United States, (b. 1946)
Circe
- for “Perseus”
- I
- [Circe and Odysseus confront each other. He has come to her palace
to retrieve his crew, all but one of whom she has turned into swine.] - Because your men were making pigs of themselves,
- that’s why. And for fun.
- Notice, there’s room in the sty
- for at least one more—beast.
- Look sharp!—
- Those wolves—
- I made them, the lions too—they’ve come to stay
- though they think like men (I didn’t change their minds)
- that they can cajole me—
- what oinks and whines!—
- with gutsy purrs to break the spells.
- It lends
- a certain pathos to the place—no?
- The sun’s
- my father. I inherited his lack
- of pity—
- only a degree of power—
- like him
- I love to captivate—
- in my way—
- turn back
- evolution a bit now and then—
- a whim.
- But you look antsy—you look mad in fact.
- Come in.
- Let’s talk.
- It’s only the first act.
- II
- Yes, that’s my loom in the hall.
- I sing and weave . . .
- uh . . . curtains—
- most middle-class witches do
- to some extent,
- No, you mustn’t leave—
- stay.
- Wallow for a while.
- I may spare you
- the pain of sailing home alone.
- Disarm
- yourself.
- Tell me about your battles or
- your loves—show me you can match my charm
- and maybe I’ll relent.
- Here, let me pour
- you a drop of honey wine—Aeaea’s own.
- Aeaea: Land of Wailing.
- I didn’t name
- the place.
- It’s also known as “Isle of Dawn.”
- I wish you’d stay for it.
- You must.
- Don’t blame
- me, Darling . . .
- Sleepy?
- (Here’s one final touch
- I hate to give.)
- So much for that.
- So much . . .
- III
- [But Hermes has given Odysseus the moly flower—a kind
of rue—whose fragrance protects him from Circe’s spell.] - It doesn’t change you!
- Damn—who gave you rue—
- pure petals and soot black root, the one
- brash plant I can’t outcharm.
- But—entre nous—
- I’m kind of glad.
- I’ve wanted a distraction
- from the usual makeshift metamorphosis
- I do.
- If you want to know—
- I’ve had it up
- to here in half-lit halt-wit magic trash—
- this living debris—
- you see—my empty cup
- runneth over:
- abracadabra———gush.
- I didn’t really want revenge.
- Did you?
- No stock in men—
- no men in stock—
- seduce
- me now if you can.
- Unbutton me, undo
- a loneliness.
- I’ll wear the moly flower
- in my hair—
- mercurial gift,
- mercurial cure.
- IV
- I made both palace and zoo with words.
- I talked
- myself into them, made words things,
- and now
- beyond all that—
- well, there you are.
- You’re not
- one of the phantoms.
- I’ll have to let you go.
- So there you are.
- Your crew is all brought round.
- Let’s celebrate my broken wand.
- Here’s wine
- (it’s safe), a bath, a purple quilt . . .
- We’re found
- and lost in luxury—
- ruse-lovers, twine
- to be.
- Even so, please know
- I know you will
- leave me . . .
- quite speechless.
- think perhaps you dreamed
- and tell Penelope so.
- I see it all—
- that’s the curse of my kind, to see:
- You’ll say I schemed
- to keep you.
- Please say now it isn’t true.
- You want . . .
- you want to dance with me,
- don’t you?
- V
- [After a year of pleasure it is time for Odysseus to set
sail again for Ithaca, and Circe offers her assistance.] - I send you to Teiresias because you must
- know what you are about.
- You’ve made enough
- false starts.
- I’ve taught you this and a little trust
- in love and play’s not a bad thing.
- But love
- and play alone can’t get you home,
- so run
- along:
- with the North Wind to the Ocean Stream
- to the stand of willows that that great yawn
- Persephone loves—
- so much—
- then kill a ram
- and ewe the color of sun eclipsed
- (which I
- will kindly provide—
- my love—
- as an offering
- to Hell without you).
- Make sure you wave away
- all the blood curious ghosts all clustering
- for sips and thrills;
- then wait for the prophet—he
- will gulp some blood,
- then tell you about the sea.
- VI
- As if you didn’t know.
- Your end must come
- from it—
- the waves around Aeaea now
- are rife with it—
- no matter.
- Take it from
- me—you won’t believe it.
- So you go—
- and so it goes—
- with you—mortality—
- double trouble . . .
- Self-pity stinks.
- Here, take
- this—it’s a breeze, really—
- to nudge you on
- toward Perpetual Dusk . . .
- Please stop
- on your way back.
- That was quick.
- Now off again—
- sinking twice—
- I can’t get over it.
- Three sons . . . I
- wish . . . Kiss me.
- Now.
- A last word of advice:
- Shut out Sirens—
- bitches compared to me.
- So long.
- The willows’ sea crows know this much:
- even a witch can feel—
- the finishing touch.
© Pamela White Hadas. Designing Women. Alfred A. Knopf, (1979).
About the Poet
Pamela White Hadas (b. 1946) is a U.S. poet, author and playwright. Hadas was born in Holland, Michigan and received her Bachelor, Masters, and Doctoral degrees from Washington University in St. Louis. She has published four collections of poetry as well as a several books of criticism.
Hadas’ poems employ the dramatic voice of monologue and often function as performance pieces as well as poems. She is recognized for her skill in developing the voice of historic, unusual women. [DES-11/10]