Voices from the Past

. I feel myself flake between my own fingers. Nothing distracts me. I tell myself I

know more about beauty than others. Their minds should be richer, t

he sea and use its power. I must trap changes and repetitions, the storm's core an

eaweed after the gale. Husk, why trouble others? So

the cabin's wick and the nets? Oh, drown me, Egyptian lion,

s. Mascu-line love is a beginning, an intensity that goes on. Masculi

ed on our bed and Phaon pushed it away: wind rustled: leaves shook: flames swayed: this was the love I had wanted and I acce

ve Phaon's cabin door. His boat rose on a gr

you when you sail

I take ca

in this

sleep on

y n

r cheese spoils...our meat...our wat

e hulked against the cabin wall

e heat and col

ry and cold

as...ye

ced me effectively for I could not endure those pro-longed trials and no doubt the sea voyage was impo

heard stories of catches at the deeps just beyond us, deeps where the water shimmered flatly, as if of rock. One crewman, not much bigger than a monkey, dove for shells while we crept through shallows. Pink shell i

y, his shoulders thickly oiled, shared an orange with a girl who had his oval face and fair skin: twins, I thought, and went to the stern to tal

her at dawn, when the water's quiet...she has a sunken deck, a huge rudder

nges, juice trickled

prearranged, the youngsters abandoned us, dove overboard

that young,

ing kelp-shaped ropes of yellow. Huge clouds mas

ble man at the bow. His words made me uneasy as he sang of lovers lost

to mine and his mout

nd us, his fly

he rudder: it was a night for love and when the cabin had cooled, Phaon and I sought each o

ha

t is

love me, don't...I w

or, the graciousness, the ephemeral. I wandered throug

dribbled over us and he pressed his mouth

to see how beautiful he was, his ship and fis

us back i

h

od in m

gue is

flame r

seeing

only my

I drip w

g shakes

urn pal

s. At su

isn't

tness coming from inside. When my girls are dancing on th

es. Yellow hair flies over shoulders. Gyrinno's throat is perfect. Malva's thighs.

e blue u

hes with burning, lidless eyes, rememberi

e drenched

me and Alcaeu

ing. They have been waiting a long time for me; th

r years but something has happened abruptly, pain h

his is more than drink because I realize it is inner deba

s, the wind howling, and h

u? We've been wai

us

en't fo

he day?" Alcaeus

t's her day,

us ch

ace, admiring its masculinit

akes th

ndness was weakness on my part, or acceptance or hope. Listening, while we drank, I asked what hope he had? He was deriving some satisfaction from his relationship with Libus. There seemed nothing else. Lit

I beat off hi

red, hand o

pen his h

the w

al in the vineyard, flute and drum, carom of bodies, laughter: Was it Felerian who laughed that low pitched melodi-ous laugh

quabbles but, at reunions, they dis-solve: the moment becomes a moment of accord, making life worthier: Gyrinno insi

'll go up the

row, w

-who, the quails c

r all these years, like ala-baster. The wick strug

wall girl

hah-

ster and lay them in their scente

ain longer in Limnos, thinking he might return-tonight. I lon

ep tonight, tired

tian treasures, confronting him: a twisted, gilded serpent god sneers at me: fragments of gold

now," I s

know

Pittakos, to have me

ha

tried to get our home, that's why you wanted me exile

he shut h

lp me financially...yours is a debt you won't pay...and you don't care. I've d

l you the truth. I've nothing more to say. I want

e-kias' arm, walking swiftly, curbing my pulse, hearing a seagull, the win

ted to return to Charaxos, demand apologies and resti-tution, apologies for impertinent, biased criticis

serated: his hunchback shoulders squared my shoulders:

: I wish I could have a son. Yes, to give b

e, I turned to

s what you told

n't have told

me I knew

have an ene

y enemy all th

-castus sheltering us from the

ter friends

st you

ved across his

We bungle. Friendship, yours and mine, it's hard to measure, perhaps we shouldn't try: isn't it

ng his face, thickening his lips, greying his hair. His sandals moved ne

crowning of a king behind him, Libus' chair of white leather, the king in the mosai

shepherd visi

ing

us, yo

ard a

light d

home

home

childr

eir m

k beauty? What is the challenge?

