To Spin a Yarn

(Minotaur’s Soliloquy, While He Trains His Senses In The Dark)


By Yiannis Doukas 


Was it the nine nights of love,

until the birth of those

who, mouth of honeycomb,

will make a fool of you

and clench you with their thighs

and uncompelling truths?

Or was it those two mountains

in courtship with their eyes,

as every little pebble

oozed and hovered?

Or the assaulting Sky,

the thud of his descend upon the Earth?

He tells her, I’ll have you

an accomplice to my force

and you’ll intend to be

its only victim.

Or was it, damn him,

an oath-breaker,

dumbfounded, swaddled, breathless?

Our bodies’ memory

which now unlearns the touch?

My art of dissonance,

a tickle of the Tartarus

my moon, I’ll be the first

to land on you.

I warbled, I lost track,

I dared descriptions

and hid into the labyrinth

to hatch them.

I waited for the thread,

so long, in vain,

as if a single ball of spring

had not been left unburied.

Entangled, all alone and all-curled up,

discussing with my nape,

in every fold, I said,

your cheeks are reddened

by heat and want and shame.

Stay here and crouch;

from what you’ve written on the wall,

from what you’ve gathered in the sea,

from what you mean, we won’t make any sense.


George Frederic Watts 

The Minotaur 


Oil paint on canvas 

Frame dimensions: 1485 x 1254 x 97 mm

Tate: N01634