REHEARSING
FOR DEATH
Memory has no end here and no
beginning . . .
The fever was a crown of scarlet roses
around my forehead, a crown so tightly
I could not take it off, and a holy
delirium had risen up inside me,
when You, in the shadow's sacred
gateway.
in the haze where my eyelids were
immersed,
half-opened the door. Your hair loose,
arriving
not as a bitter mourner, all lamentation,
to weep in early spring over my body
where it lay stretched out corpselike on
my bed,
but as Astarte, who days ahead
prepared
her body so that she might enter Hades
with it,
might bring her body's light to Hades,
to make all Hades radiant with her
and serenely she reviewed the days
of her great, her godlike trial: three days
to fast. three more to wash herself
completely
in the sacred springs, to wash her hair,
bring her head delight, to comb and
brush it,
paint her lips; and when she'd dressed
herself
in seven robes, the one over the other
slowly revolving like planets around
her divine nakedness, she would then go
down
step by step into the Darkness, throwing
off
a robe at each gate until, in the depths,
in the ultimate holy dpeths, she brought
her never-setting light to Hades
so that her nakedness would abolish
Hades;
You too came down to me like this,
prepared,
and lay down close to me, mute,
motionless,
and Hades was abolished in my heart.
Hades became a resurrection and a
triumph,
I held the great pearl in my hand, took
spring
into my heart, and felt the scarlet roses
of my fever suddenly become
a crown, felt my black bed become a
the unhurried ship of God, and my
struggle
the navigator of my mind among the
Even the Shunammite did not lie like
in David s bed to warm his frozen limbs,
David the prophet and king whose
spirit now
no longer knew the pslams and in whose
was spent that holy virile heat which
roused
the king and prophet in him, the fighter,
the dancer, the first defender of God's
ark;
even the Shunammite did not lie down
beside David as You lay beside me
that time my heart was sinking into
Hades.
Because You did not come to mingle
the treasures of my pain from streets
where mortals walk;
but as two stars circling for countless
mingle suddenly, the one beside the
and earth and heaven are full at their
mating,
so You lay down beside me, and I
stretched out
one hand to touch the sky and with the
gently I held Your head, and the whole
earth
filled with our embrace, the earth sailed
_
the stars, the earth sang psalms, and my
bed's prow
climbed toward the pole, crushing the
waves of time,
and beginning, voyage, end, were all
a cataclysm of celestial light before me.
And there, from my being's depths,
from the depths
where a god lay hidden in my mind's
shadow.
the holy delirium was now set free.
and from the obscurity of my silences
powerful verses suddenly engulfed
my brain, quick verses, and they spoke
these words:
"For You this bed is not a sick man's
bed
but the mystical trireme of Dionysus
that flies above the waves of time, above
the closed Rhythms of Creation, flies
swiftly,
like an arrow, flies with great force.
Listen to Your freedom's sound; if only
the whole of You was burning with a
and if Your body flamed like pine
kindling,
it was so that You could discover how
to burn.
Because now You are coming near the
that is not in creation but in the mind
of the Creator Himself. The star that
shines
beside You is Hebe's, eternal Hebe's,
the star that pierces through the light
You are no longer with what the sun
illumines
but seem to be a fire-enkindled soul
in the sun’s depths. You seem inside
the sun,
and the flames that light the other stars,
that light
the world, are now outside, outside of
You.
You see the stars; the stars do not see
You.
You see the world; the world does not
see You.
You seem all hidden in Your passion's
and from there You aim Your arrows
where
creation's stubbornness has not yet
dawned.
For You this passion is a rehearsal
for death:
rehearse it as is worthy of the holy fire
deep inside You. that Your mind
encloses
not as created but as Creator.
It is a rehearsal for death, a great
beginning,
height and depth are one now; Your
mind is on
Olympus, Your heart gently illumines
Hades.
A great beginning, a great bow has
been placed
in Your hands, and do not be afraid
to bend it, so that the arrow of Your
longing
wings far beyond all obstacles.
until You join the living god who rises
in one resurrection after another,
striving to create one flesh above all
flesh out of his flesh; the living god.
striving always to shape, not in marble
or in verse, but in a deathless body,
a soul and stature worthy of his breath;
sleepless Artificer. seeking through fire
to make the clay statue of man at last
incandescent. Listen to Your freedom’s
sound . . .
Death for You is now the shape of
longing:
nourish it until it rises to the height
of its deliverance, crushing death with
death.
