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.
Images:
George Frederic Watts
The Minotaur
1897
Oil paint on canvas
Frame dimensions: 1485 x 1254 x 97 mm
Tate: N01634