by Brett Rutherford
adapted from Callimachus, Epigram 60
What kind of man
would love Orestes?
Who, knowing his friend
must his step-father kill,
and then his mother,
would hand him the knife
and say, “Go do it?”
Such was Pylades.
He soothed the brow
of Orestes through all
his madness, slept next
to him in blasted wood
and caverns unlit,
flinched not
as Furies screeched,
and Hades’ judgment
hung over him.
A happy man, Orestes:
despite his madness
he clung to his friend
and never asked of him
the ultimate gift
of the inverted sword,
never once said,
“Friend, end my life!”
I had such a friend
and did not know it.
For all I know,
I had many Pylades,
but seldom saw
who was seeing me,
whose hands outstretched
would have eased my days.
I played one role
in but one drama.
