No More Learning

XIII

They are for you, O ye graces, just a few leaves by a poet

Onto your pure altar laid, buds of the rose beside,

Offered in confidence. Artists enjoy ateliers which are furnished

So as to make for a space Pantheon-like in decor:

Jupiter lowers that godly brow while his Juno looks upward;

Phoebus takes forward strides, shaking his curly head;

While phlegmatic Minerva peers down on us, frivolous Hermes

Seems to be looking askance, roguish, though tender as well.

But it's to Bacchus, the sensuous dreamer, Cythera sends glances

Bathed in sweetest desire--even in marble they're damp.

Thinking about his embrace and its pleasures, she seems to be asking

Shouldn't our glorious son here at our side stand erect?




XIV

Can't you hear voices, beloved, out on the Via Flamina?

Reapers are now going home, back from harvesting grain.

They had journeyed to Rome from afar, and here plaited for Ceres

Wreaths which the Romans today scorn to make for themselves.

Festivals no longer celebrate Ceres, the nourishing goddess

Who replaced acorns of old, giving man golden wheat.

Let us commemorate her then ourselves in festival private

(Two constitute a whole tribe, when they are two in love).

Have you by any chance heard how that mystical, strange celebration

Followed victorious troops back from Eleusis to Rome?

Greeks were the ones who began it, and only to Greeks they proclaimed it

Even within Roman walls: "Come to the sanctified night. "

Those who were not of the cult kept their distance; neophytes trembled,

Waiting in garments of white, symbol of all that is pure.

Then the initiates must aimlessly wander about through the eerie

Circles of figures as if pilgriming through their own dreams.

Snakes on the ground were writhing about. Now virgins came bearing

Caskets securely locked, richly wreathed with grain.
Surely the gestures of murmuring priests must contain some deep meaning--

Impatient acolytes wait, anxiously hoping for light.

Not until after many a testing and trial did they discover

What, within sacred ring, secretive image concealed.

What was this mystery other than this: that Demeter, goddess,

Once upon a time had to a hero been kind.

It was to Jason, powerful king of the Cretans, she granted

Of her immortal self hidden sweet parts to explore.

That made the fortune of Crete! The marital bed of the goddess

Soon grew pregnant with grain, heavy her bounteous fields.

As for the rest of the world, it languished away, while Ceres,

Derelict of her true task, dalliance offered in love.

--Now the initiate youths, having followed this tale, all astonished,

Turned and beckoned their loves--love, do you comprehend?

See there the sacred shade beneath that bushy-boughed myrtle?

Our satisfaction will there scarcely endanger a world.




XV

Cupid is always a scoundrel, and if you believe him he'll cheat you.

Here's what the hypocrite said: "Trust me just once more, this time.

I have the best of intentions toward you who have now dedicated--

I recognize it with thanks--life and writings to me.

Lo, I have followed you hither to Rome, and I'd like to do something

Here in this far away land pleasing to such an old friend.

Every traveller I've ever known has complained of poor treatment:

He whom I recommend treatment delicious receives.

You've now regarded with awe all the structures which lie here in ruins,

Cultivated your eye, sensing each hallowed space.