WASHING PATROKLOS

              


        This isn't right.  This isn't how it was
        To be.  Oh Cousin!  Years ago when we
        Shared jug and javelin, hammock, jerkin, harp
        And horse together, we had it all planned.
        We knew my fate.  We played it endlessly.
        For I was to be he who died too young
        But bravely.  You were to be he who sang
        The dirge before the pyre.  What trick of fate
        Is this?  Now I mourn you. Here on your brow
        I see it still, your badge of bravery,
        The scar carved by my wooden sword, like that.
        I thought you dead.  I wanted so to die.
        I didn't know how I could live without
        You then.  I don't know now.  I stand alone.
        They hate me.  I hate them.  But they loved you.
        No, no one else on earth could tell me what to do.
        With you the finest part of me has died.
        I care not what they say.  I killed a boar
        At six.  The Centaurs taught me all I know
        Of weapons, courage, skills and manliness.
        And I whipped every man who dared to sneer
        The name of "Pyrrah."  Yes, my mother sought
        To hide me with the maidens from my fate
        I stayed.  No, not from fear, but joy.  So dressed
        What ease I knew to woo and win my wife
        And how my mother cried when trumpets blared
        To see me strip the veil and grab a sword,]
        Myself revealed for war, my destiny.
        Achilles!   First in everything he tries.
        In strength and speed no Ajax can compare.
        And second only once, in this, the first
        To land on shore was fated first to die.
        No glory there.  The second down was I!
        The praise of mouthy Menelaus I
        Don't need, not he who needs an army just
        To catch his wife.  Nor well wrought words from wise
        Odysseus.  Such talk is women's work.
        No, I speak with my hands.  And least of all
        Our rich and greedy Agememnon, King.
        How can I care what he who stole my prize,
        My glory, says of me?  Nor care I now
        What any God may say.  Like c***s they pit
        Us for their fight!  I cannot care.  Your slap
        And smile meant more to me than all of Troy.
        My friend, I fought, I lived for you, your praise.

        Impostor, traitor, cheater, liar, thief!
        They only man I loved.  What did you mean
        To do?  I let you take my armor just
        To save the ships.  But did you think to take
        My glory too?  They thought you me and fled.
        Perhaps before Troy's gate you thought so too.
        Good soldier, you were you, but better for
        My sword and shield.  You did it, doing as
        I've done.  The glory's yours and my respect.
        But had I known, you never would have gone.
        Now every soldier, slave, and general
        Sheds tears of grief for you.  I miss you so.
        So happy, humble, wise and caring, kind,
        The kindest man I knew.  A friend to all
        And every ounce a man. I envied and
        Mistrusted you.  How could you leave me so?

        If only you could see me now!   At dawn
        My mother brought this armor to replace
        What Hector took from you.  You'd love it.  He
        Who's lame and scorned by all the Gods, yet strong
        And skilled, Hephaetus, crafted this last night.
        As he works metal, I work battle.  Love
        And wealth once won seem useless, rot us, fade.
        Perfection, praise, supremacy (pursuits
        So endless and elusive) that's the life
        I choose to live.   Yes, short but valiant.  Yet
        What honor is there when dishonored?  Strength
        Not weakness seems absurd now.  Gods must mock
        Me too.  Die young and foolish, I die twice.
        And now to die alone.  I could have faced
        It all, while I had you.  In dying you
        Were brave.  In living, loving, braver still.
        I've only crafted glory, you your soul.
        Oh, would that I had imitated you!

        You've got your glory now and now you're dead.
        Much good!  You can't enjoy it nor I you.
        Well, you died once and bravely.  I know.
        I guess I'm glad I'm not immortal.   Soon
        I'll die.  Each act of bravery might be
        My best, the last.  I don't fear dying, death
        (I race in battle only to that end)
        But little deaths destroy me endlessly.
        For anything save death, save glory, must
        Be failure.  Mortal death cannot be worse
        Than that.  When dead, no more will I know pain,
        Affront, embarrassment, or jealousy.
        No loneliness, remorse, or guilt or grief.
        To live is brave.  I'd rather die that feel.

        Soon I will be with you.  Our ashes I'll
        Have mixed, then never will we part.  By Zeus!
        Tomorrow I will kill the man who wears
        My armor, he who slew you, Hector, Prince
        Of husbandry.  He'll die.  Then Troy will die
        And I will meet my fate.  Two hounds, four steeds,
        Twelve Trojans, sons of Priam, I will toss
        Upon your pyre.   Then glory will be yours.
        I swear I will have vengeance, now!  I will
        Have glory, but of satisfaction, none.
        You're gone!  Farewell, fine friend.  Now everything
        That's near enough to touch me I will kill.

 

Reviews

[Glen Fitch]

this can be viewed on You-tube @

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5JQreglhfZc