“I hold your knees, ascetic, and I feel your strength 915
course through my feeble arms and spread throughout my heart;
like a fir’s tip that upright leaps in mountain frost,
the many-branched vast tree of man takes joy of you.
With you I feel the eagle-loved high peaks of air.
Ah, father, fold your lofty wings, perch by my side 920
that I may see and hear you till my mind grows tall.”
The sage man laughed, then seized the pomegranate fruit,
smashed it in two so that its cooling rubies glowed,
and as they ate it calmly like two newlyweds
the mind’s blaze like a pomegranate tree leapt into bloom. 925
The day passed by like lightning but the pallid youth
still cocked his head or raised it high like a small bird
who listens, fluttering, to an old blackbird’s advice.
When night turned into honey in the full moon’s blaze
the caravan broke camp, rimmed everywhere with light, 930
and the first elephant-guide then turned his face toward town.
But the ghost-haunted prince screamed in his golden tent,
for bitter pain slashed at his arms, his pale flesh swelled,
his veins swarmed through his body like swift streams of worms.
The faithful slave stooped and discerned in the youth’s arm 935
a small hole deeply gaping, like the greedy mouth
of some invisible worm that munched the frothy flesh,
and he drew back in fright and bit his tongue, for now
he saw his master’s heirs already on the march.
But the great athlete only smiled, pushed back the slave, 940
placed on his lips his flute made of a dead man’s bone
and slowly played a sweet, persuasive lullaby,
a mystic charm that might bewitch and lure the worm.
The greedy mouth stopped munching, and the white head rose,
as though transported, from the slender body’s flesh, 945
and twined about the prince’s limbs like a silk thread.
The young man fell asleep to the flute’s sweet allure
and felt he rose in dream disburdened, like a mist,
and scattered, soul and body, in the dew-drenched air.
When he awoke, his arm reposed on his calm chest 950
and like a satiated viper the flute stretched
on the stone knees of the much-knowing sorcerer.
The king’s son laughed and to the fortuneteller said:
“My heart was an unflowered thorn which at your touch
swelled to a crimson rose and brought my breast relief; 955
you hold the magic plant that opens every door.”
The mind-magician with his many tricks replied:
“I know no magic tricks nor hold the magic plant;
within a haunted palace, as the legends tell,
there rages a fierce monster who awaits that kiss 960
which will again transform him to his handsome shape.
Such is the evil of this world—our soul’s the kiss!”
But the prince smiled and to the fortuneteller said:
“Such is our life in this vile world, and Death’s the kiss!”
He spoke, then gave commands that his white elephant, 965
his old grandsire, be brought, and the return begun.
Night and her black eyes smiled and gleamed with all her stars,
waterdrops laughed and wept upon the dew-wet leaves,
and all the prince’s retinue began to move;
its silver bells were waters tumbling down the glens, 970
the women’s laughter from the golden towers fell
and tinkled on the stones like fistfuls of small pearls.
All of night’s heart unfolded, a black-blossomed rose
on which the caravan like a monstrous caterpillar,
crawled in the moon’s light, to the bells’ tinkling sound, 975
both men and beasts shut their eyes sweetly, road on road.
If passers-by had seen the pale procession pass
like dreams in the moon’s daze, they would have clutched the trees
and uttered shrill, sharp cries of fear to break the spell;
if Death had chanced to spy them in their nightly trek 980
he would have raised his hand with joy to welcome them;
but neither Death nor a stray traveler crossed their path,
and when the caravan rose from night and crawled to dawn,
slim tails, coarse rumps, and flabby ears dripped with the dew;
the men’s uncombed hair curled like curving fingertips. 985
Within their midst marched the white regal elephant
and in its golden tower sat the ancient youth;
again grim Death, the octopus, sucked all his flesh,
again it gleaned and gathered his still green desires.
Slowly to his old faithful slave he poured his pain: 990
“O faithful slave, I could not shut my eyes all night;
the ascetic is a lightning bolt that sears my heart;
I see both flowers and coils of worms in the abyss
and pass in fear between both flowers and writhing worms;
his seed has fallen upon my head, the stitches creak!” 995
The slave kept still, for in his coarse and rustic heart
he could not feel a monarch’s noble obligations.
How could one have all good things—women, son and crown—
and not sprout wings or keep the heart from joy unriven?
In early dawn, on a huge elephant astride, 1000
the hardy athlete held the light like a long lance
and pierced the trees, the birds, the wide and misted plains,
and with the bells’ light sounds and fluffy shades he shaped
the warm belovèd body of the living world.
His claw-sharp mind, that holy hawk of freedom’s flight, 1005
swooped through the air and gamboled in swift turns and loops:
“Forward! Saved now from the heart’s passions, the mind’s ills,
we freely hang upon this crackling flaming air
all mankind’s joys, and write his burning history there!