I no longer say to You: to emerge
from the ages You must Yourself become
Behind You the world burns like Troy,
and its burning is reflected deep in things
as in the sunset the windows of a city
blaze with reflected flames, then
suddenly
sink into the coming night.
And beyond—
smoke, clouds from the same fire—what
regards as things to come dissolve
slowly
and end in nothing. But You, release
Yourself
continually from time. Leave the
ignorant
and coarse-cut generation to its thinking:
nothing but lies and debris; plunge
wholly
into the immortal shudder
that floods Your mind, where the
stubbornness
of creation has not yet dawned, plunge
so that the whole radiance of Thought,
the total
'Let there be ... ' lights up Your
mind and body."
This way the God who hides deep
inside me
set free for me the holy delirium
with his sudden verses, at the moment
when, like Astarte entering Hades—
even the Shunammite never entered
David’s bed like that—You suddenly
the blood and spirit from the fever
burning
my forehead, drew it into this mystical
into the perfect rehearsal for death
that, piercing through the day's
deception
locked until yesterday inside my heart,
now shatters the barriers of time,
breaks the barriers of fate and the
world;
and enthroned above time and fate,
above
the world, where the stubbornness of
creation
has not yet dawned, from there releases
(O star of Youth, star of eternal Youth),
for a divinely rejuvenated universe,
(Memory has no end here and no
beginning)
the oceanic sound of my freedom!
—Angelos Sikelianos
Angelos Sikelianos Selected Poems
Translated and Introduced by
Edmund Keeley and Philip Sherrard
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ART
Denise Clark, Artist
726-4889, Eugene
Original etchings, lithographs,
and drawings.
Commissions accepted.
Marvin Denmark, Cartoonist
935-4589 (local call) Evenings
Cartooning, lettering, technical
drawings.
Cheryl Reed, Graphic Designer
342-5068/345-0942, Eugene
Experienced, professional.
Advertising design, photography,
screen printing: cash/trade.
Kitrick Short, Artist
Soundworks Gallery, Marcola
933-2382, Marcola (local call)
Original stainless steel sculpture.
Oil and prints, rare master's graphics.
WOOD_
Ave/John Norem, Woodcarver
435 Lincoln, 484-9204, Eugene
Exhibits, Sales, Instruction.
I enjoy and teach, the tools for each,
Reach for olde treasures in the wood.
COLOR
Debra Eberhardt, Color Consultant
484-5090, Eugene
Color draping, original paintings,
spectrum designs.
DANCE
Dunya & Naira Jalal, Dancers
Raqs al Qamar Troupe
484-4068/343-6189, Eugene
Folk to cabaret Mid-Eastern dance.
Performances for large, small groups.
Carol McIntyre, Director
Aloha Nui Dance Company
484-9874, Eugene
Authentic Polynesian entertainment
for large and small groups.
Carol, Middle Eastern Dance
933-2382. Marcola (local call)
Performances, instruction,
Belly Grams for
large or small groups.
Barbara Sellers, Teacher
683-2215/683-5294, Eugene
Classes in American Belly Dancing,
and the dances of North Africa at
‘ Dance Spectrum.
VIDEO
G. V. Stathakis, Video Vignettes
484-0432, Eugene
"Valiant Efforts" that tap
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and the "Hearts of the People”
WRITING_
Robin Leigh, Editor and Tutor
484-3922, Eugene
Imaginative or academic writing.
Overcome your writing blocks.
MUSIC
Majida Friedman, Voice
485-0979, Eugene
Developing the natural voice.
Singing for all ages.
Karen Owens. Musician/Manager
Apples in Winter, Irish Pub Music
342-6187, Eugene
Humorous and sentimental songs.
Vocals, authentic folk instruments.
Linda Spangler, Piano & Guitar
2441 Emerald, 683-6280. Eugene
Creative, supportive instruction in
a variety of styles.
Peter Thomas, Composer, Guitar
2045 Pierce, 343-5070, Eugene
Classical guitar. Performances privat
or public. Instruction at all levels.
THEATRE
Celeste Bennet, Director
Oregon Fantasy Players
686-1574, Eugene
Original plays and puppet shows.
For groups of any size.
CLOTHING
Anne Henry, Handmade Clothing
345-3597, Eugene
Flannel shirts, vests, pants, dresses,
skirts: some with embroidery/
patch work.
Star, Creative Costuming
Saturday Markel through Christmas
P.O. Box 10162, Eugene 97440
Street clothing with a unique touch.
Hats and capes a specialty.
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