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XVII. Antinous and Hadrian: Then and Now: A Closing Cluster
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ONE: From the MS of a Latin Philosopher
...apart from this, the omens were not good,
the failed inundation, trouble in the east
the emperor's health. his necromantic
court began to seethe with horoscopes
and signs and sacrifice
all that hocuspocus rigmarole.
i stood aloof and laughed - but not aloud,
that could be dangerous. he was himself
purported to be a seer
pachrates of heliopolis
(miscalled the city of the sun
black nest of charlatans, dirty priests)
came to the emperor's attention
with his inflated poem
(he scribbled too)
on the great lion hunt in the libyan desert
(the mangy beast was crippled and half dead)
pachrates' poem toasted the emperor's pride
his need to be seen as that great hercules
who slew the nemean lion
('no mean' feat!). the turgid epic
inflated and enflamed imperial ego
already far too big for its large boots
in receipt of this precious package
this masterpiece of modern verse
to heliopolis hotfoot hadrian came
to consult the wonderful wizard
who in a wind of words and pale papyrus
conjured up a hero from a king
there he found him stirring his pot
in a shabby outhouse full of spiders
muttering his febrile incantation
'take a mouse, drown it in clear water
take two beetles ditto in the same
select a kid, the old goat's daughter,
feed her baboon's feces for her shame
two ibis eggs frankincense and myrrh
crocus onions (anything you like!)
at moonrise on the rooftop make a fire
burn in it a chicken and a shrike'
...so on and so forth, you know the score.
the emperor was amazed and dropped his jaw
they brought a man in, young and strong
naked muscled healthy
(that made the emperor stare!)
bound him to a rickety old chair
which in his struggle broke
and threw him to the floor
pachrates advanced, primed by his spell
and all the smelly vapours of his pot
and gesturing wildly stilled the thrashing youth
who in a while lay dead upon the spot
(a simple case of poison i suspect)
for this the emperor paid the prophet well
for this and that great poem of the hunt
double the expected fee
with further expense for the boy and his family
embalming and a decent burial
then returned to canopus for tea
i leave you to draw the moral for yourself
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TWO: The Message
a small square of papyrus
on it in red ink the words
'nothing but the imperial slut
nothing more than the royal whore'
in latin in a scholar's hand
only a latin would think it not a greek
the tight-arsed latins with their moral code
what hurt was that he thought the same himself
but who could it be?
and was the feeling general?
the brightness of the alexandrian day
seemed suddenly dull
he stood in the balcony, gazed at the canal
a group of egyptian boys in a tiny boat
smiled and waved at him and blew him kisses
'antinous! antinous!' across the water
their kohl-lined eyes so bright
he showed it to balbilla. she cuddled him
and said that it was nonsense
written by a jealous boy
but the poison festered and the poison spread
what had he made of his life? what had he done?
nothing nothing nothing
everything seemed pointless, everything dull
the emperor's embraces sickened him
but he dare not say a word.
if only he were back in claudiopolis
if only he had never left bithynion
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THREE: The God Antinous
the sculptor has overstepped the mark -
how might he appear victorious, that mere boy?
the lover of an emperor, it's true
but hardly an immortal god
but then again 'mere' beauty is divine
the possessor of this beauty more a god
than any deity
more of an incarnation than a man
iconic to the last hair and fingernail
unclothed, a breathless wonder
with all the living attributes of Phoebus-Apollo
a mirrored sunrise as he walks the street
adored by millions, whom can he adore
but his poor self?
what darkness when he looks into his heart!
