glowing in the slow fine rain,
flowers of the rock, figures
that came when no one spoke and spoke to me
that let me touch them after the silence
among pine-trees, oleanders, and plane-trees.
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In The Goddess’ Name I Summon You
Oil on limbs,maybe a rancid smellas on the chapel’soil-press here,as on the rough poresof the unturning stone.Oil on hairwreathed in ropeand maybe other scentsunknown to uspoor and richand statuettes offeringsmall breasts with their fingers.Oil in the sunthe leaves shudderedwhen the stranger stoppedand the silence weighedbetween the knees.The coins fell:‘In the goddess’s name I summon you…’Oil…
fools, who ate the cattle of Helios Hyperion;
— OdysseySince we still had some hardtackhow stupid of usto go ashore and eatthe Sun’s slow cattle,for each was a castleyou’d have to battleforty years, till you’d becomea hero and a star!On the earth’s back we hungered,but when we’d eaten wellwe fell to these lower regionsmindless and satisfied.
How can you gather together
of each person?What’s wrong with the rudder?The boat inscribes circlesand there’s not a single gull.The world sinks:hang on, it’ll leave youalone in the sun.You write:the ink grew less,the sea increases.The body that hoped to flower like a branch,to bear fruit, to become like a flute in the frost —imagination has thrust it into a noisy…
This sun was mine and yours; we shared it.
A woman beating her dry breasts cried out; `Cowards,they’ve taken my children and torn them to shreds, you’vekilled themgazing at the fire-flies at dusk with a strange look,lost in blind thought.’The blood was drying on a hand that a tree made green,a warrior was asleep clutching the lance that cast lightagainst his side.It was ours,…
The day was cloudy. No one could come to a decision;
A few slender cypresses nailed to the slope, and, beyond, the seagrey with shining pools.The soldiers presented arms as it began to drizzle.‘Not a north-easter, the sirocco,’ was the only decision heard.And yet we knew that by the following dawnnothing would be left to us, neither the woman drinking sleep at our sidenor the memory…
Ephemeral issue of a vicious daemon and a harsh fate,
SILENUS TO MIDAS*IThe house near the sea*The houses I had they took away from me. The timeshappened to be unpropitious: war, destruction, exile;sometimes the hunter hits the migratory birds,sometimes he doesn’t hit them. Huntingwas good in my time, many felt the pellet;the rest circle aimlessly or go mad in the shelters.Don’t talk to me about…