For Barbara Z.

Six of the poems in this collection have been published collectively as "Ariadne, of Theseus:" in 13th Moon (Vol. VI, No. 1 & 2, 1983).

"God by God goes out, discrowned and disanointed
But the soul stands fast that gave them shape and speech."
—Swinburne

Grandma Crete:
Knossos is her navel,
Khania, her eye.

Once upon a time, the entire Aegean Sea, including the island of Crete, was governed by the Great Goddess, She-who-has-No-Name, although she was called Rhea by the Greeks. The entire universe was her domain. She made the stars circle in the heavens, she caused the earth to be fertile and procreate, she tamed the fierce beast, she governed the sea. Neither life nor death was an enigma to her.

The Goddess, of Herself:

I crouch beside you
tending the crop, the weed
causing them to flourish,
to wane. I stand.
My thighs pour forth women.
She of the broad hips
protects childbirth.
She of the single spear
watches warriors wage
their pitiless battles.
She sitting under the tree
is goddess of the harvest.
Yonder is the sea goddess
and the earth goddess—
she around whom serpents twine.
These are my children.
They drop from me like tears.
They multiply,
but they never escape me.
They're mine, all mine.

The Goddess:

I mate with Asterius,
the starry-eyed,
he of the changing shape
now bull, now man.
We croon.
Our mingling bathes
the universe in light.
We couple, part.
A blessing is delivered:
an upstart, a son.
We name him Zeus.

Zeus was born on the island of Crete, in a cave deep in the forested mountain of Aegum. After he grew old enough to embark on his career of pillage and rape, the old Shape Shifter returned to Crete with a captive, Europa.

Europa, of Zeus:
He tricked me.
I thought he was a white bull
in my father's herd.
His honeyed voice spilled in my hand.
He let me fondle him.
He let me weave a plait of flowers for his head
before he scooped me up
flew with me over the wide open sea
before he knew me
here
under the ever-green leaves
of this plane tree.

Crete, of herself:

Fertile is my bosom which gives rise to ranges of mountains.
Fertile my plains, covered with forests of olive and oak.
Fertile the pit of my arm, from which sprang Knossos from which sprang the Palace of the Double-Ax

Fertile my children who leap bulls.
Fertile my bulls who inseminate women.
Fertile my cows who bear calves
who nurse with no distinction, the calf and the child.

When and how I was born, the sea is my witness
The sea, and the sky with its hot eye of day
its cold night moon
And the earth. She remembers. Her body bears the scars.

When I was still young, still an Eden of olive, of oak
I watched Europa seduce Zeus, saw her climb to the top
of the plane tree, saw her beckon the circling eagle:
watched him dive, land, his larger-than-life-size wings
flapping, and then enfolding her as he plunged
between her thighs. She bore him three sons.
One was Asterius: he who would become the Minos of Knossos
he who would live in the Palace of the Double-Ax

When I was young, my children leaped bulls
My bulls inseminated women
My women seduced bulls
My cows nursed with no distinction the calf and the child.

When I am old a new breed of men shall be born:
They shall rise out of Athens.
They shall synthesize.
They shall borrow from the Nile, from the Orient.
They shall worship Daedalus, but they shall be sterile.

They shall come out of Athens.
They shall be leaped by bulls.
Their swords shall be long and lean,
But my double-ax will defeat them.

Long after Greece is dead
Long after her Golden Age is dead and buried by my mother, the earth
Long after her burial shall their name be remembered.

Zeus returned to Europa, under or on top of the plane tree, for several years. Unto her were born Minos, Rhadamanthys, and Sarpedon. When Zeus was tired of Europa, he turned her over to Asterius, king of Crete, who adopted their children as his own.

Europa, of Minos:

He was my first-born.
"Little general," I called him.
This angered Zeus.
"Why do you want a warrior for a son?" he asked.
I tried to explain but could not—
the allure
of the spear
the sword
the double-ax.
"Avenger," I called him.

Labrys

I am the ax that chops in two directions
I am the proverbial double-edged sword
I am the moment of truth

Thus it was that Minos came in line for the throne. He was not the only contender: his two brothers also wanted to rule. Minos went down to Crete's edge. He called upon Poseidon, God of the Sea. "Give me the power to become the King of the Aegean, and I shall grant you one wish," Minos told Poseidon. Poseidon agreed.

Crete,of Poseidon:

He forgets himself.
He thinks I float on his face like a bark on water.
He flings himself on me
Over and again over.
But he forgets himself.
He forgets how deep my roots go
He forgets I am attached to my mother.

Sometimes he remembers.
Little Pimple, he calls me, lapping along my side.
Earth's Cheek, he calls me, foaming across my lap.
Big Tit, he calls me, ramming his waves home
his foam-filled eyes rolling when he sees my mountains
ranging high against the blank blue-black void of the sky.
Big Tit, he cries
flinging himself on me
again and again.

He forgets himself.
He wakes.
He thinks he created the bull.

That is the way with gods
drunk on their own power.
He remembers his name, Poseidon
but he forgets himself.

He did not create the bull, nor did I.
But I am a great beauty.
My daughters leap bulls.
They have no fear—nor I—of water.

