The Beast

 by Brett Rutherford

     Adapted from Leonidas, The Greek Anthology, vi, 262

There was never enough meat for me.
Night after night the flock I slew.
By day I raided the cattle-pen
and sent the herdsmen running.
The howling of dogs did not deter me;
     by fang and claw
     I reduced their number.
(Unfit to eat, I left them
     for crows and scorpions.)

One night as I crept silently
toward a sheep-fold,
Eualces the Cretan
rose up and killed me.
Just like that!

Now from this pine I hang
     and rot. Winds
tear off tufts of my fur,
     and birds annoy me.

Each day there is less of me.
My shadow, four legs in leap,
a terror for all, thins out.
Now no one looks up
and cries, “Lion!”

The Cynic's Fall

 by Brett Rutherford

Adapted from Leonidas, The Greek Anthology, vi, 292.

Lookee here, Cypris!

At Aphrodite's porch

the strangest offering

ever, deposited:

a rude staff, two worn

and re-sewn sandals

that everyone knows

belonged to the Cynic

Sochares, whose gaze

went up and over us

without a glimmer

of romantic interest.

See now, his dingy

oil-flask, his worn-out

change-purse full of holes,

his carry-bag full

of crumpled papers,

that long essay

he never finished.

Is he dead? Oh,

not at all. Rhodon

the beautiful one

has made him swoon

with late-arriving love

and the lad made off

with everything portable.

Rhodon, a thief? Ah, no,

for all the booty hangs here

on the temple porch,

a testament to Eros,

and proof that every man,

even a philosopher

with an averted eye,

even an all-knowing

graybeard can fall

from his high perch,

his strong will quenched

by tender passions.

Hail, Rhodon,

youth mightier

than all philosophy!

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