"The goats of Parnassos have an aesthetic."
(Avgeris Kanatas, painter)
We are descendants of the hecatombs.
We live well; ours is, you might say,
an enviable life. We see the sun rise
over Parnassos; we watch its ritual
descent beyond Itea's bay. Our gaze
is reverent, we don't forget Apollo -
it's not for nothing
our forefathers perished.
Between first bells and goats' repose
we browse on slopes of native thyme;
crop cyclamen from callused rocks
(we relish petalled things)...
Bells are the only remnant
of our servitude.
We don't remember what misdeeds
our ancients were suspected of -
bells are our sentence; we don't mind,
we rather like the sound.
Why are you looking at me
with that camera?
We goats have nobility; we breathe
the chill, sweet air of Ghiona, living
in hopes that Pan will come again.
And we give thanks.
Monologue of the Goats
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103022300328
Свидетельство о публикации №103022300328
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