that stole Immortality
and made him a Mortal;
let Helen’s imperious quest
through this temple, to solve the riddle
written upon the Walls,
be shed, as a priestess’ mantle;
no priestess calls him to me,
I ask not, nor care to know
what is or is not the answer,
whether as Orpheus he dared the depth of hell,
whether as Phaethon challenged the car of the sun,
whether he stole, as Prometheus stole
forbidden knowledge from heaven,
whether he broke the law,
(forgive me, O Zeus, the law-giver),
whether he changed, as Circe changed,
men into swine;
whether he flouted his power,
while women fell, as the scythe
of his visored glance swept them over;
whether he laughed as they fell;
whether he found, here and there,
a girl for a change in pleasure,
when weary after the fray
his elect slept in their tents;
whether here and there he stole a child,
here and there, everywhere,
luring youth into battle;
whether he cheated, he lied —
(he was brave? an immortal
to challenge mortality?) —
whether he razed a city,
a woman, or wore a crown
unearned by his merit —
he drew as a magnet drew
the ore from the rock?
gold from dross?
death from life?
was War inevitable?
Amen-Zeus, let me not ask,
but claim him and know the Sun,
hidden behind the sun of our visible day.
Book Three
[1]
Now they are both here in the temple, but Helen does not like the fixed stare of Achilles. This is not the “sea-enchantment in his eyes.” She mistrusts this metallic glitter. He is thinking of the Battle. She speaks of the Greek islands in order to recall him, but, apparently, he is unmoved for she would dismiss him, “go, follow the ways of the sea.” But he speaks her name, Helena, and seemingly not altogether in character, asks an enigmatic question.
I say, “what island shall we seek,”
to keep him from staring out
between the painted stele,
“shall it be Cos or Crete?”
I would rather forget,
I would rather forget,
but a phantom pursues him;
shall a phantom threaten my peace?
what does it matter,
who won, who lost?
must the Battle be fought and fought
in his memory?
and do I care,
do I care greatly
to keep him eternally?
I was happier alone,
why did I call him to me?
must I forever look back?
must I summon the names of home,
an enchantment to hold him here?
“shall we seek Cyprus’ rose
or Naxos’ purple grape?”
O do not turn, do not turn,
go, follow the ways of the sea;
but he turns, he speaks to me,
“Helena, which was the dream,
which was the veil of Cytheraea?”
[2]
What does he mean? She does not know. We do not know. But for the second time, he has spoken her name. That is sufficient. He asks her of Cytheraea. She has been trying to charm him with the names of Greek islands, but his charm or enchantment is stronger. So strong that she must fight for her identity, for Helena. And more than that, she must invoke or recall the “spread of wings.” It was “the thousand sails” that brought them together. If she forgets that, she is lost.
What does he mean by that?
must I summon Hellenic thought
to counter an argument?
must we argue over again,
the reason that brought us here?
was the Fall of Troy the reason?
can one weigh the thousand ships
against one kiss in the night?
Helena? who is she?
this was only the second time
that he uttered the deathless name,
for deathless it must remain;
I must fight for Helena,
lest the lure of his sea-eyes
endanger my memory
of the thousand-and-one darts;
it was they, the Holocaust,
a host, a cloud or a veil
who encircled, who sheltered me,
when his fingers closed on my throat;
much has happened
since that first night
on the desolate beach,
many the problems solved,
the answers given
by the Writing, the Amen-script,
but I started, as out of a trance,
to hear him speak my name,
and I was there again,
(was there ever such a brazier?)
I drew out a blackened stick,
to darken my arms,
to disguise my features,
but I could not hide my eyes;
he flung back the stick on the fire,
“are you Hecate? are you a witch?”
[3]
Achilles attacked her, certainly. But Helen returns again and again to “that first night on the desolate beach.” We may surmise that this “attack.” meant more to her than the approaches of her husband, Menelaus, or the seduction of her lover, Paris. (Provided of course, that Helen had ever been lured from Sparta to Troy.) And though Helen speaks of the “invisible host surrounding and helping me,” she can also ask, “can one weigh the thousand ships against one kiss in the night?”
