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
///
