Jon Corelis

Sophocles:  The death of Oedipus

You've seen yourselves how he went from here,

no friend as guide, but showing us all

where we had to go.  When he'd reached the sheerly

plunging Verge rooted to earth

by its Steps of Bronze, he paused at a place

in the branching ways where the Basin of Rock

still testifies to the deathless trust

King Theseus placed in Perithous,

and, poised at a point equidistant from there

and the Crag of Dawn and the Maiden's Tree

and the Marble Tomb, he took his stand,

and stripping off his ragged clothes

he called to his daughters and told them to find

some running stream for water to wash

and offer the gods, and they ran to the Mound

of Green Mother Earth, which lies close by,

and brought down what their father had asked,

and they washed his body and wrapped him in white

like you do when it comes; and when he was sure

it was all done right and that none of the things

he had meant to arrange had been left undone,

then a rumbling thunder roared underground

from the Zeus of the Dead, and the terrified girls

fell at their father's knees with a scream,

beating their breasts with long drawn moans,

and he, at the sound of their keening lament,

gathered them into his arms and said,

"Today forever your father is gone.

All that I am dissolves:  lay down

the heavy load of sustaining my life.

I know it was hard, but a single word

cancels the pain:  that word is love.

No man's was ever like mine for you.

Without me now let your lives unfold."

Clinging together with words like these,

father and children became one torrent

of tears, but when, exhausting their grief,

there was nothing more left, a silence prevailed,

but was shattered then by a summoning voice

so dreadful it stood our hair on end;

from everywhere echoed the call of the god:

"You there, Oedipus, what are you waiting for?

It is time to go.  You're making us late."

And he, recognizing the voice of the god,

groped for Lord Theseus, King of this land,

to come near, and told him, "Dearest of friends,

give me the pledge of your hand for my daughters,

and you, children, for him.  Promise

not to desert them; be their protector;

act in their interest; always be kind."

And the King, with the calm of noble restraint,

accepted the oath this stranger imposed.

When all this was done, Oedipus then,

stroking his daughters with his blind hands,

said, "Children, your duty is now to leave

this place, not claiming the right to see

or hear what the god forbids.  Go quickly:

Theseus alone has the right to stay

to witness what now must happen at last."

All of us there could hear what he said,

and helpless with weeping we followed the girls.

After we'd gone a short way, we turned

and found he was gone:  the King was alone,

holding his hand as a shield for his eyes,

as if he looked on a terror beyond

the painfulness human sight could endure;

and after a moment of stillness, he bowed

in reverence both to the earth and the sky.

As for Oedipus, no one but Theseus knows

exactly how he passed from this world.

No thunderbolt struck him, no storm of the sea,

when his time had arrived, but some messenger

must have come from the gods above, or the underworld

below may have opened a painless way out

with mercy at last.  Whatever it was,

there was nothing unclean in his passing.  If ever

a man had a wonderful death, it was his.

And if anyone thinks I'm not talking sense,

I can only say, you can have your sense.

© translated from the Greek by Jon Corelis

The companion

Death is always with me, at my elbow

sporting a jaunty beret and a fake French accent;

at dinner, making judicious remarks on the wine;

playing cat's-cradle with cobwebs on the bus;

baffling me at chess with unheard of gambits;

strumming his mournful guitar with a pick of thorn;

and snatching flies that vanish into his fist.

He's almost the only thing I'm going to miss.

© Jon Corelis

Empty

I stood with you at your grave,

watching the rain erase your name from the stone.

Your damp face scanned the sky for a trace of your days

as the mournful ghosts huddled round,

sobbing into their shawls of fog.  You laid

a handful of thorns on the mound where the grass grew black.

Your eyes were empty of anger.  Your eyes were empty

of expectation.  Your eyes were empty of fulfillment.

© Jon Corelis

Six-worder

Born:  "Don't WANNA!"  Dying:  "Don't WANNA!"

© Jon Corelis

Nonbeing [from the Greek Anthology]

Kiss my ass, world, after I’m dead and gone.

No reason I should care what’s going on.

© Jon Corelis

Allotted Span

Three score and ten –

and then?

© Jon Corelis

Anacreontea

i

The women tell me, “Man, you’re old;

don’t be so bold.

Look into a mirror

to make it clearer:

your hair

ain’t there.”

But I can’t see what lies

above my eyes.

I do see more reason to play the game,

when Death takes aim.

ii

If wealth with all its money

could make us never die,

I’d give my life to earning,

and then, when Death came by,

I’d pay him and forget him.

But there’s no way to spend

yourself into forever.

So since my life must end,

what good does money do me,

or why then should I mourn

the certainty of dying,

which comes with being born?

My riches are in friendship

and drinking wine at ease,

and moon-lit celebrations

of Love’s solemnities.

iii

Old Gyges had a ton of gold

when he was Asia’s king;

his treasure houses leave me cold,

I don’t grudge him a thing.

What counts with me is scented hair,

rose garlands, and today;

so let’s drink while the weather’s fair:

tomorrow’s far away.

© Jon Corelis

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