Much has happened
in timeless-time,
here in the Amen-temple,
but he had not questioned me,
he had never spoken of Beauty;
the rasp of a severed wheel
seemed to ring in the dark,
the spark of a sword on a shield,
the whirr of an arrow,
the crack of a broken lance,
then laughter mingled with fury,
as host encountered host;
but that had never been;
how long did he hesitate
in time or in timeless-time,
while his fingers tightened their grip?
why did he let me go?
did he hear the whirr of wings,
did he feel the invisible host
surrounding and helping me?
was he afraid of the dead?
[4]
“One kiss in the night?” That is obviously, the dream. Helen could have told him that. Instead, she defends herself with the thought of her twin-brothers and “Eros, the Hawk Horus.”
Why should I answer him?
it was Zeus who summoned me here,
twin-sister of twin-brothers;
were they there, the Dioscuri?
was it they who brought the host
to witness the deathless glory
of the youth he had sent to death?
I say, a cloud in the night,
a swarm, encircled me,
must I tell him again their name,
the one name for the thousand lost,
Eros, the Hawk Horus?
[5]
“Which was the dream?” Surely, “the deathless spark of Helena’s wakening.”
So they swooped to their prey;
there was never such a spread of wings,
such a play of golden feathers,
though I did not see them,
I heard them, as I heard myself say,
O Thetis, O sea-mother;
let me forget the other,
for to-day is to-day,
ringed and rayed with t
he word “beautiful”;
how shall I answer him?
what is the answer to
Helena, which was the dream?
the rasp of a severed wheel,
the fury of steel upon steel,
the spark from a sword on a shield?
or the deathless spark
of Helena’s wakening …
a touch in the dark?
[6]
Helen says, “I am awake, no trance, though I move as one in a dream.” But again she must reassure herself. She had said of herself and Achilles in Egypt, “we were not, we are not shadows” and she had insisted that “the hosts surging beneath the Walls, (no more than I) are ghosts.” They are not shadows, not shades, not ghosts. What are they?
Yet never forgetful,
never unmindful of the Child,
Aphrodite sent,
Love begotten of War
and the sea-enchantment together;
the veil of Cytheraea?
a cloud or a swirl of snow,
a swarm, an infinite number,
yet one whole, one cluster of bees,
as a trail or a Galaxy
of numberless stars,
that seem one but are many;
it was they, the veil
that concealed yet revealed,
that reconciled him to me,
War and the sea-enchantment;
I am awake, no trance,
though I move as one in a dream.
[7]
Is the “veil of Cytheraea” or of Love, Death? Is the disguise of Death or the “veil” of Death, Love? This is too difficult a question to answer. Helen only knows that without the souls or “the sails of the thousand ships,” her encounter with Achilles would have “burnt out in a flash” or burnt her out, like Semele, when Zeus at her request,“ revealed himself.” The dream? The veil? She does understand. But there must be an intermediate dimension or plane. She asks, “are we home-sick for what has been?”
The harpers will sing forever
of the unveiled Aphrodite,
a portent, an apparition;
but without the Galaxy,
the sails of the thousand ships,
the Glory that compassed me
when I faced his anger,
we would have burnt out in a flash,
as Semele when Zeus
revealed himself; her request
to confront God openly,
was answered by Death:
was Death the answer?
the Hawk with the thousand pinions,
the thousand-and-one darts?
the rise and fall of the sea,
the veil of Cytheraea?
are we home-sick for what has been?
I place my hand on a pillar
and run my hand as the blind,
along the invisible curve
or the line of chick or bee;
where are we?
and what is the answer?
[8]
But still Helen wants “some simple answer.” She feels that Achilles can give it to her. But she delays asking the direct question that will tell her everything. When she introduces it, it is in a roundabout way. She knows that her name was Helen, in Sparta, in Greece. But she wants to know of that other, “walking upon the ramparts.” She does not directly ask Achilles if he recognizes in her the Helen of his first accusation, “I have seen you upon the ramparts.” Is this Helen actually that Helen? Achilles seems grudgingly to apologize for his first boorishness, “I was afraid.” Who indeed would not be, at sudden encounter with the admitted first-cause “of all-time, of all-history” Fate, Death, Reintegration, Resurrection? What was she then, if she was there, at all, in Troy? His answer is unequivocal and final, “a fountain of water in that desert… we died of thirst.”
