by Brett Rutherford
After Theognis, Elegaic Poems 293-294
To get what you prefer
above all other things to eat,
and endlessly, is not
the best of all possible worlds.
Not even the Lion
eats every day, and meat,
perhaps, is not his only wish.
That mouth, incarnadine,
might just as well
be stained with pomegranate!
Some days the Lion is out sorts
in indigestion’s agony.
Some days, the sun and wind
are just so splendid
that merely to recline
and flick one’s tail
suffices.
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!”
by Brett Rutherford
Adapted from
Julianus, Prefect of Egypt, The Greek Anthology, vi, 28
Sparing the fish from
this day forward,
I, Baeto, old and trembling,
leave everything to Hermes —
the rods, the oar, the hooks,
a weighted net as large
as any man could handle,
the floats, the well-worn creels,
even the dark stone, fire’s mother
from which I brought that element
to warm cold nights ashore.
I am done with the sea, done
altogether, so here,
to make an end to sear-faring,
I bequeath you my anchor,
the one true thing that kept
my unstable craft in place.
