An ancient Greek actor, if he'd read the manuals,
Spent hours before performing lying
On his back, summoning the voice
Of the character he was going to play.
He'd lie down again afterwards,
Letting the voice and character go.
This was a dangerous moment;
An interruption might leave him half Orestes
Or two-thirds Queen Jocasta.
His wife had little money so the tombstone
Was roughly made and the lettering's uneven.
After two thousand years, though, it still
Wishes you well, passerby, and wants you to know
That Stracco the gladiator fought fairly, won eight fights,
And would've won nine but for a treacherous judge.
Portunalis was the god
Of keys. Or, some say,
Of harbors or gates
Or perhaps the warehouses
Where the Romans kept wheat.
There's no record of anyone
Ever praying to him nor
Sending him thanks for
A found key or because
Their stored wheat stayed dry.
Forget about sacrifices! His flamen --
The Flamen Portunalis --
Had only one job which was
Once a year to ceremonially grease
The weapons held by a statue
Of Quirinus, a more important god.
That a poem's now been comissioned
For Portunalis puzzles me but,
Though I write poems, I don't know
Why most of them are written.
When I was in college I wrote
Any number of poems in which Death and I
Were close friends. In some we rode motorcycles;
(He'd trouble keeping his robe from getting tangled;
The wind blew his cowl back as we sped along.)
In others we wandered or looked for work
Or called each other on the phone or had fights.
I haven't written like that in years
Content to deal with younger Deaths,
Either children or young businessmen
Who'd feel ridiculous holding a scythe.
Ono No Komachi, standing by the river,
Informs the air that the spring rains
Are three weeks over-due.
The Master of Rain smacks his head,
Saying "Fool of an Immortal!"
My Grandfather Joe returned
From the Great War with a stranger's shadow.
It mimicked him fairly well but sometimes.
Lost in thought, would keep on imitating
Some gesture after Joe had finished.
It didn't speak a word of Yiddish until Mabel,
Joe's sister-in-law, taught it a few commands
Nemt di fis arop funem tish! Take your feet off the table!
Es nisht di kats esn! Don't eat the cat's food!
Her aoyf tsu pruvn makhn di tsayt loyfn tsuri!
Stop trying to make Time run backwards!
At sea, the galley slaves were fed
But on land they fed themselves
Hauling, lifting, pushing or selling
Things made from broken oars --
Jacob's ladders, spheres, lidded boxes,
Model ships or joint-limbed figurines
With expressions that changed
Each time you looked at them.
