as one throws armfuls of dry brush to feed the fire,
he flung in his swelling entrails bread and wine and meat.
This hour at dusk the rich-embellished court dames rose
and set out for the public road to promenade, 180
their large eyes swept away by azure shadows still.
Munching his food with greed, Odysseus raised his eyes
and in the cool dusk saw the gold-adorned court dames
sauntering along the riverside, their long locks gleaming,
their small breasts shining naked in the darkling air. 185
Fragrance of musk and rose-oil from their armpits steamed,
the damp ravines resounded with their giggling talk,
shadows on waters lengthened, or drowned in myrtle shrubs.
In the aloof man’s eyes and streams of his wild glance
the plump court ladies slowly passed or stopped a moment 190
as though entangled in the world-destroyer’s lashes,
and then moved on, still saved to walk in the setting suns.
They looked like strange exotic sea-beasts who now sailed,
light and prismatic, on the smooth sea’s tranquil surface.
Patient and stooped, a fisherman on shore, Odysseus 195
admired his catch before he dragged his nets ashore;
the bronzesmith near him glanced with wrath at the elite,
but kept his peace, still frightened by his master’s look.
The slayer stretched, a glutted lion by a low wall,
but his friend passed the threshold, took the riverbank, 200
and like an earth-bull stooped and spied among the reeds.
Nobles strolled by and held small monkeys on their chests,
and ladies sauntered, pale, large-eyed, with curly hair,
and shone like summer lightning flashes after storm.
Hiding in ambush, Hardihood with his blue eyes 205
marked down, like a good hunter, all his quarries’ paths,
their shameless wallowing sties and secret lurking-holes,
and when his mind had stalked and slain to its content,
he rose up, growled, and vanished in the castle’s vaults.
For hours he spied on trap doors, battlements, and snares, 210
his wrathful mind still rampant with a secret thought:
“Oho, we’re caught in a deep trap, God curse them all!”
When in the starlight he returned, he saw with fear
the archer sitting humped on his stone seat, and all
his heads, full seven stories high, glowed in the dark. 215
He took the oil-lamp from the wall, but had no heart
to light it, and in darkness mutely spread his mat.
He wished to tell his master where he had roamed and what
he had heard, but felt that spirit agonized and tossed
in silent terror like a tigress gripped by labor pains. 220
Three days the archer crouched and stretched on his stone seat
and only when they brought the food tray would he fall
and eat with a mute greed and stuff his body full.
Thoughts, castles, men and deeds piled in his mind like fruit
that fall in the night’s quiet, lush and overripe. 225
The second night he muttered in his thick mustache:
“I cry out! Can’t you hear? I’m lost! Come down to help me!”
The damp night gleamed, the stars hung down like fists of fire,
and on the wall the lioness shone in lilied fields.
He gripped the painted columns tightly with both hands 230
as though he suddenly longed to test his strength once more,
then like a lion he stretched on the ground and fell asleep.
On the third night he heard a rustling sound: “Odysseus!”
but did not turn, then held his breath to hear again,
and the cry echoed, with complaint and fear: “Odysseus!” 235
The suffering man then turned his savage head:
between the columns stood his god, his jaw hung loose
and chattered with numb fear, and his eyes glazed with tears.
He wore a sea-blue pointed cap, and in the dark
Odysseus thought he saw his own eyes, chest, and limbs 240
gleam there as though his own soul loomed and cried in night.
The rough-hewn athlete frowned with scorn and deep contempt
then on the columns beat his fists with rage, and screamed:
“Strengthen your knees, you fool, and stop your chattering, quick!
How have you dared to face me here without a knife? 245
Don’t show yourself with such a mug before my friends!
Crawl in my guts once more! Stop crying! I’ll save you, fool!”
He spoke; from his thick nostrils smoke like sulphur spewed,
but when the bronzesmith came at midnight he found him well,
standing erect, his cap askew, mocking and whistling, 250
and cast his arms about his master in joy, and thought:
“Our tigress, oho, has given birth, her belly’s empty!”
The two gnarled souls began to dance then like wild flames
so that their minds might clear, their brimming strength distill.
The man of seven souls then sang a Cretan verse: 255
“Hey, I’m the lightning’s only son, and the snow’s grandson;
I cast the lightning when I wish, or fling the snow!”
When they had tired of dancing, and their hearts had calmed, 257
they fell to earth, and the archer grasped his comrade’s knees:
“I strained on tiptoe for three nights and cried to God: 260
‘Come down, my Captain, they’ve thrown me in a dark jail!
Come down, you have no choice, for if I die, you die!
Let’s put our shoulders to the door and smash it open!’
He wouldn’t budge; deep in the earth I heard him growl
and hone his sharp teeth on the marble tombstones there, 265
but finally God came down today and stood before me!”
Hardihood fell on his friend’s chest and cried with joy:
“Ah, master, tell me the whole truth, don’t close your lips!
