Odysseus in Cempsibriga
My journey has been long, and aided by
The constellations we were taught to read
As children destined to embark on ships
Of wood whose planks were bent and sealed with tar.
Poseidon’s wrath of waves that batter boats
And break them into driftwood washed ashore,
I could survive till now with aid from gods
Who gave me moly* or a magic scarf.
So here I am at the edge of the sea where I watch
The sun dip down—not drown—beyond the edge
Of this round disc on which all life exists.
The people of this place have welcomed me.
My name, my fame, the wars in which I fought
Are all unknown to these kind fisher folk.
The ones they call the Lusitanians
Live north of the great river we’re below.
The language was at first harsh to my ears
Until I watched them point to things I knew
And heard the sounds they made were not unlike
An ancient form of my beloved tongue.
Our sounds for mother, father, sister, brother
Had sprung from kin that wandered long ago
To settle in a place where life could be
A life of peace and joy under the sky.
And yet, as we all learn before we die,
Without a core of young and able men
Who train the arts of war to stop a war,
No life of peace and joy can be attained.
Although I am well past my hero days,
My arm is strong, my eye is sharp enough
To show these brave new warriors the art
Of hurling spears that never miss their mark.
Their bows are oak that shows dark red inside.
With loving care and patience they can form
An instrument that stands as tall as I,
With bowstring from the sinew of wild deer.
They live from fish that swim quite close to shore
And still they hunt in teams of five or six
Inside the forest that protects their flank
From those who would approach them from the East.
Their arrows travel swift and straight and true.
I have not taught them much they did not know,
Except my trick with axes in a row
So that my arrow passes through the eyes.
I showed off that last year, my tenth year here.
In secret I prepared a special bow
That only I am strong enough to string
Before I let my magic arrow fly.
It’s best done sitting in a steady chair
Or throne that sits well on the level earth
And gives my elbows room to stretch the string
That sings in tune with Homer’s fabled lyre.
A Cempsibrigan gifted me a wife,
The youngest daughter of an honest man
I helped to build a house atop the hill
That overlooks the harbor and the bay.
Her hair is dark, with curls she binds behind
Her neck—as white as feathers of a gull—
Her eyes as blue as sea and sky above,
Her step so light she walks upon on a cloud.
As a man who has seen perfidy and war
Destroy the lives of cities and of kings,
I hesitate to speak of fragile love
That can dissolve with misplaced word or glance.
Yet when her heart beats on my chest at night
My heart beats in a rhythm linked to hers.
Her body bore a treasure, my Athena,
My seven year old nimble-witted goddess.
So clever, so swift, she donned my battle helm
And built a thick-walled fortress in the sand,
Then pointed to the cliff above the town
Where she would build a castle made of stone.
My years are numbered and I will not see
Her ripen into beauty like her mother.
I will not see her castle on the hill
From Hades, dark and silent underworld.
Athena, goddess of wisdom, Athena Hygieia,
I dedicate these feeble lines to you
In supplication for your precious namesake
And beg to keep her safe from evil’s harm.
Your shrine, I built where she wants her castle.
I told her mother where to hide this scroll.
Should Cempsibriga live into the future,
My story will one day perhaps be told.
*A magic herb with black roots and white flowers that was given to Odysseus by Hermes to ward off the spells of Circe.