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FOUR: Age Difference (Hadrian Alone)
when young I thought in images not words
mentation a procession on a freize
much older now my contemplation's formed
of dull prosaic blocks of hammered stone
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FIVE: Serpent in Eden: A Modern Antinous and Hadrian
sad dead leaves dropping
and the dripping vegetation
sopping wet, rain running
off my crested hat and down my neck
I hear the roar of engines in the gloom
the lights flash, blinding flash
and then go over
with diminished thunder
come indoors and find my prey
undress and greet my prey
and spread my hood
rise and hiss and sway
upon the pillowed bed
half-turning from the subtle folded waist
two lovely sun-kissed melons are revealed
revealed and savoured by a flicking tongue
warm wet forest snake along the ground
slithering sliding greedily
so sensuously
slipping between the gourds, bright-eyed, alert
for every lick of moisture-nectar
blond fruit of this exotic outsized plant
hands are extended - this snake has hands -
reach and touch in ecstacy, so smooth
ascend and grip the waist, relax and tickle
he slides along his prey's tan heaving back
becomes a patterned spine
and writhes there
scents his bristled neck
the while his tail slips in between the gourds
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SIX: The Death of Antinuous
To the south
the cataracts are boiling.
Soon the Inundation comes.
In this temple
the god is now unveiled while
sistra shake lasciviously
in young boys' hands.
Hapi comes waddling thru the oozy mud
flapping his tail and showering his shit.
Upon the moored royal barge
Antinuous undresses,
his lithe and lovely body outlined
against the glittering Nile,
the craft still decked with fading flowers,
still hung with bunting
from yesterday's river journey.
In the palace, after a night of love,
the emperor bathes, anoints himself,
looks out across the river.
He watches smiling as Antinuous,
poised on the poop, waves to him
then dives.
Another boy, less beautiful than Him
(no light outshines His star)
brings the emperor's robe and jewellery,
adjusts his dress with wandering hands,
smiles at his master with lascivious lips
generously wide.
Hadrian's arms are open, the page slips in,
a light carress ensues. 'It is no sin'
the man-god thinks 'to accept
the living bounty of the gods.'
A hubbub from the river, screams and shouts.
The emperor kisses Moeris.
"See what it is."
The cataracts are foaming
in the south. The deluge comes.
With incense, blood and music
Osiris now steps forth into the world.
The orgiastic ministrants are coupled,
hidden in smoke and darkness,
around the altar upon the ground.
A garland in his hand, the emperor stares,
unbelieving the appalling news.
The flowers drop upon the marble floor,
are trampled by unheeding feet
dancing with shock and grief.
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SEVEN: Mourning and Resurrection
the emperor was not mad nor wholly sane.
from his dictation i inscribed these words
in what he called his little magic book...
* * *
the serpent is enclosed in the crystal cube
from which a tiny manikin squeezes out
a condensed drop of the vapour of nonbeing.
the fourth of the three (the three have formed a fourth)
descending this chryselephantine tube
gains access to the sterile outer air
where it coiling writhes in its despair.
something lingers from the former void
something turns and spirals on the air
and at the bottom of my marble stair
is found that precious entity
which nobly always undestroyed
outstrips the limits of enclosing fear.
it is his spirit, free of earth and air,
his fire quenched in water and released.
accessories and ornaments dissolve
and leave but one stark image in the waste.
with what pure force that image must involve
is now a question of the utmost haste.
he must embark and sail the solar barge
across the soaring vault of dark despair
bringing light to these benighted nations
and to my veiled soul.
the image reaches out, but what is found?
there's nothing here but vacuum and void.
the serpent sinks and fecundates the ground.
the earth is heaving, the crystal cube destroyed
cracked thru its heart and shattered by this force.
when first the glass is splintered, spheres must fall.
and when the spheres have fallen, what ensues?
disruption of the vision liquifies all,
mind is watered by enfeebling dews.
those dews inject a subtle sense of sin
which weighs upon the consiousness of man,
even an emperor's consciousness.
soft sleek slithered serpent-forms begin
invasions of the spheres which mind began.
* * *
antinous has died for us, will save
the empire of the romans and my soul
descending to the darkness of this grave
to lift me with him and to make me whole.
i stand beside him in the boat of light
we voyage thru the heavens with the gods.
he scatters the invading deadly night.
we cast aside these grave-goods and our shrouds
and join our flame of being with his flame
and storm the eastern horizon as we rise.
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Note: This completes the outline of my Antinous-Hadrian cycle of poems. I may add other poems to the cycle as time goes by. And additional poems follow these.
The painting is 'Funeral of a Mummy' by Frederick Arthur Bridgman.
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