I see his huge face like a wildfire in your eyes!”
Odysseus thrust God’s frightened face deep in his guts 270
that mankind’s rabbit heart and weak knees might not buckle:
“Flame flashed between the columns, and the ceiling blazed;
our savage souls spoke mouth to mouth in lightning strokes.”
The bronzesmith’s eyes caught fire, he grabbed his master’s knees:
“Ah, tell me what you said so that my mind may blaze!” 275
But then the sly man shut his heart and spoke with wrath:
“Blow up God’s flame in your own mind, and ask no more.”
He stooped and lit the two-mouthed hanging oil-lamp then
and joyed to see depicted on the crimson walls
the wild she-lion stretched on a white-lilied field. 280
He lay down by the proud beast’s feet and watched the stars
leap in a boiling rage and strike on his wild head,
but soon his mind grew calm, sleep like a mistral came,
the white stars swayed like lilies, till his carefree soul
stretched like a lioness among them in a tranquil sleep. 285
Thus the long-suffering man reposed with myriad stars,
while Helen, by gold lamps and silken pillows, stooped
above her crystal sphere to watch her destined soul.
Like a foul canker crawling on a dazzling lily,
the old king placed his shriveled hands on her white breasts, 290
but Helen’s mind was elsewhere—deep in her heart she smelled
a stallion’s barbarous odor and two rugged flanks.
The full-lipped lad
y shut her eyes, recalled to mind
how they had passed through many lanes, how doors had gaped,
how with the lustful strapping man she’d plunged in vaults, 295
how both had lain on fragrant grain in perfect silence.
Amid the golden lamps she shook her head, and sighed,
then softly sank her face close to the crystal eye
and longed to see still further how her fate was formed.
But there the adornments only of her rich room gleamed: 300
tall slender lilies, spuming waters, gold-hoofed bulls,
and deeper, by her bed’s green canopy, uncoiled
a monstrous eye with wings, and round it seven maids
with dazzling thighs whirled in a dance and swung their snakes.
Then Helen sighed, still wounded by the world’s great beauty 305
and from her open casement came the cool night dew;
under a waning moon the mountain slept in haze,
in olive trees the owl’s lament dripped drop by drop;
this was the hour when the dead rose and bound their bones
tightly with thongs and ropes, not to disperse in air. 310
Sweet night and little moon, a morning’s soft breeze blows
and the wild war on Trojan shores rages again.
The gallant youths are shades that rush to kill but shades,
their white lips form no breathing mist, their spears tear through
deep bloodless wounds, as though they tore through empty air. 315
A goddess with green eyes, a pure-white downy owl,
sits in a hollow trunk and with her hooting cry
counts one by one her phantom host, the passing night.
Thus swept far off, the marble-throated lady heard
solitude pass at moist midnight with softest feet 320
while glowworms and dread scorpions held her velvet train.
Then the dove-throated woman sighed, and sank her eyes
deep in the dew-cool hush and sailed upon the night.
Shades drifted in her brain, sweet voices, handsome heads,
far-distant emerald shores and passionate embracements 325
of brave lads who once swooned to smell her godly body.
Her heart ached then as with nostalgic pangs she thought
how many flowers and gardens she had not yet smelled,
and how her lips would rot on earth before, dear God,
she could drink up the whole world’s joy from her small palms. 330
Her eyes turned once again to the magic crystal sphere:
thick herds of oxen, horses, sun-green grassy pastures,
mothers cross-legged on earth, giving their babies suck,
and others stooped to light the fire or stir the pot;
and blond men on the threshing floor who cast the quoit 335
or with sledge hammers beat on iron, their fiery god.
A tent of rags gapes suddenly and her loved lord, comes
who in a white and fat-haired sheepskin holds their son
tight in his sunburnt arms, then tosses him in air,
but the small, suckling baby cries and flaps his hands 340
like fluttering downy wings to find his mother’s arms.
Then from the tent the slender smiling lady comes
and claps her hands and gives her breast to her dear son.
Helen cried out, “My child,” the sphere slipped from her hands
and on the patterned tiles smashed in a thousand fragments. 345
Meanwhile in sleep the senile king dreamt that his bride
had like the sun indeed sunk deep in earth, and vanished,
and that he ran behind her panting, lunging down
the vast stairs of the lower world as on his back
he carried his slain head, a huge and heavy hump. 350
But when he heard the crystal break, he started up
and from his golden-woven blanket poked his head
that like a turtle’s shone with sweat, and from his dream
still trembled, wobbling over Helen’s heaving breasts;
her starlit body shuddered and drew hastily back. 355
Thus night with all her snares passed through the upper world
and baited all heads sweetly, fed all foolish hopes,
for night can bring to men all shrewish day denies,
wrapped as a gift in the green leaves of opiate dream.
