Part XXIII

Homer’s (the blind man’s) poetry as seen by helmut s.

“Iliad XXII”

 

 

 

book twenty-two

 

  God Apollo cautions Achilles

“Why do you hurry now,

the Trojan troops are all inside the city’s walls,

except a few, led by Hector!”

Achilles in his rage tells god Apollo

to get out of his way or be cut down too.

Gently but firm Apollo reminds him,

“You can’t kill me, I can never die it’s not my fate!”

Achilles on his chariot goes with the traffic’s flow,

on a freeway-off-ramp to heaven giving Apollo the finger,

as he is closing in on Hector in a hurry.

The swift racer Achilles like the god of  fight

is chasing Hector several times around

and around the walls of Troy, just for the fun of it,

getting a kick out of having the victorious Hector on the run.

And Hector knows,

he can not return behind these strong walls,

he has to stop cowardly running from the Greek fighter.

Yet he knows that Achilles is godlike and cannot be killed

unless he hits Achilles’ heel.

Achilles gives him not the slightest chance

and as Hector lays in his blood

and Achilles is hacking limbs off him,

the dying Hector pleads for his body to be returned

to his people so he might be buried in style fit a King.

Yet Achilles seeing the limbless body

of his friend Patroclus in his mind

shows no mercy

promising

Hector’s

flesh stripped

from the bones to be

dinner for the dogs of the

underworld. Now somewhat satisfied

Achilles is ready to give a funeral to what is left

of his good friend, waiting near the boats, is the body

of his ship’s captain. Just one more atrocious act is Achilles‘ dragging

what is left of Hector behind his car for miles around and around

the city of Troy to shame Priam’s son still further.

The Trojan women shear tears for they know

it had been he the great warrior, he alone

who had been shielding them walls,

them towers, them gates and all

of them in Troy. And the

women weep for

there had

never

been a better

Trojan than Hector.    

 

 

 

 

…on the top of the desk…

Desktops are great
worksheets are great they provide
space for numbers and graphs
displayed on the screen’s desktop.

I watched him.

So did she, his computer, used to him
placing Controls, Bitmaps, Art objects
and Photos into such.

He liked her as-she-was so why did he
want to teach her all modern technologies?

Input and output, she knew
she said, memory fine.
She liked, storage.
Who cared? The past was.
Past A:\ and B:\ drive letters
meant little to her yet
teachers and writers
have always tried to
categorize drives as
Hite did and
Kinsey did and
Freud did too.
They all suffered from some
chronic disease ?

 

 

 

an angel

she looked like an angel.

He looked at her skin, the peaceful

face as she slept in his arms.

Makeup powder clogging pores.

Where the robe had opened up,

he carefully covered her, so she would

not catch a cold.

A little angel she was.

As much a saint as Maria Magdalena,

as much but not more than 110 pounds.

He who had earlier been busy with

switching and flipping, embedding

and dropping, flipping and flopping

here he held her, carefully caressing

her hair. Stroking the tips gently, listening

to the in and out of her breath.

Kittenish she had rolled up, trusting him,

and how did she know that she

could trust him?

On a printed worksheet, on the top

of his desk, his Colombian coffee

was getting old.

Realities set in, her hair so fine,

reeked strongly of tobacco.

Two’s compliment is to subtract by adding.

Her breath lazed with booze, wine

and beer, was heavy, foul in contrast

to lovely lips he didn’t dare to kiss.

Her nails painted in darkest red

all twenty of the same color.

And longer than the cat’s

claws in the curtains.

Why can’t one add by subtracting?

But subtract by adding?

She looked like an angel.

He looked at her bosom,

heavy breasts standing up,

two inch scars said implants.

Beside smelling like hell

of tobacco and booze quite stale

she was pretty, his angel.

love vs. lust

he loved his Sophia but…

…she never gave him back-rubs,
Sophia never sucked oysters while
playing with his toes,

…she never cuddled up skin to skin,
Sophia never promised to keep
him warm,

…she never kept the fire going,
stiring the log,

…she never got him his slippers,
Sophia never offered to mend
his torn trousers,

…she never offered to cook.

and he never lusted for her.

…she, Sophia, his computer,
would never do such,

neither did Sunshine do
what he had expected her to do

on pillows and under laughter he had
hoped to learn her language

com-municate freely, give and take
getting to know one another.

 

  {-:

Who was who?

Was zero = zero

or zero = one?

and was 1 the off position

or was 1 the on-switch?

0 ?

I ?

{-:

 

 

 

(Communication gaps?)
Ne!=Ja,Yes?
Ani, anje!=Nein,No?

Or

Ani,anje!=Oh ja! Oh yes!
Ne!=No!
What was right what was wrong?

 

 

 

…?don’t do nothing…

6:00 a.m.

astonished

yet friendly she opened her eyes,

she looked at him,

looked at the robe she was wearing

and the blanket and him

still being fully dressed.

“Don’t do nothing?”

shy acting she got up

and tip- toed to the door,

not looking back at him on the floor.

And she went to her apartment

where she did not need her keys

for it was never locked.

The red light in the window

and the rapist wanted sign on her door

showed age and had been much useless.

Much like her calls to the rape crisis center

for active guys’ phone numbers.

And as she left, she left her clothing

in his room except her bra

which was lying outside on the stairs

leading to where they still live,

next door to each other.

Astonished she threw the old wanted sign,

the red light- bulb and his name

into the same box, to be buried

at the landfill north of Marina.

<>-;

 

6:30 a.m.

self-help

…and he opened the gift he
had bought for himself.

Not more than 4 aspirins
every four hours, he read.

Twenty four he counted
out and flushed them down

with a sip of imported water.

 

print

He had not slept much if any,

but he had what he needed

for this day, he had created

his masterpiece and nothing else

was needed but to print it.

He knew it was ready and

polished to be used.

 

 

?Why not

His mind was still on Sun-

shine who comfortable, in his robe

had been naked within his arms.

Why not did he make love to her

as she was sleeping?

He had dreamed about

such since the first day he saw her.

Yes why didn’t he take the

opportunity

when he held her?

And he told himself that it was

nothing but the pretty picture of

her asleep, the innocence of a

face belonging to the soft body

of a tender sex kitten sleeping,

which truly had been around.

He did not understand how he

had been taming his lust which

had wanted to do like Zeus did to Leda.

He did not know why he did not

use the advantage he had but

then he remembered why!

For he had asked her

and her answer was: “Ne!”

His desire had to stop there for

her “Ne!” was a “Ne!”

a ne-gative answer.

It did not matter that everyone

knew that she changed boyfriends

at the blink of an eye.

I did not matter that she

had been circulated due to demand.

It did not matter that even last night

before coming to him, she had gone

with the fellow who drove her, Paris,

from work to here to the beach and

all these others, yes

what about the carload of guys?

Yet a “Ne!” was a “Ne!”

but she was drunk and would not

have known?

Yet a “Ne!” was a “Ne!”

Maybe he was wrong and she

wasn’t the kind of woman every

man knowing her, said she was?

Maybe she was not at all like Deborah

and Aphrodite and not like Rosa

or Putaconsalsa.

 

Why didn’t he?

?Why not…

 

ILIAD XXIII 

 

 

 

 

 

…and have a most beautiful day, every day!