1

I

... ten years?
it was more than that, more than that;
your hand grips mine - masterless?

I was masterless while men fought,
and I only found Spirit to match my Spirit,
when I met Achilles in a trance, a dream,

a life out-lived,
another life re-lived,
till I came back, came back ...

II

If I thought of you, I only thought
of something that endured, that might endure;
I did not know of Circe and her power,

I had not even heard Calypso named, nor Nausicaa,
Penelope was a far-off dream of home,
and others and the quarrel in the tents

(fight for Criseus, war for Episeus)
was only a local matter, far below
the turrets and the ramparts and the Wall;

I loved Achilles finally, in Leuke,
but I let him go, back to the sea,
back to his mother, Thetis;

so he was absorbed, re-claimed by his own element?
I do not know, Odysseus - your name in unfamiliar;
I had not thought of it nor spoken it,

for ten years - it is more than ten years;
then, you were in and out as they all were at the Palace,
it is more, more than ten years ...

2

### III

Now there is winter-love, a winter-lover
who would take gladly - fondling the crisp leaves
with a padded paw, sheathed - glad to find

in the den, the sacred lair, no trap to entice,
no rapacious loins, and sighs, not groans -
no rain of arrows, no poisonous thrust of spears,

no thundering on the stairs,
no rasp of steel,
only Taygetus' silence,

till a drift of snow
slides from a branch,
then, silence more intense.

### IV

Why break the spell?
why name the mountain Ida?
true, Paris, Idaean Paris was most dear,

and he was slain and rose and found -
was it Oenone? did he find her again?
don't speak of Paris lest I goad you on

with other names, enchantments, Circe -
would you have Circe now?
they were there in a fever, Circe, Calyps@ -

but I did not remember, I did not remember -
true, there were others and you were ruthless
and too familiar - you married your Princess,

but afterwards, you left Ithaca for another, Helen,
Fate, Fortune, Defamation,
Treachery, Adultery, War.

3

V

So we were together
though I did not think of you
for ten years;

it is more than ten years
and the long time after;
I was with you in Calypso's cave?

no, no - I had never heard of her,
but I remember the curve of honey-flower
on an old wall, I recall

the honey-flower as I saw it
or seemed to see it
for the first time,

its horn was longer, whiter -
what do I mean?

"bite clear the stem

and suck the honey out,"
a child companion or old grandam
taught me to suck honey

from the honey-flower;
what is Calypso's cave?
that is your grotto, your adventure;

how could I love again, ever?
repetition, repetition, Achilles, Paris, Menelaus?
but you are right, you are right,

there is something left over,
the first unsatisfied desire -
the first time, that first kiss,

the rough stones of a wall,
the fragrance of honey-flowers, the bees,
and how I would have fallen but for a voice,

calling through the brambles
and tangle of bay-berry
and rough broom,

Helen, Helen, come home;
there was a Helen before there was a War,
but who remembers her?

4

VI

The-tis - Sea-'tis, I played games like this;
I had long reveries, invoked the future,
re-invoked the past, syllables, mysteries, numbers;

I must have turned a secret key, unwittingly,
when I said Odysseus - when did I say Odysseus?
how did I call you back, or how did I come back?

memory has its own strange Circe-magic,
and forgetting, stranger; forgetting utterly, I dropped
a screen, a shutter; a heavy door clanged

between Helen-Helen; "they have gone",
"where have they gone?" "down to the Sea,
to send Odysseus off -" "Odysseus -"

"he was only waiting for his Ship,
a special Ship, ancestral,
the prow is painted with the ancient Eyes."

I was to meet you, I was to meet you
under the oleanders,
I was to meet you again;

"a special Ship, for festival," they said,
so Helen stared, a Maiden, still a Maiden,
though last night, escaped the grandam,

Helen was conceived under the oleanders,
that is, Helen, the future Helen
that wrecked citadels, was born.

5

## VII

### Chorus/Strophe

Heavy the hand of Fate,
heavy the chains, the bonds,
heavy, heavy, the weight of Destiny,
and there is no escape
from pre-destined torture and agony;
ground under the stones of Troy,
we are dust for eternity,
crushed by the fallen Walls,
we are helpless and none may help;
what lives and what is left
when rain levels the Trojan plane
and snow fills in the crevasses
where the Wheels of the chariots passed?
what is left, what is left of Troy?
heavy the hand of Fate
and what is more desolate
than the breach in the Wall
that sears like a gaping wound -
Troy's gate was here.