But when the bold cock rose and crowed, behold, night vanished, 360
the god of work then danced, and the fox-minded man
leapt up and, laughing, poked the bronzesmith with his feet:
“Ah, Hardihood, if I should not return today,
go to the harbor and tell our friends that I’ve been killed;
then, if you wish, do what your hearts dictate for vengeance, 365
not for my sake who, washed with wine, shall eat the dust, 366
but that your own still living throats may feel refreshed.”
The acrid bronzesmith growled and grasped his leader’s knees:
“Master, I’ll never let you plunge to danger alone!”
For a long time they fought in silence round the room, 370
but all at once the smith felt awed, and his knees shook
as though indeed he fought with God in the dawn’s light,
then stepped aside to let his master cross the sill.
For hours the bronzesmith cocked his ears, two conches coiled,
and heard the castle’s uproar like a howling sea; 375
the palace bellowed like a galley swept by storm
as Hardihood still pressed his ear to earth and heard
his master’s sailor stride amid that sounding vertigo.
Meanwhile Odysseus, many-faced, now smutched with must,
bore on his back a basket overbrimmed with grapes 380
and stooped to climb the stone steps to the women’s rooms.
To right and left as frescoes bloomed, his greedy eyes
devoured the young men who with waists like wedding rings
brought golden rhytons to a bare, big-breasted goddess.
an eager hard hand grabbed him by his leathern belt
and a wild cackling laughter struck his startled head.
He turned his neck and shuddered to see Phida there
hanging above him like a hissing ravening fire.
“You suit me, for I think of God as sly, swift-eyed, 390
loaded with grapes of slaughter, striding through all thresholds!”
The sly man hid his mind in ashes like a torch,
then stooped, and mutely felt her flame sear through his hair.
“I seek a strong man! I can’t fire the palace alone!”
The trickster hissed and flung his poison like a snake: 395
“When you danced yesterday, I saw your breasts besmirched;
go to the blond-haired ironsmith now for all your fires!”
But Phida screeched and dug her nails into the wall:
“The ironsmith’s good for beating anvils with sledge hammers,
or, if you wish, for sleeping with fair maids on coal, 400
but I call God to swoop on earth like a strong man
who brims with brains and hopeless grit, ruthless as I!”
Her feverish eyes were clouded, and huge drops of sweat
rolled down her face and hung upon her pallid lips.
The shrewd man set his basket on the tiles, then gripped 405
her shoulders with his sharp and ruthless claws:
“Don’t speak so much, my girl! You’ve aimed your green eyes well;
now knit your knees and keep my secret hidden deep:
I am a god who’s come to earth to play an hour!”
Then Phida, screeching like a crow, rushed in his arms, 410
but the dark-shadowed man thrust her aside and growled:
“God is not welcomed with open arms or a crow’s croaking.
Souls stand erect and watch and wait for him to beckon.”
He spoke, then raised the brimming basket on his head
and Phida strode before to smash all obstacles. 415
At the queen’s doorway monstrous Negro guards advanced,
but Phida gave a signal, the fierce door-guards vanished,
and thus Odysseus, wrapped in vine leaves, crossed the sill.
Helen sat smiling on her golden throne, her maids
were painting her nails crimson and her eyebrows black 420
and sprinkling golden saffron on her new-washed hair.
Two stunted, short-assed court fools fanned her quietly
and from the open casements, gardens slowly strolled.
The swift-eyed lady turned, and her face shone with stealth,
for she discerned amid the thick vine leaves arid grapes 425
two cunning snake-eyes gleam; she raised her regal hand
and her rose-fingered maids and hairless eunuchs vanished.
The pomegranate flower then opened and said gently:
“In vain, O son of lightning, do you hide in leaves
the rampant bonfire of your head, your blazing eyes; 430
you can do much, but still you cannot blot your soul.”
Odysseus slowly smiled, then spoke up mockingly:
“All other souls don’t have your cunning graces, Helen;
your soul can blot out calmly in a cow’s bronze belly.”
Helen half-closed her eyes and sighed with curling lips: 435
“You roam far from my mind and vanish now, Odysseus.”
The great abductor shuddered; his powers had been shamed;
he felt her godly body slip from his dark hands,
and he recalled the barbarous stranger, laughter, hugs,
and how they’d fled with lustful haste to the deep vaults. 440
A meteor split him to his depths and fired his brain;
he dug his nails deep in his chest and cried with rage:
“You stable stallions in your world-notorious body!”
The dimpled lady coolly smiled and her voice rose
like a clear fountain on a lawn complainingly: 445
“If you’re in truth that decoy soul that does not quake
even though it holds the joys and griefs of earth, then listen:
Deep in that sphere you gave me to behold my fate
I gazed on a tall blond-haired stranger at my right
standing beside a crimson tent, holding my son; 450
I gazed on a new land and sea, and you had vanished!”
She was still smiling, and from the golden casement ledge