Night Vigil

 by Brett Rutherford

After Asclepiades,
     The Greek Anthology, v, 189

It is night.
The dead of winter.
Her rooftop grinds
against the setting
     Pleiades.
She is no gift
from the love-goddess;
these icy pangs I feel
resemble bee-stings
     or tiny thunderbolts.
The more she betrays me
behind those bolted doors,
the deeper it cuts at me.
The more I pace,
the longer the dawn delays.
Whose hand will emerge,
whose hooded head pop out
from the gaping entryway
at cock-crow, and skulk away?
Does it even matter?
Sea-salt, tear-salt, heart-jab —
love is an open wound.

Against Love

by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Alcaeus of Messene.
         The Greek Anthology, v, 10

I hate the love-god,
I really do.

Animals need none
of his interruptions
and do what they do
in time and season.

Why shoot at me
with those piercing arrows
when I am empty-pocketed
and all the streets are drenched
with rain and clotted mud?
I make a sorry sight
courting, all limp and soggy.

Must I go out
blind-folded now
so that my sight
of any bright-eyed
person does not
concur with the fall
of some random arrow?

What profits it to him
to burn so many mortal hearts?
Does Love have a quota to fill?
Or does he pursue me
with a particular relish
so I will write a poem
that will win some prize,
and, named in it,
the little god smirks.

The Unexpected Guest

by Brett Rutherford

     Why now? And why you,
     darkening my doorway?
                                       — Apollodorus

You, that man-shaped shadow,
threshold-hovering,
what is your business?
Old comrade, come to stay?
Or new one, heaven-sent
in search of the night-joys
my house is famous for?

Who sent you? Oh, that one --
my name inscribed, I see,
on the back of his calling card.
You'd might as well come in,
as a storm is brewing.

You are of age to choose.
Why hesitate, just like
some indecisive cat?

What now, you wavering
phantom, or play of light?
In? Out? Make up your mind!

The Dark Lady

by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Asclepiades, The Greek Anthology, v, 210

Dark as dusk the lady was
when she waved a branch at me.
By myrtle, by palm, by ivy green,
by oak, by pine, by olive, be black
or brown or tawny from too much
sun, what matters it to me?
Like wax I melt before the heat
of love, though she be sent
by fierce Hannibal or Africa’s
proud Dido, Queen. Coals burn,
and what was black as night
throws red and amber light
upon the bedroom walls.
So tremble, Europe, now
beneath the slippered feet
of the beautiful Didyme.

Oh, Give It Up

by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Asclepiades, The Greek Anthology, v, 85.

You, virgin still? Oh, why?
Small dam against a torrent,
frail barricade defying love,
why grudge it when a line
of suitors would un-Sphinx
your riddles and reduce
your silly girl talk to a sigh
of most sweet surrender?

If I may be so rude:
Just think on Hades, dear,
and its loveless eternity.
There, no one will give you
a second glance. In Acheron,
upon its acid river shore,
one lies not down for love
but to lament, in ash and dust,
the bygone days one wasted.

Wrong Rub

 

by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Anonymous, The Greek Anthology, v, 82

Girl of the bath,
you rubbed so hard
I thought my skin would peel.
This is no way
to make a man ready
for the hot and cool
waters. Sun-burn,
hot coals, the bite
of Medusa’s head-dress —

Off with you, then.
Go practice your art
on someone who merits
such punishment!

 

[Note: The Greeks and Romans did not have soap. It was the custom, upon entering the public bath, to have a preliminary skin cleaning by an attendant who would apply oil to one's limbs, and then, using a special tool, scrape off the oil, removing dirt in the process. Only after completing this process would one enter the waters of the baths, alternating between hot and cold pools.]

 

Money Was Made

 by Brett Rutherford

      After Callimachus, Aetia

Some kings will do anything, once
tempted by a good prospect.

“Drain not the blessed lake
     of Camarina!”
an oracle proclaimed. What then
some foolish elders did,
to someone’s profit, was just that.

Of course, the city fell.