## VIII

### Antistrophe

Frail is the thread and long,
pale is the hand and fragile,
busy upon the loom,
day and night, night and day,
re-weaving with threads of gold,
cyclamen, purple and blue,
the pattern, the history,
the legend; He steps from his throne,
Phoebus, the Lord of Troy,
into the sea, night comes;
all night, all day,
the wheel whirrs on;
dare to defy the Sun,
dare to desecrate Beauty,
dare to say Troy is forgotten -
the Song and the Singer are one.

8

XII

Every bone aches with the cold,
but I was glad to come,
glad to come with you here;

in my old hunting-cloak and hunting-boots,
I felt young as we plunged into the drift,
leaving that hateful palace

and the trophies and the tedious tales,
told over and over at the endless banquets;
I was waiting for something,

though I did not know what,
till you burst upon us,
with tangled hair and beard,

and salt-streaked seaman's cloak,
and the old secret sly, wiley undaunted look
that recalled me - and I remembered

how you fondled my breast, and the moment
of fulfilment was broken by a voice,
Helen come home, and I went back;

I expected to know more, expected completion,
but they said, "he has gone,
he was only waiting for his Ship."

XIV

(Jan. 12)-

10

Half-hibernating under the pelts and furs,
till you break free, break away, replenish the fire,
count and re-count the wine-jars,

"there is one, I thought, stuffed with dried fruit,
perhaps a trick to disguise, to hide
this exquisite Samian,"

Samos? Samian? it is not so cold,
and Odysseus tears the thick furs from the couch
to make mats and a rug to the fire-place,

and light dances on the walls,
hung with rich tapestries, it seems,
though they are only bear-pelts and wild-panther,

and the fire sings, and "there are more candles,
hidden in this oat-bin," he says;
who had ridden here?

who had prepared the lodge for future visits?
who had hidden candles,
and sealed the precious Samos

in an unpainted jar
to hide it from the others?
what Love, what Lovers' tryst?

12

XVII

Strophe

The first kiss and the last kiss and between,
the surging armies,
the swaying masts,
the shifting scene;

wake up, wake up in Leuké, Helen,
that was a dream; how could earth draw you back,
Sparta, Taygetus? why should Odysseus leave

unslaked adventure, boundless horizons,
unconquered citadels for home? no Ithaca, no Sparta
could recall him to the islands,

the small world of Greece;
but you, you thought of reparation and release,
and dreamed Odysseus "true", forgetting Paris;

wake up, wake up, Helen, recall Oenone
and restore their youth; no madness, no dissonance,
but reverence of old laws, no stolen bliss;

not Paris-Helen but Oenone-Paris;
song would redress the ancient grief,
the spear-thrust, death and loss,

the first kiss and the last kiss and between,
the surging armies,
the swaying masts,
the shifting scene.

15

XXI

O ebony island, O tall cypress-trees,
now I am blessed anew as my dark veils
cling close and close and make an image of me,

a cypress-Helen, **vierge** and widow, the **femme noire**;
now I am wrapped about
with myrrh and incense,

Egypt's balm and savour
of the burnt Phoenix-nest,
**l'isle blanche** is **l'isle noire;**

tighten my bounds,
O, unseen and unknown,
wrap me round and round

with Egypt's linen as the dead are wrapped,
mystically cut, cauterise
as with fire, the wound from which

the heart and entrails were drawn out;
a shell? a shattered heart?
no heart is left to heal.

16

XXII

(march 15)

There was a Helen before there was a war,
but who remembers her? O grandam, you, you, you,
with faded hair - you answer, you descend,

ascend, from where? it was all over,
I was wrapped in a tight shroud,
but you appear; the death-bands fall away;

you have come, grandam, no toothless grin,
no corbeau sur une corne;
"remember," you say, "Helen, remember?"

and it is yesterday and the sea-wind flutters my veil,
and my brothers stand side by side,
and my sister weaves the blossoms for my hair -

laughter? how we laughed together,
I had forgotten - there was always stern command
or fear or loss with the others,

or treachery or guilt or subterfuge;
Odysseus had gone and my sister was to marry
or had married Agamemnon,

and "this is no great affair," she confided,
"only laughter, laughter,"
and Menelaus by the altar, whispering,

no stinging, honeyed sigh, but
"it's all right, it's no great matter,
this will soon be over."

