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The following three poems are from my collection “Devotion to Heroes,” and deal with Grail legends, biblical myth, and an ancient goddess.


Parsifal (Parzival, Perceval)

Too close and deep is the king’s malady,

never relenting, never asleep, he.

The fallen knight upon the bier,

who cannot see and cannot hear,

for whom lament is ever raised,

all at once remembered and praised,

will never rise from there:

it is for legend this tale to bear.

Auf, Kundry, auf, and into the east

go, past man, past beast

and into regions unfurled,

there to seek throughout the world

for a medicinal balm

to restore to your master peace and calm.

But, failing that, I tell you:

let us all search for the one so true:

the one unformed in heart,

his heroism to impart

to make the land less waste:

oh, Parsifal, come now in haste!

Get the holy blessed spear,

get it, pray, and bring it here,

to forever undo the pain

of what Amfortas does remain –

and then, from that, I duly own,

you will have warranted your blessed throne.

King Solomon’s Epicedium

Once I lived in power and splendor,

riches beyond the sea

, with house and all provender,

still here comes death to me.

What gain, my wealth and all my might

or piles and stacks of gold

, if it is only into night

I go now I am old.

I am known a wisegreat king.

Sapientia my name – and further on –

as so many now do sing –

salaam – shalom – selam – Solomon.

Meat and drink I gave not nane,

but gave them out to all as one,

from kings quite mad to poets sane

, no matter their rank or station.

Not this is why I am remembered

, and others do invoke my name

, but for poetry unencumbered

I wrote my way to fame.

Death a state I yield no lot,

nor seek to understand

every soul it seeks or that it sought

through one and every land.

I die – where now my chains of gold,

my coffers of the same,

mighty vistas, view of old,

remnants of my name?

My story plain is to see

in books devoted to mercy mild;

a kingly crown was laid on me

when I was but a child.

I dream still of those days,

as do many so.

What mysterious ways

that time so long ago.

And so now my life is over

and so now my course is run.

This funeral song I offer,

a second epithalamium.

Ishtar the Ineffective

Oh queen of redacted lore!

Where have you gone – are you no more?

Oh, goddess most dispassionate,

is it man you most of all hate?

Because in, around, and heroes through

it’s never been much help from you.

When faced with stories of a Flood

ravaging all those cities of mud,

what was your help to impart

except to muse on mortal heart?

Your pantheon has now long gone –

but you, alas, do you journey on?

Does Enlil keep you by his side

though heroes have gone far and wide

and battled through the Flood

that ruined house and walls of mud?

Tell me if this belies us.

Oh goddess good, why do you despise us?