The Birth of Zeus

 by Brett Rutherford

     From Callimachus Hymn 1, 1-16

If this is to be a hymn sung to Zeus,
then keep to the subject: the god himself,
the king eternal, mighty forever,
he in whose name we crushed the Pelagones,
who to the quarreling Olympians
stands as their judge and arbiters?

 But just which Zeus do we raise glasses to?
He of Mt. Dikte on the island of Crete?
Or he of our own loved Arcady
where sturdy Mt. Lycaeum claims his birth?
What am I to do (not libations two!)
since the one and only Zeus attends us?
My spirit is torn. Some hold for Ida,
others swear it must be Arcadia.

 Well, Cretans are always liars. If one
says “this,” he ever means “that.” Yes, a tomb
by those prevaricators was built up,
and offerings collected, you can be sure,
but what a cheat this is. Zeus did not die,
nor was he ever mortal, seeding myth.

 The Oak-Tree Goddess, brown Rhea, bore him,
upon a hillside in a brushy shelter,
a place so dense that neither wolf nor boar
entered to disturb his infant slumber,
nor would the Arcadian women hear
his cries as they descended for water
to the banks of Eileithyia. Sacred
the place is still, Titan Rhea’s child-bed.

 Alone in dark of moon, Rhea strode down
to cleanse herself of ichor’d afterbirth,
and to bathe the newborn child of thunder.

 …