Philoctetes

Philoktétész

As lepers when their features rot away
and just the tinkling of their bells reminds them
that they are still alive and warns the others
the ordinary people in the street
to keep out of their way so are these lines:
the rhymes have slowly shrivelled off the ends
the tinkling of iambics is the only
suggestion as to what and where they are
shedding their flesh their decomposing words
and warning Time to keep out of their way

shall I go on about Philoctetes
about his wound that reeked to high Olympus
and brought infection to the shores of Lemnos
yet he became the archer who killed Paris
the hero of the bow that conquered Troy
the myth of reeking wounds and violence
originated with Philoctetes
to this day murdered gods are oozing red
upon the Pole Star's bloody butcher's hook
the heavens are a slaughter-house and blood
still trickles down the arrow-wound of Time

like lepers when their features rot away
these decomposing rhyme-denuded lines
still ring the bell of lumbering iambics
and cast their bags into the well of Time
contaminating thus the living water
and thirst-tormented hope recoils in fear
then rears up snorts and shyly shrinks away

shall I go on about Philoctetes
his wound reminds us that all glory reeks
that leprous faces grin on every bowstring
that Paris dies and Troy is burnt to ashes
day after day and that the newborn myth
ripped from that womb-like pestilential wound
snatches the bow while still a suckling babe
and soon inflicts a deadly wound on Time

Translation: February 2001

Translated by Peter Zollman