Inspired by “Eurydice’s Footnote,” by A. E. Stallings
I
Be careful when you speak the name
Of Orpheus;
For though I hear he’s everywhere—
In bars, on Broadway, and in beats
Of poetry, both yours and mine—
He’s still owed some respect;
He’s still owed some contempt;
Are you not furious that he
Just had to trust Eurydice, but
Couldn’t, didn’t have the faith;
And what’s a faithless love?
What’s love unless someone could walk
For lifetimes, through infinity, and
Never turn to see
Knowing
Their heart is close behind?
What is a poet who can sing
To Kings and Queens and Shades Below,
To readers years and years away,
And to his love, when they’re alone,
But can’t stay silent and be sure
Of anything he’s done?
Drunk on shadows, singing show-tunes
We write down as glorious;
The legacy, the tragedy
Of Thracian Orpheus.
II
Where is beauty,
Where is love
In this great myth about a man
Who strutted before Hades and
Turned on his loving wife?
But then I’ll think
How lonely, and how mournful
He must be—
So far (for now) from what he loves,
Just like Persephone.
How many nights has he lain weeping
Under trees who loved his song?
Can lyre-strings or wedding rings
Give him joy anymore?
It’s what he gets, what he deserves
For facing gods and Fate:
Yet facing them, knowing you’ll fail—
That’s where the beauty lies.
For what shines brighter than a light
Against unyielding, boundless night?