: Mortal Summer by Van Doren Mark - American poetry 20th century

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MORTAL SUMMER

The Prairie Press IOWA CITY

MORTAL SUMMER

The cave they slept in, halfway down Olympus On the eastern slope, toward Asia, whence the archangels Even then were coming--even then Bright Michael, and tall Gabriel, and the dark-faced Raphael, healer of men's wounds, were flying, Flying toward the ship all ten would take-- The cave they slept in sparkled as their eyelids Opened; burned as they rose and stood; hummed And trembled as the seven, the beautiful gods Gazed at each other, wonderful again. The sweet sleep of centuries was over, If only as in dream; if only a mortal Summer woke them out of endless death.

The grey eyes of Athene, flashing slowly, Demanded of Hermes more than he could tell.

"It was not I that roused you." Hermes pondered, Tightening his sandals. "All at once, And equally, we woke. Apollo there--" The musical man-slayer listened and frowned-- "And Ares, and foam-loving Aphrodite Yawned at the very instant Artemis did, With me, and swart Hephaestus." The lame smith, Stroking his leather apron, blinked at the others, Worshipful of brilliance. Even in Ares, Scowling, and more quietly in her The huntress, whose green robe the animals knew, He found it; and of course in Aphrodite, Wife to him once, he found it, a relentless Laughter filling her eyes and her gold limbs. "It was not I," said Hermes. Thunder sounded, Weakly and far away. And yet no distance Wrapped it. It was here in the lit cavern: Here, or nowhere. And the trembling seven Turned to the rock that sealed a deeper room. There Zeus, there Hera sat, the feasted prisoners Of a still greater person, one who changed The world while there they mourned, remembering Ida. Some day they too would sleep, but now weak thunder Witnessed their remnant glory; which appalled As ever the proud seven, until Hermes Listened and leaned, then spoke. "It was the king Our father. He has willed that we should wander, Even as in a dream, and be the gods Of strangers. Somewhere west of the ocean stream He sends us, to a circle of small hills-- Come, for I see the place!" That suffered thunder Sounded again, agreeing; and they went. Out of the cave they poured, into spring sun Whose warmth they yet increased, for the falling light Was less than theirs was, moving as they moved. No soldier and no shepherd, climbing here, Would have discovered deity. The brambles Hid as they ever had this stony hole Whence seven had been wakened, and where still, Enormous in dark chains, their parents wept.

But who were these arriving, these gaunt three On giant wings that folded as they fell And staggered, then stood upright? Even now Michael had dropped among them, with his archangel Brethren, bony Gabriel and lank Raphael. From nearer Asia, lonely a long while, They had come flying, sick of the desert silence, Sick of the centuries through which no lord, No king of the host, had blessed them with command. As orphaned eagles, missing their ancient's cry, They had come hither, hopeful of these seven, Hopeful of noble company, of new act. Now on the prow they gathered, and no sailor Saw them; but Apollo did, and Artemis-- Fingering their bows--as Hermes reared On tiptoe, smiling welcome. Aphrodite, Slipping to lee of Ares, feigned a fear More beautiful than truth was; while Hephaestus, Curious, near-sighted, fingered those wing-joints Athene only studied where she stood.

"Whoever you are," said Hermes, "and whatever-- Pardon this--you were, sail now as we do, And be the gods of strangers far to west. If only as in dream the vessel draws us, Zeus our sire consenting. Your own sire--" But the three stared so sadly over the waves That Hermes paused, and beckoning to Gabriel Whispered with him alone while dolphins played As lambs do on dry land, and fishes scattered.

Alone to Hermes, while the dolphins heaved Grey backs above green water, Gabriel murmured: "Your sire. We had one too. And have Him still, Though silent. It is listening for his thunder That leans us. He is busy with new folk, New, humble folk he speaks to in a low voice. We have not learned that language--humble words, With never death or danger in the message. A star stood still above a stable once, And a weak infant wept. And there He left us." "Our sire," said Hermes, "--he too sleeps away Our centuries. We have the selfsame fortune. Sail westward with us then." And Gabriel nodded.

Daniel was mending fence, for it was May, And early rains had painted the drear pastures. He walked, testing the wire, and wished again For his old pipe. He missed it, and grew moody. Berrien would never notice it on the shelf; Berrien would never bring it. A good wife, But scornful of the comforts. A good woman, Who never guessed the outrage he had done her. New Year's Eve, and Dora. He remembered-- And set his jaw, missing the pipe stem there. He pulled at a slack strand of the barbed wire, And snagged himself--here, in the palm of his hand. A little blood came which he wiped away. He did miss that tobacco. And he did, He did loathe simple Dora--warm and simple, Who with her dark head nodding close to his, On New Year's Eve, had done with him this outrage. He would forget her if he could; and old Darius, her profane, her grizzled father. So proud of her he was, and kept so neat The mountain shack they lived in, he and his one Sweet chick he swore was safe as in State's prison. Daniel counted the months. Was the child showing? Darius--did he guess? And Doctor Smith-- Would she have gone to him? Daniel looked off, Unmindful of the beautiful May morning. Bruce Hanna, that poor boy. Was he suspicious? He had been born for Dora, she for him; And then last New Year's Eve, when the sleigh bells rang So slyly, writing ruin in cold air! Daniel, wiping his hand again, looked back At the wild barb that bit him. Who was that? For a quizzical, small stranger stood by the fence, Feeling its rust, its toughness. He was swarthy And lame, and had bright eyes. And in his hand A pipe--for all the township Daniel's own!

"Here, have you need of this? I'm on my way Northeast awhile, repairing peoples' ranges. It gave itself to me, but you can have it."

Then he was gone, unless he walked and waved-- For someone did--Daniel could not distinguish-- From the far border of the field. The small Stranger was gone, and all that Daniel held Was a filled pipe bowl, comforting his palm.

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