The fine-forged mesh of his gleaming mail-shirt;
I put me in your wise governance.
Who does not know his rasp of reeds,
clever talk and a pretentious manner?
An English version with an introduction.
Her words he heard, her speech found favor.
He took her back with him to Troy, where she lived with him as his wife.
Since the names of the fallen are already on record,
the lots are drawn and there stands the urn.
It was love; love, the consolation of the human race.
Thousands of flowers have blossomed today;
the coldness of the pavement, the cement,
his chin nuzzled into his breast
unbind the crumbling clod.
Charity departed when I came aboard.
Decision harder than the dreams of a hammer,
madness of chance / madness fullgrown;
when I was little I loved to be good.
Human beings know what they need.
He dances in his sadness brilliantly in the moonlight.
When one has lived a long time alone
it is hard to remember if he suffered much.
From those very fingers emerge pistols of love.
***
This poem is the nineteenth (!) in my marathon of poems (plus 3.8) for Tupelo Press’s cool fundraising project 30/30. You can view the poems I and the other “runners” submit every day during the month of March, at
http://tupelopress.wordpress.com/3030-project/.
Please follow our work, and if you find it even the slightest bit entertaining, engaging, thought-provoking, or just generally worthy, donate to Tupelo Press, an independent literary publisher. Sponsor me by entering T. Thibodeaux Baar in the “in honor of” line on the donation form, which you can find here:
https://www.tupelopress.org/donate.php
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