Aeneas and Dido
„So the great man
left Carthage...”
(Joseph Brodsky: Dido and Aeneas)
1
I never see you now, Dido, my queen.
The blue meanders of the wavy seas
will roll like thread from Ariadne's skein
and lead me to a land where refugees
may change into a Minotaur, following
our melancholy union (or owing
to it?) Your parting thighs opened the doors
toward that lustful labyrinth of yours.
Our bond, a thread of hate, will unravel,
and coil from our hands to your people's hands.
So we shall meet again and as we travel,
roaming shadows, across war-tainted lands,
on every site where blood and wetness lies
I'll seek your hot, desire-wetted thighs.
2
A harsh farewell? The wine is harsher still,
and the wine-hued sea where rosy dawn dips
her fingers. Never mind our love and thrill,
I need fresh Olympian news and tips
or else all wine and lust will fall to dirt,
sunrise will roast us like a Nessus shirt
and night will threaten with a Gorgon-head.
Our gods are envious, don't be misled
my Dido. First, it's too late for a change,
second, it's comfort that Heaven sends word
telling me what I have to do, and third,
when facing judgment you should never cringe.
You choose the stake if I move off? So what?
It's not my wish. The gods have hatched the plot.
3
Our bed. Lavinia slumbers. Not a stir.
She's younger, firmer-fleshed than you could claim,
yes, but flames that turn the human frame
into an altar, have never burnt in her.
Conceiving and bearing without any joy,
she fills up like a larder every year.
My sons will be cold eyed, puzzling to hear,
all Latin speakers and strangers to Troy.
God save my new, still unimportant place.
Why do I miss my Troy much less than Carthage?
Although I've lost most of my valiant band,
why you alone enjoy the moot advantage
of me still yearning after your fading grace?
Dido, my gracious queen, I hate this land.
Translation: December 2006
Translated by Peter Zollman