“Were you rapt in prayer?”
“no, Achilles, I wanted some simple answer
to your question”;
“my question?”
“which was the dream”;
“I asked you which was the veil;
the sea-roads lie between
you and the answer”;
“you called me Helena”;
“that was your name”;
“was my name?”
“in Sparta, in Greece”;
“and walking upon the ramparts?”
“I can see you still, a mist
or a fountain of water
in that desert; we died of thirst”;
“but you never spoke my name
till you called me —”
“hist — enough —
I was afraid of evil,
in an evil place.”
Book Four
[1]
So at last we see, with the eyes of Achilles, Helen upon the Walls.
Achilles: You say, I could not see,
but God had given to me,
the eyes of an eagle;
you say, I could not know
how many paces there were
from turret to turret;
there was bitter discussion and hate,
she could leave by a secret gate,
and the armies be saved;
why does she hold us here?
the winters were ruthless and bleak,
the summer burnt up the plain
and the army with fever;
they fell as the ears of wheat
when a reaper harvests the grain;
is this the harvest?
year after year, we fought
to enter a prison, a fortress;
was she a prisoner?
did she wanton, awake?
or asleep, did she dream of home?
an arrow would settle it,
but no man dared aim at the mark
that taunted and angered us;
and we asked, would an arrow pierce
a Daemon’s heart? a devil?
had she enchanted us
with a dream of daring, of peril,
as yet un-writ in the scrolls of history,
un-sung as yet by the poets?
[2]
This is the Achilles of legend, Lord of the Myrmidons, indisputable dictator with his select body-guard, the seven, of whom he, the eighth, received the directives of campaign. Technically, he shares the Command, as he calls it, with Helen’s discredited husband, Menelaus and with Agamemnon, the husband of her sister. There is also, Odysseus, with whom we gather, there has been some plot or compromise. Achilles will compromise for once, though this is not his usual way of fighting. There is evidently a bribe, some counter-bargaining. Agamemnon and Menelaus are too slow, too heavy-handed. Perhaps the plan of the wooden-horse, or the iron-horse, as he calls it, does not materialize before Achilles falls before the Scaean Gate. But there is some secret agreement. If Odysseus succeeds in his designs, Achilles will be given Helen and world-leadership. This is contrary to the first agreement of the allies.
I had broken the proud
and re-moulded them to my whim;
the elect, asleep in their tents,
were my slaves, my servants;
we were an iron-ring, unbreakable,
they shared immortality with Achilles,
the seven who could not die
while I directed the car of fire,
I, the eighth of the hierarchy;
into the ring of our Immortality,
there came with a clamour of arms,
as a roar of chargers, answering the trumpeter,
the Command; no swerving, no wavering,
proceed to the iron-gate,
to the gate of brass,
let Odysseus unfold his plan
of the iron-horse,
listen and make an end
of this tedious parleying;
approach, with all subtlety,
the Trojan House with a gift:
the Towers will fall;
Helen will be your share
of the spoils of war;
what is a promis
e given?
this is the iron-ring,
no Grecian or other king
may contest or disobey;
within the iron-circle of your fame,
no more invisible,
you shall control the world….
how did the story end?
another took command.
[3]
He still seems to be arguing the point. It is evidently not in character for him to take second place. His Myrmidons have been first always. He must have some direct guidance. Where will he get it? He seems for once, to be at odds with the Command. “Did the Command read backward? ” He will consult a new oracle; after all,it is only a “game of prophecy.” He will watch Helen, measure her paces, the direction she takes, how and where she looks. If she pauses here or there — yes. If she goes on there or here — no. He forgets the vulnerability of the Achilles-heel and “Another took command.”
I counted the fall of her feet
from turret to turret;
will the count even yesterday’s?
will there be five over?
this was a game I played,
a game of prophecy;
if she turns and shields her eyes,
Helen in Egypt: Poetry (New Directions Paperbook) Page 3