Earth, as Crete, of the Bull:

"Give me a sign," howled Minos
As he flung his ring seaward.
The ring struck water.
A bull appeared.
This was nothing new.

The Bull, of Minos:

He was the son of Europa and Zeus.
He lived in the house of Asterius.

"Give me a sign," said Minos
but he couldn't believe his eyes
when he saw (or thought he saw) a bull
corning out of the sea.

He believed he ruled me.
He knew how to tap my power,
but he couldn't hide me.

The Bull, of Minos:

He loved me.
He loved me but he dared not kill me.
I saw the love—and fear—in his eyes
the instant my hoof struck sand.

He feared me more than he loved me.
Confused by his own memories:
A Woman
A Bull
A coupling in the forest
Three sons born
He dared not name me.

"After Zeus, Poseidon," I heard him say
as my hooves struck the sand.
But he dared not speak to me directly.
Against me he dared not lift
his double-ax of sacrifice.

When Minos failed to sacrifice the great white bull from the sea to Poseidon, but instead hid the bull in his herd and sacrificed another, Poseidon got angry. He caused a curious curse to be laid on Pasiphae, wife of the king.

Crete, of Pasiphae:

She bore Minos eight children.
Life began to seem predictable.
But she was rescued (as women sometimes are)
by an overwhelming lust.

She trembled in her loins.
"I must have the bull," she cried.
"I can't live without him."

This was true, and not true.

Daedalus, the artisan, the craftsman, the smith, lived in Athens until, in a fit of jealousy, he killed his nephew Perdix for having invented the saw, the circle-inscribing compass, and the potter's wheel. Daedalus fled Athens for Crete where he put his considerable, almost magical, skill to work for the royal household. For Pasiphae, he created the artificial cow, for Minos, he invented the Labyrinth, and for Ariadne, he untangled the secret of the Labyrinth by giving her a ball of thread. This last deed caused Minos to imprison Daedalus and his son, Icarus, in the Labyrinth from which they escaped by flying. Icarus, as is well known, flew too near the sun, melting the wax with which the feathered wings were bound. He fell to his death in the sea. But Daedalus escaped—to Sicily.

Pasiphae, of Daedalus:

A clever smith he was
But not as clever as Athena
Who taught him everything he knew.

Still, he was talented.
He invented the single ax
By breaking our double ax in two.

The Earth, of Daedalus:


He believed he could contain me,
harness me, shape me,
encase me in whatever form he would.
A wooden cow. A maze.

Give to airy substance a form and name, thought Daedalus.
A clever man, although not clever enough
to convince his own son to fly low.
Much escaped him.

The Bull, of Pasiphae:

She thought she loved me.
Her love was a ruse, but no more deceitful
than the crude wooden heifer
Daedalus built to contain her.
How he smirked when, together
they tested it.

As if it would not work.
As if I could refuse her.

"Little general," she called me,
patting my skin as she climbed inside.
It was her idea of foreplay.
She also liked charades:
the first night, a wooden cow.
the next night, naked under a peplos.
the third night, meet me in the center of the Palace with a rose
in your mouth.

It was nice while it lasted.
It lasted until I quickened in her belly.
The conceit of women: that they bear life, not death.

Pasiphae:

My crime was not that I mated un-naturally
(from such a coupling was Minos himself conceived)
My crime was worse: I chose not to be master.
Minos believes in mastery. I lost my faith
along about the time the third child was born.

The Earth, of Pasiphae:

They will call her "lewd"
They will call her "luxurious"
They will say she "doted on a white bull"
Their smiles will be lascivious
They will part their teeth and lick their lips
Their graduate students will wonder.

To the union of Pasiphae and the great white bull, a child was born. Because of its unusual appearance, it was soon nicknamed The Minotaur.

The Minotaur, of himself:

I was the child of unnatural lusts
and it showed.
Head of a bull, I bore
and genitals of various kinds.

Daedalus, of Minos:

When he saw his step-son
his first thought was how to conceal his disgrace.

Minos was not fooled.
He knew a monster when he saw one.

Pasiphae, of the Minotaur:

I named him Asterius
after the king of Crete who married Europa
Europa who coupled with Zeus
and bore him three sons.
This king named the sons his heirs.
One of them was my husband.

I named him Asterius
but I called him "little general"
after General Taurus
to spite my husband.
The help gossiped.
Soon it was all over town:
"she coupled with the general
behind Minos' back"
they said, and believed it,
and made a joke about Asterius:
Minotaur, they called it.

That's when Minos built the prison.

That's when Minos began talking to Asterius
of his power, and of the Labyrinth
which nobody could escape.

The Earth, of the Minotaur:

He believed nothing, of course
that being the way with beasts.
Smarter than man in that regard
although men call them dumb.

The Earth, of the Sea:

The Minotaur believed nothing, nor did the sea
that spewed the bull upon the shore
that caught Daedalus's son
that lapped at Ariadne's naked feet
that bore Theseus safely home
and Minos to his death.

The Earth, of the Sea:

Death and birth are one to the sea
scarcely making a ripple
scarcely denting its surface.