it is a ki

recorded is vaster than the recorded. I sense the stum-bling: the past could be a gigantic storm, fog obliterating at moment of revela-tion, fog fumbling from man to man, saying com

my journal

ittle to eat, days of quarre

Alcaeus and me. We ate in the kitchen, glad to find considerate slave

prepare it, onions in Chian wine, olives from Patmos. I

ace, the mooning eyes, the stupid mouth, the odor of flagr

windowless room, flies, thirst, sickness...Alcaeus in jail... I was fined...autho

bout the smallest problem. Nuances come to me, as he told of a turtle tha

rtle, you

y?" asked the

ng me a

what ca

e beach and sn

st," said the

tle turtle brought a fly to the big turtle. Finding

e turtle, betwe

it with care. "Umm, that's the first fly I ever ate! You see

, to see about my girls. Atthis needed covering and as I arranged her cov-e

homesick,

w weeks?" I whispered. "You were calling your mama in your sleep. If you're homesic

on my shoulder, her violet fragrance around me. I held her fingers a long time. Drowsily, I asked: where

ake had bee

is dog at his feet, sunlight behind

force, spring's arrival, the brevity of summer, the dying year. It has the shep

y, the woods d

quoted his favorite, huddling

ed Delos, while rou

a wind the dark blue

u break of

t answer

e lowliest...they preferred the virginal...snowy

ne, I said I preferred the golde

ys of living, hon

their footsteps twir

ent o

you'll be twenty-three soon...it must be l

hat house as a girl and as I passed these thoughts brought back some of that apprehension. I glanced at the seaward balcony, tottering on wasted beams, painted years ago. Seagulls squatted on the flat roof, as they ha

Kleis visits occasionally. A parrot, some say nearly two hundr

its darkness, its evocation

r, he explores yet never gropes: his fingers, padded at the tips, press, release, wait. Our friendship, with all its confidences, in spite of differences, weathers the years and is stronger at such a time, under his m

something through my own experi-ments; we

Libus about my

food, too much concern. You ha

are for th

says, you help him more th

to help him

n his dr

hrug

ng so much of the time. That's where the tro

when I went last. Thaso

t soldier

can

er than anyone. Now, well, I do what I can. He's growing worse...have you heard him bel

adily: his hands brought warmth, my thinking became clearer. As he pressed, the weight on my heart less

bout food and advised less exer

ng lazy trails, fuss in my garden. Winter is hard on me.

has re

appho kneel

ra besi

ees shade

ruined temp

ssness of

on and whi

over thei

s, the wind

ti

ling it over my shoulders: confirmation was in that un-disturbed place and accord burned our mouths and throats. Encystment was the slipping down of robes, our knees touching, the feeling, self, and underneath self, the ground, our earth: yet we were not aware, only before and later: the consummation dragged at the trees: I forced him to me, forcing b

and I at the stern, under blankets, Libus managing the sail. We were part of a small fleet but I couldn't discern another boat. Spray swished overhead

y; we had been unable to look after ourselves but,

dead, only the injured: Libus helped them, bandaging, talking: I gave wine and water, afraid: he was annoyed by my fear: I could not find Phaon and that wor-ried me. Wine, and water, dribbling them, my hamper shaking, the wi

n came again," an injured woman

ir hearty faces cheered me. But how the gu

talk about Chios and the injured, their lack of food and care. We slept in beached boats, the surf snarling, stars breaking through fast clouds: I remembered the big dipper and f

oon, we welcomed other boats from Lesbos and after a second night on the beach-this one calm, all the sta

cken town, I heard the gulls

d, though I'v

e I ne

lp...sometimes there

ried. "We'll be the first on

te in-tentions and then went on to consider my poetry, praising it for

king over passages, contemplating the ocean, serenely blue as usual. Life, for the moment, was balanced: it had acquired profu

ox and recognized my need: the

of Pittakos. I am amused, and have done all I dar

crity. Like his cousin, I could add. But that's unfair. When I see him screw up his mouth in front of Kleis, I sag. The next moment he

ircumspectly, knowing winds can be fickle. I

nducts herself!

ey're s

are of

tings of a few months ago and expe

n me and I con

ere is another daughter, where is the boy suited to your taste? Is she to fall in l

sound or silence: I am confronted by yes-terday, in the gulls: I squint, and there, on milky horizon, I glimpse the

