Pirithous and the Hidden Muse

[RiverNotch]

Pirithous and the Hidden Muse


Pirithous: The Trapped Hero

All is cloaked in golden light. A memory
flutters by -- some jealous angel opened up
my eye -- then fills a Dionysian cup
with tears. A decade or two, a decade or two

is born upon the thought -- a hundred
yes-I-wills and yes-I-dos
and even glimmers of me and you,
of early winter dew -- fast hardened

by the thousand years of wounds
that my every inch of skin has kept,
this stretched out soul had stepped
long before my birth, beyond youth.

Yet into what? A million is a night
to what the saints and sons-of-God have coursed,
and prophecy, damned art, remains a door
to some dead heaven. How can we two fight?

The Hidden Muse: Vita Nova

Hell can be traversed. Neon demons:
have no fear of them. Prisms may divide
but the space of air that lies beyond
unites again, and the golden light

that oozes out of my torch smells sweeter
than any touch of flowers. My all-surpassing beauty
shall prevail, the Lethe's soul-erasing waters
shall be drained, and the addled monkey

who burned the New Year's chicken shall be flayed.
Below the Holy Virgin's face, what has God made
that should compare with me? So what if death,
with oceanic fingers, wets

your pit of sand? Hell can be traversed:
my blue-eyed strong-browed face shall serve
as loving guide, and my perfume
shall be your purgatory.

Pirithous and the Hidden Muse


Pirithous: The Trapped Hero

All is cloaked in golden light. A memory
flutters by -- some jealous angel opened up
my eye -- then fills a thumbelina cup
with tears. A decade or two, a decade or two

is born upon the thought -- a hundred
yes-I-wills and yes-I-dos
and even glimmers of me and you,
of early winter dew -- fast hardened

by the thousand years of wounds
that my every inch of skin has kept,
this stretched out soul had stepped
long before my birth, beyond youth.

Yet into what? A million is a night
to what the saints and sons-of-God have coursed,
and prophecy, damned art, remains a door
to some dead heaven. How can we two fight?

The Hidden Muse: Vita Nova

Hell can be traversed. Neon demons:
have no fear of them. Prisms may divide
but the space of air that lies beyond
unites again, and the golden light

that oozes out of my torch smells sweeter
than any touch of flowers. My all-surpassing beauty
shall prevail, the Lethe's soul-erasing waters
shall be drained, and the addled monkey

who burned the New Year's chicken shall be flayed.
Below the Holy Virgin's face, what has God made
that should compare with me? So what if death,
with oceanic fingers, wets

your pit of sand? Hell can be traversed:
my blue-eyed strong-browed face shall serve
as loving guide, and my perfume
shall be your purgatory.

Pirithous: The Trapped Hero

All is cloaked in golden light. A memory
flutters by -- some jealous angel opened up
my eye -- then fills a thumbelina cup
with tears. A decade or two, a decade or two

is born upon the thought -- a hundred
yes-I-wills and yes-I-dos
and even glimmers of me and you,
of early winter dew -- fast hardened

by the thousand years of wounds
that my every inch of skin has kept,
this stretched out soul had stepped,
long before my youth, beyond birth.

Yet into what? A million is a night
to what the saints and sons-of-God have coursed,
and prophecy, damned art, remains a door
to some dead heaven. How can we two fight?

The Hidden Muse: Fanny's Fanny

Hell can be traversed. Neon demons,
I have no fear of them. Prisms may divide
but the space beyond unites once more
and sweeter than honey is the light

oozing out of my torch. Many we have lost,
many more we've even forgotten,
but let me make the river clear: my beauty,
all-surpassing, shall prevail. What has God made

below the Holy Virgin's face
that should compare? So what if the monkey
forgot the cock in the oven -- so what if death
swept across the sand? Hell can be traversed,

and my face, my blue-eyed strong-browed face,
can be raped without touching. For spilling
my bottle of blood perfume, you'll burn
only in purgatory -- and the new life awaits.