III
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«Quick, fetch my chariot, hitch up the horses: I’ll go for a ride in the country».
«Do that, my master. Do that. A carefree wanderer
always fills his belly, a stray dog always
finds a bone, a migrating swallow is especially skilled in nesting,
a wild donkey finds the grass in the driest desert».
«No, slave. I won’t go for a ride in the country».
«Don’t go, my master. Don’t bother.
The lot of a wanderer is always dicey.
A stray dog loses its teeth. The nest
of a migrating swallow gets buried in plaster.
Naked earth is a wild donkey’s bedding».
IV
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«I feel like starting a family, like begetting children».
«Good thinking, my master. Start a family, start a family.
Who has children secures his name, repeated in posthumous prayers».
«No, slave. I won’t start a family, I won’t have children!»
«Don’t start it, my master. Don’t have them.
A family is like a broken door, its hinge is creaking.
Only a third of one’s children are healthy; two-thirds always sickly».
«So, should I start a family?» «Don’t start a family.
Who starts a family wastes his ancestral house».
V
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«I shall yield to my enemy; in the court, I’ll stay silent before my detractors».
«Right, my master, right. Yield to your enemy;
keep silence, my master, before your detractors».
«No, slave! I won’t be silent, and I won’t yield!»
«Don’t yield, my master, and don’t be silent.
Even if you don’t open your mouth at all
your enemies will be merciless and cruel to you, as well as numerous».
VI
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«I feel like doing some evil, eh?»
«Do that, my master. By all means, do some evil.
For how otherwise can you stuff your belly?
How, without doing evil, can you dress yourself warmly?»
«No, slave. I shall do no evil!»
«Evildoers are either killed, or flayed alive and blinded,
or blinded and flayed alive and thrown into a dungeon».
VII
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«I’ll fall in love with a woman». «Fall in love, my master. Fall in love!
Who falls in love with a woman forgets his griefs and sorrows».
«No, slave. I won’t fall in love with a woman!»
«Don’t love, my master. Don’t love.
Woman is a snare, a trap, a dark pit.
Woman is a sharp steel blade slitting man’s throat in darkness».
VIII
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«Quick, fetch water to wash my hands: I am to make an offering to my god».
«Make an offering, make an offering.
Who makes offerings to his god fills his heart with riches;
he feels generous, and his purse is open».
«No, slave. I won’t make an offering!»
«Rightly so, my master. Rightly so!
Can you really train your god to follow you like a doggy?
All the time he demands obedience, rituals, sacrifices!»
IX
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«I’ll invest with the interest, I will loan for the interest».
«Yes, invest with the interest, make loans for the interest.
Who does so preserves his own; his profit, though, is enormous».
«No, slave, I won’t lend and I won’t invest!»
«Don’t invest, my master. Don’t lend.
To lend is like loving a woman; to receive, like siring bad children:
people always curse those whose grain they eat.
They’ll resent you or try to reduce your profit».
X
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«I shall do a good deed for my nation!»
«Very good, my master, very good. You do that!
Who does good deeds for his nation has his name in Marduk’s gold signet».
«No, slave. I won’t do a good deed for my nation».
«Don’t do that, my master. Don’t bother.
Get up and stroll across ancient ruins,
scan the skulls of simple folk and nobles:
which one of them was a villain, which one a benefactor?»
XI
«Slave, come to my service!» «Yes, my master. Yes?»
«If all this is so, then what is good?»
«To have your neck broken and my neck broken,
to be thrown into a river — that’s what is good!
Who is so tall as to reach the heavens?
Who so broad as to embrace plains and mountains?»
«If that’s so, I should kill you, slave: I’d rather you go before me».
«And does my master believe that he can survive for three days without me?»
EPITAPH FOR A CENTAUR
To say that he was unhappy is either to say too much
or too little: depending on who’s the audience.
Still, the smell he’d give off was a bit too odious,
and his canter was also quite hard to match.
He said, They meant just a monument, but something went astray:
the womb? the assembly line? the economy?
Or else, the war never happened, they befriended the enemy,
and he was left as it is, presumably to portray
Intransigence, Incompatibility — that sort of thing which proves
not so much one’s uniqueness or virtue, but probability.
For years, resembling a cloud, he wandered in olive groves,
marveling at one-leggedness, the mother of immobility.
Learned to lie to himself, and turned it into an art
for want of a better company, also to check his sanity.
And he died fairly young — because his animal part
turned out to be less durable than his humanity.
EXETER REVISITED
Playing chess on the oil tablecloth at Sparky’s
Café, with half & half for whites,
against your specter at noon, two flights
down from that mattress, and seven years later. Scarcely
a gambit, by any standard. The fan’s dust-plagued
shamrock still hums in your, window — seven
years later and pints of semen
under the bridge — apparently not unplugged.
What does it take to pledge allegiance
to another biography, ocean, creed?
The expiration date on the Indian Deed?
A pair of turtledoves, two young pigeons?
The Atlantic, whose long-brewed invasion looks,
on the beaches of Salisbury, self-defeating?
Or the town hall cupola, still breast-feeding
its pale, cloud-swaddled Lux?