Some crackpots search for God, thinking perhaps he lurks 1010
somewhere amid the branches of the flesh and mind;
some squander precious life, chasing the empty air;
some, still more pigeon-brained, think they’ve already found him
and work on his compassion with their begging whines
till their minds break from too much joy or too much pain. 1015
But others, great brain-archers, know the secret well:
by God is meant to hunt God through the empty air!
These tread the highest peak, these hunger satiates;
such border-guards fight bravely on despair’s sharp edge,
but yet I think my claws clutch at a higher peak.” 1020
High on his elephant his mind thus lanced the air
while his head waved in the sun’s light like a great flag
and heralds passed through villages and cried aloud:
“The mighty savior, brothers, with his secret wings,
the great ascetic with his brain’s abundant herbs 1025
cuts through the light astride a pure white elephant.
Open your hearts and roads, my brothers; let him pass!
He wants no lovely maid, he wants no gold or food,
he’s passed beyond all joys, replete, he walks the wastes
and with fine freedom’s feather beats our bodies on.” 1030
When the near hamlets heard, they woke, doors banged and clanged,
the old town elders donned clean clothes and grabbed their staffs,
the young men buckled on their arms, maids washed their hair,
twined t
hem with sunflowers, drenched their armpits with sweet musk,
then swayed like palms and lined the roads to watch the ascetic pass. 1035
World-famous Margaro with her unnumbered pearls
walked in her flowering gardens all day long, alone,
with her gold peacocks and her reed-slim pure-white hounds.
Rich merchants moored their precious caravans and placed
at her all-sacred feet with their vermilion nails 1040
musk, ivories, lion pelts, for but one night of love.
A golden bird with woman’s breast and bloody claws
perched on her garden’s topmost tip and all night sang:
“Men, leave your women, wheedling what they want in bed;
come, old men, life is short, night falls, come fill your palms 1045
with gold and lustrous pearls to buy my precious kiss;
young men in rut, come, listen to your youth and take
the primrose path and knock upon my crimson door.
My lips are of carnelian flame, my bosom leaps.
I’ve lips and breasts for sale! Who’ll buy? Come soon, come soon!” 1050
As when wild war sweeps past and smashes every door,
thus in this blast of love all honest houses shook;
its blare flew past the lofty mountains, shook the ports
and stopped all ships at mid-sea in an idle daze:
“Coxswain, release your rudder, sailors, leave your oars, 1055
let the ship go to wrack, it’s Margaro who calls!”
It was at drop of noon that Margaro attuned
her shell-like rosy ears hung with small golden bells:
“Dear God, I hear the caravans, my lovers come
in hordes, huge elephants pass by and gold bells ring; 1060
I must adorn and paint myself, then lie in bed.”
But her black nurse rushed naked through the flowering trees:
“Lady, the great ascetic comes, the world is blessed!”
Then Margaro leapt up and called for her perfumes:
“Nurses, bring Africa’s most precious scented balms, 1065
bring me my peacock mantle, my embellished pride,
so that my youth may shine for him like a sweet star.
I pass a heavy imperiled moment! Slaves, adorn me,
for the great lover comes who soon will loot my body!”
She smeared her lovely hands with crimson, her teats red, 1070
painted the eyelids of her almond eyes dark blue,
joined her two eyebrows with a mole, bound golden shoes
on her pale feet and sailed out through her crimson door.
The stones were startled, every street with roses bloomed,
mothers shut all their windows, old men stooped and sighed, 1075
her heels laughed as they passed and wrecked all honest homes.
Proudly she left green youths behind and reached the crossroads
and there stood like an almond tree and spread her flowers
then shut her eyes as tinkling bells approached, earth shook,
and mountains smelled of musk, but opened them again 1080
as the white elephant passed by, then humbly spread
her dainty scented hands and at the crossroads begged:
“O decoy master, who in wild wastes lures all souls,
my gardens wait for you, my tables are heaped high
that you might eat and rest refreshed, that I might clasp 1085
your good word then, ascetic, like my suckling son.
Much-knowing lover of earth, descend and clasp me tight!”
White-haired Odysseus smiled as the seductress stroked
the elephant’s hard knees and its gold talisman;
then the heart-wrecker spoke with deep resounding voice: 1090
“Beloved fellow-warrior of my dreadful strife,
I saw you somewhere as I fought with shadows once;
I thirsted, you scooped water in your slender palms
and I knelt down like a shy fawn and drank until
I sprouted many-branched and manly horns from joy; 1095
my dear, I shall descend to eat in your cool garden shades.”
As the sun dripped on earth like a lush honeyed fig,
the mortal wedding pomp stopped at an arched door
with shameless and erotic signs on its red lintel,
and the old athlete leapt like a youth in the whore’s court, 1100
but the frail prince leant weakly on his old slave’s arms
and tottered to the garden like a wounded fawn.
