain to amuse the senile lords,
his mind began to butt his skull like a wild bull.
The Mountain Maidens still fought gently with the beasts: 340
at times they twined about their necks like asps; at times,
leaping upon their rumps, they swayed like upright spears;
some ran embraced in friendship with their virile foe,
their black locks loose and fluttering over the bulls’ napes.
At the ring’s rim, a gentle girl not yet fourteen 345
stood panting by a calf and stroked his neck until
the chaste beast sweetly moaned and raised his tail erect.
His head thrust deep in his bull-mask, the silent king
lusted for Helen’s body glittering in the sun,
till his mind muddied as the beast’s dark murky powers 350
poured from his panting mask into his withered loins
so that he longed for blood to flow and for the lewd erotic rites.
Noon now had balanced in the sky and blazed with heat.
A thresher dripped with sweat beside his wretched ox
that rested in the shade, freed from the threshing pole, 355
and soon his pale wife trudged along the dusty road
and brought him barley bread and a poor plate of food.
As they lay, hungry, by an olive tree’s blessed shade,
the worker gazed on his lean wife, broken by toil,
on his thin ox amid the reeds, his wretched crops: 360
“Dear wife, the crop is small, our pains have gone for nothing.”
But his meek lifelong mate, who at his side had fought
the two tormenting beasts, hunger and nakedness,
did not reply, although she longed to throw her head
on her man’s sweating chest and break in loud lament, 365
but she held back her pain to keep his burdens light.
In the hot noon the palace ladies burned with heat
and fanned themselves with peacock plumes and pursed their lips:
“Ah, let them spill blood now so that the poor might leave
and we begin the erotic rites of mystic night!” 370
In their lust’s heat as they talked on, great pearly drops