The Minotaur:

I was maligned.
It is true that I ate people,
but my appetite has been magnified.
Minos, my false-father, was stingy.
He only gave me seven Greeks (male)
and seven Greeks (female)
once every year.
I was not greedy.

The Labyrinth, of the Minotaur:

Inside me he stomps around
lonesome for his grandfather, the Sea.
He thinks I've imprisoned him,
but that's a lie.
My walls are high, it's true
but they have no doors.
Only corridor opening into corridor
opening into corridor opening,
at last, —to the Sea.
But does he believe it?
No, he's content to mope around
imprisoned by air.

Meanwhile, Athens was in an uproar. A stranger had come to town, garbed like a girl, and had revealed himself to be son of the king of Athens. Theseus was his name; Athena was his patron. When Theseus heard that Athens must send, as tribute to Crete, a cargo of young women and men to be eaten by the Minotaur, he volunteered to go and rid Athens of this burden. The king of Athens was disconsolate, fearing that he would lose a son only too-recently found. He rigged Theseus' ship with black sails. "If you should live," the old man told his son, "change the black sails to white so that I may have advance news of your fate."

Earth, of Theseus:

Athena sent me, Theseus howled as he sprinted to the shore
as though he feared to touch water.
He had reason to fear.
He would bury his father, as he himself would be buried
in that watery grave, the Sea.
But only the Fates knew that.

The Labyrinth:

My symbol is the double-bladed ax.
Theseus killed the Minotaur with a sword.
I killed his father with my double-bladed ax.
So subtle was the slaying Theseus never even blamed me.
So large his ego, he blamed himself.

The Labyrinth:

Theseus believed that he had defeated Crete
when he came out of the Labyrinth
his limp club oozing red
a lock of hair for the proof

But it was only the Minotaur that was dead.

Ariadne was the daughter of Minos and Pasiphae. She was also high priestess in the temple of the Great Goddess.

Ariadne:

I wanted Theseus, I got him.
That was a lesson.

Ariadne, of Theseus:

I watched him cut holes in my father's ships
to prevent the fleet from following.
I wanted to believe him.
Sleep perched at my head.
While I slept, Athena abducted him.
Mind over matter, the same old story.

Theseus, of Ariadne:

She believed she could outwit me
convert me to her strange cult
make me drop good Greek sperm on her island
but she deceived herself.
I wasn't fool enough to marry her.

Ariadne, of Theseus:

It was a mistake of judgment on my part.
I was young,
he was good-looking,
I couldn't resist helping him—
that's what they will say of me.
But the truth is this: I used him.

Ariadne:

The history of a woman (written by men)
is a history of her lovers
as though nothing else were important to her.

According to the patriarchy I am
the woman who helped Theseus
the woman who fucked Bacchus
the woman who married Daedalus

Some mention, in passing
that in the course of this life
I got what I was after:
immortality.

Ariadne, of Theseus:

When I woke on the island,
Theseus had gone.
I could see his ship's sails
still visible on the horizon.
He couldn't stand
our wedding night.
I told him I was a virgin.
I told him he had to go slow.
I told him it hurt.
By the time he came
I was screaming with ecstasy.
He fled.
Bacchus continued.

Ariadne:

The patriarchy turned me into a victim.
Unlike Helen, they say, I had no husband to rescue me.

Ariadne:

The sailors, passing by, heard my screams.
They did not stop.
"Bacchus is killing her," said some.

When I did not return, the lie increased:
she killed herself, they said.

Some people just can't stand
the sound of a good orgasm.

Pasiphae, of Theseus:

He ditched my daughter.
The scholars will call
his "little failing."

After being deserted by Theseus on the island of Naxos, Ariadne was wed by Bacchus. Through him, she gained the immortality she was after. Later, when Bacchus tired of her, she settled down as the wife of Daedalus.
Theseus, after leaving Ariadne, returned safely to Greece, but he failed to change his sails. His father, standing on a high cliff watching for the ship's return, saw the black sails and thought his son dead. In anguish, the king of Athens threw himself to his death.

Earth:

Theseus killed the Minotaur.
The sea killed his father.
Theseus took the throne of Athens,
but his traveling was not done.
Have you heard how he lost
half of his posterior
in the nether world?

Theseus was hailed by all Athens
when he did what man had never done before:
conquered women.
He defeated the Amazons.
He married Hippolyta.
Some say she got hers.
Some say we're still paying
for the crime of Theseus.

Pasiphae, of Theseus:

He ditched her.
He ditched my daughter.
And then my husband ran off
chasing Daedalus
got himself boiled in oil
for his trouble.

Left me the palace.
The Labyrinth, the Greeks call it.
Never saw anything like it
for size
for splendor.

It's mine now.

Crete, of the men:

They buried Minos there, in foreign soil
where to this day he twitches and turns.
As volatile as oil. He combines with the elements.

Daedalus and Theseus have left.
I'm glad.
Didn't much want their kind hanging around
Although Daedalus had a nice touch
Still, he was too infatuated for my taste.
Let Sicily have him.

Earth, of Pasiphae:

She is dead.
I take over the household.
I cover it up.