Under the flowering trees weighed down with honeybees
the lone man stretched in scented shade like an old lion
as naked slaves dashed to and fro and quickly fetched 1105
sweet fruit, refreshing crystal drinks, while their swift heels
flashed crimson like ripe apples in the shaded lawns.
Then Margaro crouched at his feet, coiled like a snake,
and her sweet-bitten and seductive body smiled
to taste in silence novel and most secret joys. 1110
Her silk-thread eyebrows arched coquettishly, her eyes
rejoiced to watch the white-haired saint beneath her trees
drinking the crystal sherbets slowly drop by drop
and tasting the rich food like an immortal god.
When he was satisfied, he washed his hands, then turned, 1115
and Margaro’s notorious body flushed and swayed:
“O spring of great desire, O well of deathless water, 1117
a woman is an empty jug; stoop, fill it now!”
But the heart-knower smiled, and all the shadowed gardens
with their resplendent peacocks, waters, trees, and fruit 1120
glowed softly, quietly in the afternoon, rejoiced
like heads that suddenly have begotten brilliant thoughts.
His lustrous hand slid slowly on her new-washed hair
then softly licked her temples, ears, her lips, her cheeks,
lingered upon her fluttering lashes, then once more 1125
ascended slowly, smoothly to her fragrant hair
till all at once her lovely face grew thin and faded
as though the unsated fingers ate without compassion.
The strong soul-snatcher looked at her with pain, then raised
his flesh-devouring hovering hand above her head: 1130
“Salvation may be sought by seven secret paths,
and you, O much-kissed body, are the most occult.
May the soft mattress of your labors be thrice blessed,
for in your deep refreshing gardens’ azure shades
your worldly-wise, forbearing body all night long 1135
draws back the bolts of our salvation with caresses.
Some bring the earth salvation with the mind’s bright toys,
some with the fruitful drudging goodness of the heart
or with a high proud silence and child-bearing deeds,
some with that sacred single breast, manly despair, 1140
or with that gray-haired horseman, war the murderer.
But you take lover’s lane, open your door with stealth,
clench myrtle sprays between your teeth, place Lethe’s flower,
a blue bloom on the cliff, within your bosom’s cleft.
You merge all bodies into one, break down frontiers, 1145
and strong men, clasping you in the cool shadows, moan:
‘Ah, there’s no you or I, for Life and Death are one!’
And souls that I have held upon my knees cry out:
‘Ah, there’s no you or I, for Life and Death are one!’ “
The lone man spoke, and Margaro’s glad heart sped swiftly 1150
like a white gleaming hound that with great joy and pride
has flushed a hare and calls her master to the kill.
She spoke then to her bosom’s precious scented cleft:
<
br /> “For my own soul’s salvation, the love-path is good.”
Then like a thirsty fawn, the weak dream-taken prince 1155
approached the athlete’s brimming well and placed his lips
on the wide rim to drink each cooling word that rose.
Servants stood, gazing longingly amid the trees,
their black eyes burning in the cooling shadows there,
and slaves plucked heavy flowers to deck the sage and prince. 1160
Earth’s mighty Honey Drone fell silent and rejoiced
in the earth’s gentle buzzing, in the flowering trees,
in the stooped woman quivering like a flaming bride
who waited for his words as for her dear betrothed.
He placed his hands upon her bright hair’s gleaming part: 1165
“Ascetic fellow-toiler with your loosened girdle,
blessed be your fingers with their henna-painted nails
that hold the golden keys and open Charon’s door,
where the locks drip with scent, the threshold smells of musk;
I, too, clasp the gold keys that open salvation’s door! 1170
Blessed be your thick curled hair that smells of a green wood
sanctified to its root because a saint dwells there;
at midnight you unbraid and braid the stifling youths
as I, too, braid and then unbraid all mighty thoughts
with the great comb of silence and thus loot all men. 1175
O Lady, thrice, thrice blessèd be your crimson mouth;
like a sweet fruit that nestles on lips still unslaked,
the holy kiss distills, full-flavored, joyous, cool;
my mouth, too, is a lime-twig smeared with sweetest words
that to their wounding thorns allure the singing birds. 1180
O joyful mighty martyr, well-versed amazon,
I reach out begging hands: O Lady, give me alms,
place in my hands, that I may touch it and rejoice,
the cool and downy fruit of your erotic strife.”
Much-fondled Margaro first quivered and then laughed: 1185
“O Master Drone, who hold the earth in your holy arms,
I place my meager daily wages in your hands.
When from afar I see the man I love approach
and my heart beats with passion, my knees melt, I say:
‘In all this wretched world but you and I exist!’ ” 1190
The strong brain-pirate seized the woman’s words and said:
“Compassionate and sweet is your love-strife’s first fruit,
my hand grows joyous, Lady, and my throat grows cool;
give me the fruit now of your great devotions.”
“When on my knees I hold the man I love, I cry: 1195
The Odyssey: A Modern Sequel Page 95