I am confident, teaching is worth while and living worth while: good meals, laughter, mus

find a good w

lassi-tude, great rivers and forests, prowling sand, the bay and i

er it is, this is the ha

d out of ruts. I have uncovered uniqueness, sensibility... I have seen what it has cost man to survive: dunes against dunes, lack of water, perilous heat: I have weighed his pot

ss must not

t see

in me: my writing must be a part of this place: marble benches, a face augustly seaward, lichened with g

urnal, written more t

in an olive grove where men were knock

from describing our happiness? Was I too close to it? Or was the next day one o

Cercolas wa

around me, or mine curled about his waist. His mouth went to mine, many times. Mine to his. I wish I could remember what we said but I

ious...your fingers reach out

that remains w

s the

e been other children. Kleis was born on a summer's day, the ocean lapping after a windy

ve you. Now, I know

ed my face and hands, her voice soothing, as she cooled me. I wasn't afraid: no, a new happiness surged through me, even while my wrists were breaking and my knees afire. Even while the pain tore me, I was

d mother's voice and the chatter of Exekias and the sound of the sea. When Kleis had come, I thought: my w

ven stuff, skeins in rows, with wool dropped and tumbled between: the pink darkened nearest the water and sta

e tried to make me feel our bad luck couldn't last. He would

-let's

ntain. There's cool water

ck to move, he brought me bread or a flower. Kneeling

find

its sides painted with flowers, Al-ca

Remember the roast lamb I stole-how the guy rushed a

us and Aesop must not end. Witho

e to me, as I lay between heaps of dung: he crawled toward me, clothes in rags,

ealized how

-tion to honor Anaktoria's return...bourekakia and stuffed grape leaves, Ana

in that spirit, making fun of Tele-sippa, her newcomer rival, who was also interested in Libus, diverted, momentarily by someone's comment about my harp, a point to bandy for

has twenty strings and

a smile went round, co

air, shoulders, arms...enjoying each girl. I realized they were especia

rrival of an Ethiopian girl, slave for a merchant. She talked as I had taught her, gestures well timed, h

little wild, Telesippa gos-siped about her dressmaker

something sound and Atthis carried

weets and nuts and Libus joked, sultry jokes of

e the sea... I relaxed until someone mentioned Phaon and I saw him worki

ls. You'll be with me, soon. Soon

et after the ga

ing, his spear digging its hole. I'll see him

les, wrists and shoulders: my flesh is firm: I know, as I s

hance to comb and dress my hair at leisure,

se

e written recently

rsweet, irr

legs and

ld no

uch t

y two

sprays t

ght-fallin

a, my dar

ur milkwh

s scream acro

fearing thes

s cargo o

closed t

night p

ep upon t

refers th

ect flower, some say. Of the two kinds, the garden and the rambler, I prefer the rambler, climbing th

s into foam, how the foam cascades into white and divides into blue. From shore to sky there is blue

ieroglyphs ruddered by chance. The ocean is always chance, yet it is subdued, finally modulated by place and time. Wherever we travel, there is the element

lonies of butterflies, floating celery stalks, turtles, heaving shells and driftwood-b

sland and along the shore, sometimes swimming them. When the oldest became sick, I put a pillo

to die with him at war, I su

on deck and in holds, their white faces peering, yellow manes shining: white, in memory of our ma

ss horses but I prefer mares tha

"yes." I suppose it came from the flint, the arrow. Cercolas was music. Mother was music. The loom a

n, aware, yet not truly aware; I like it when I am up the mountain, the wind harsh; I l

ts, revelatory in surprising ways, prying, blurring-altogether deceitful. I like the harp better than th

at rimes Alcaeus wro

we found

fish and f

r mouth ga

louse made s

as clever enough to wring every drop of satire out of P's doings. His foolery endangered many

us

he dies. It's better to wait. Look at Alcaeus, what has his fight gotten

I shivered and pulled back. Alcaeus

we're having a

shields glared; pennons dragged at me. With an apish grin, Alcaeus re

oom closed in. You must pretend, I said to myself. Prete

scrawny, red-fleshed boy served us, d

d with difficulty, good things said badly, reminiscences slightly distorted. What is more dismal than a damaged

, his ephemeral face growing more ephemeral as he c

not help...

ti