17

XXIII

Grande Dame, I will carry your crutch for you,
you needn't hobble, hobble any more,
you will tell me what was true,

what wasn't true,
we will walk miles over the sand;
they said, Menelaus came to me in Egypt,

was that true? they said, we lived
on an island somewhere - where?
the legend lives in <u>re-created fantasy</u>,

but I don't think I ever went back to the palace,
the trophies and the banquets, the meeting with Odysseus
when he snatched me away, a second time,

from a dreary round of worldly ceremony;
no, no, I never went back to the world, that world;
I lived in hope of simple consummation,

not a sword - but the labyrinth of Troy
encompassed me - then darkness - Paris slain,
Achilles' heel, the deadly, rumbling chariots,

the shouts, the flames and a voice, <u>Helen</u>;
there was a Helen before there was a War,
Menelaus remembered her.

18

XXIV

Helios-Helen-Eros? Is that Menelaus?
is that the golden first love, innocence?
is that the Child before the Child was born,

imagined with the cap-crown of bright hair,
inheritance of the "golden Menelaus"?
not Menelaus, but myself gazed up at me,

in the veiled glance of Helen-Hermione;
they said there was a Child in Leuke,
they said it was the Child, Euphorion,

Achilles' Child, grandam,
or fantasy of Paris and a Child
or a wild moment that begot a Child,

when long ago, the Virgo breasts swelled
under the savage kiss of ravening Odysseus;
yes, yes, grandam, but actually and in reality,

small fingers unclosed, small hands fondled me,
and in the inmost dark,
small feet searched foot-hold;

Hermione lived, her life and lives in history;
Euphorion, Esperance, the infinite bliss,
lives in the hope of something that will be,

the past made perfect;
this is the tangible,
this is reality.

19

XXV

The golden apples of the Hesperides,
the brushed-bloom of the pollen
on the wing of ravishing butterfly or plundering bee;

the gold of evanescence or the gold
of heavy-weighted treasure,
which will outweigh the other?

grandam, great Grande Dame,
we will go on together,
and find the way to hyacinths by a river,

where a harp-note sounded
and a moment later ...
grandam, great Grande Dame, He is here with us,

in notes ascending and descending from his lyre,
your Child, my Child and Helios' Child, no other,
to lure us on, on, on, Euphorion, Espérance.

20

XXVI

There was a Helen before there was a War,
Odysseus remembered her, so the running away
and hiding in a cave or a forester's hut

was true too, and Taygetus' snow;
but you watched over that Helen, Grande Dame,
for Odysseus had his Princess and was never faithful,

and there was Menelaus waiting, for to fulfil
the ultimate decree, Helen must forget Odysseus
and be Sparta's queen;

there was a Helen before there was a War
and Achilles must have remembered her,
hardly a glance, but passing through the palace

with Patroclus, his indifference must have challenged her
with like indifference; for Paris,
there was only the ultimate recognition

and departure, but there was a moment,
standing on the water-stair in the darkness,
when Helen might have wavered,

turned ...
fighting for her kingdom,
like a tigress;

it was only a moment of indecision,
but there was a Helen before there was a War,
did Paris remember her?

21

XXVII

(April 5)

Grandam, midwife, Sage-Femme,
let me rest, let me rest,
I can't struggle any more;

far, far, let them beget their children
in the wastes or palaces; what is their happiness,
their bliss to this accomplishment?

Oenone, O, Oenone,
live your life, I need no longer chafe
in fantasy or remembrance or regret;

grandam, midwife, Sage-Femme,
I pray you, as with his last breath,
a man might pray, keep Espérance,

our darling from my sight,
for bliss so great,
the thought of that soft touch,

would drag me back to life
and I would rest;
grandam, great Grande Dame,

midwife and Sage-Femme,
you brought Him forth in darkness,
while I slept.

22

XXVIII

I am delirious now and mean to be,
the whole earth shudders with my ecstasy,
take <u>Esperance</u> away;

cruel, cruel <u>Sage-Femme</u>,
to place him In my arms,
cruel, cruel <u>Grande Dame</u>,

to pull my tunic down,
so Odysseus sought my breast
with savage kiss;

cruel, cruel midwife,
so secretly to steal my phantom self,
my invisibility, my hopelessness, my fate,

the guilt, the blame, the desolation,
Paris slain to rise again
and find Oenone and mortality,

Achilles' flight to Thetis,
and the Sea (deserting Leuke),
Menelaus with his trophies in the palace,

Odysseus - take the Child away,
cruel, cruel is Hope,
terrible the weight of honey and of milk,

cruel, cruel the thought of Love,
while Helen's breasts swell, painful
with the ambrosial sap, <u>Amrita</u>

that must be given;
I die in agony whether I give or do not give;
cruel, cruel <u>Sage-Femme</u>,

wiser than all the regents of God's throne,
why do you torture me?
come, come, O <u>Esperance</u>,

<u>Esperance</u>, O golden bee,
take life afresh and if you must,
so slay me.