Искусствоед
Christopher Logue
In Agamemnon’s Tent
Achilles’ face
Is like a chalkpit fringed with roaring wheat.
His brain says: “Kill him. Let the Greeks sail home.”
His thigh steels flex.
And then,
Much like a match-flame struck in full sunlight
We lose him in the prussic glare
Teenage Athena, called the Daughter Prince—who burst
Howling and huge out of God’s head—sheds
From her hard, wide-apart eyes, as she enters
and stops time.
But those still dying see:
Achilles leap the 15 yards between
Himself and Agamemnon;
Achilles land, and straighten up, in one;
Achilles’ fingertips—such elegance!—
Push push-push push, push Agamemnon’s chest;
The King lean back; Achilles grab
And twist the mace out of his royal hand
and lift it … Oh … flash! flash!
The heralds running up …
But we stay calm,
For we have seen Athena’s radiant hand
Collar Achilles’ plait,
Then as a child its favorite doll
Draw his head back toward her lips
To say:
"You know my voice?"
“You know my power?”
"Be still."
( from War Music)
In Agamemnon’s Tent
Achilles’ face
Is like a chalkpit fringed with roaring wheat.
His brain says: “Kill him. Let the Greeks sail home.”
His thigh steels flex.
And then,
Much like a match-flame struck in full sunlight
We lose him in the prussic glare
Teenage Athena, called the Daughter Prince—who burst
Howling and huge out of God’s head—sheds
From her hard, wide-apart eyes, as she enters
and stops time.
But those still dying see:
Achilles leap the 15 yards between
Himself and Agamemnon;
Achilles land, and straighten up, in one;
Achilles’ fingertips—such elegance!—
Push push-push push, push Agamemnon’s chest;
The King lean back; Achilles grab
And twist the mace out of his royal hand
and lift it … Oh … flash! flash!
The heralds running up …
But we stay calm,
For we have seen Athena’s radiant hand
Collar Achilles’ plait,
Then as a child its favorite doll
Draw his head back toward her lips
To say:
"You know my voice?"
“You know my power?”
"Be still."
( from War Music)