3 poems
selections from Seven Sermons from the Bacchae
First Sermon
Out of Asia.
From holy Tmolus. Altered in a rush
to the work,
the sweet work
of Dionysus. Praise!
Who comes? Who
clears the way?
Let every voice testify to his approach. Let none blaspheme.
Sing his hymns.
To Cadmus were born the daughters Autonoe Ino Semele Agave and
the son Polydorus. Zeus, desiring Semele, slept with her in
secret from Hera. But Hera duped Semele. Zeus had agreed to do
whatever Semele asked and she asked that he come to her as he
came to Hera when he wooed her. Zeus, unable to renege,
appeared in her chamber in a chariot with lightning and
thunder, hurling a firebolt. Semele died from fright
and miscarried a six-month baby. Zeus seized the child from the
fire and sewed it into his thigh.
Yes, she’s blessed,
witness to mysteries,
knows his rituals, bathes her spirit
in the rapture
of the lord.
On the mountain.
Cybele’s secret rites:
the fisted thyrsus,
the twisted ivy.
Disciples of Dionysus!
Come, believers, come!
Rumbling God’s son,
Dionysus, lead us
out of the Phrygian hills into Greece
along the broad path to the Thunder!
And in the proper time Zeus gave birth to Dionysus, loosening
the stitches, and he gave him to Hermes. Hermes committed him
to Ino and Athamas and persuaded them to raise Dionysus as a
girl. Hera, still angered, drove them mad.
Born in thunder,
delivered in lightning.
But born premature,
delivered too soon
and swallowed away
in Zeus’s thigh,
in a cavity
in Zeus’s thigh
beneath gold clasps,
hidden from Hera
then born again,
as was ordained,
a horned god
crowned with snakes.
When they gather together their writhing brood
his maenads too shake braids of adders.
Zeus tricked Hera, turning Dionysus into a kid and taking him
to Hermes had him conveyed to the Nymphs living in Asia, those
whom later Zeus made stars--the Hyades.
Good Theban women,
weave ivy crowns,
leaves swollen green,
supple and abundant.
Braid twigs of
oak and pine.
Trim your mottled
fawnskins with twists of soft white wool.
Righteous handlers of the fennel wand’s force,
summon the nations to come dance now,
where the Lord will lead his congregation.
To the mountain! To the mountain! There--
throngs of women,
looms left behind,
stung by Dionysus.
Earth and Sky had prophesied to Cronus saying that his rule
would be taken from him by his own child, so he swallowed his
offspring. Angered, Rhea went to Crete and when she swole with
Zeus gave birth in the cave of Dicte. She gave him to the
Curetes and to the children of Melisseus--the nymphs Adrasteia
and Ida. They fed the child the milk of Amaltheia and the armed
Curetes guarding the baby struck their spears against their
shields so that Cronus would not hear the cries of the child.
In a cave,
a cambered vault,
on sacred Crete
Zeus was born.
His infant cries
drowned in drumming.
Minoans found sound!
Sing with the siffling Phrygian bone flute.
Give your breath to the mother Rhea.
Sing hosanna! Stomp sing and shout, believers!
Run wild in the woods, a frantic band.
Fulfill the will of the Goddess mother.
Move your bodies
in ecstatic revival.
Dionysus is glad!
Those glad heights.
That surge of worship--
epileptic, apoplectic, on the ground in fits.
The kill dressed,
the blood of the goat’s a gift.
Climb up on the mountain, Phrygian, Lydian,
where Thunder leads.
Hallelujah!
Milk spills on the earth, wine spills
and sweet honey.
Smoking pitch smells
like Syrian incense.
The sparks stream
from fennel stalks.
Arouse into movement,
moan and shake,
heads thrown, hair askew in the air.
From all sides the shouts of praise.
Come, you believers.
Come, believers, come!
Clatter your bracelets.
Praise the Lord!
Drum the thunder.
Glorify God with your voices. Say hallelujah.
Shout out your hosanna--speak in tongues.
When the song,
holy and melodious, opens its voice, rising,
roaming on the mountain--on the mountain--
that song’s a young animal set loose
to feed and move limbs in rhythm--a believer.
Second Sermon
Ivytwined muchrumbling Dionysus, we begin:
Glorious son of Semele and Zeus
whom elegant nymphs received to rear
and nurture wisely in the lap
of Nysa. His father fostered him
in a fragrant cave among immortals.
While the goddesses raised him hymnfully
he would wander the woody glens,
decked in ivy and bay. He led
the nymphs rumbling through the wood.
So we praise you, abundant Dionysus.
Give us gladness in this season
and in many seasons to come.
Holiness. Sweet Lady
Holiness, come down
on golden wings.
Do you hear
how they blaspheme
against the Thunder?
Semele’s son who
presides in joy,
best of the blessed, this is his:
the ecstatic dance,
the laughing flute,
release from care
when shining wine
flows at banquets,
human and divine,
and the cups wrap them in sleep.
After the discovery of the vine, Hera drove Dionysus mad and
made him wander Egypt and Syria. First Proteus, king of Egypt
received him. But he departed to Cybela in Phrygia, being
purified there by Rhea and initiated into the mysteries and
equipped by her, he hastened to India through Thrace.
An unbridled mouth
and ungoverned mind
always end badly.
But peace in
body and spirit,
a steady hand
will ever prosper.
From the sky
heavenly beings see the life of humans.
Knowledge isn’t wisdom.
Life is brief.
To think otherwise
and chase madly
after fleeting things--
never resting content--
I tell you this is human folly.
Lycurgus, child of Dryas, king of the Edonians who live by the
River Strymon, first expelled Him outrageously. And Dionysus
fled to the sea--to Thetis, daughter of Nereus. The Believers
were captured and many of the satyrs following Him. But soon
after the Believers were suddenly released and Dionysus drove
Lycurgus mad.
Come to Cyprus
where love lives,
where it beguiles.
Come to Paphos.
Come to Egypt’s
rainless plain fed
by the Nile,
to lovely Pieria,
the Muses’ seat,
the holy slopes
of Olympus. There, Lord--Lord!--lead me.
Holy Spirit move.
There with Grace there with Fervor there
believers will worship.
The son of
God delights in
the good gifts
of generous Peace.
He gives both
rich and poor
his carefree wine.
But he hates
those who shun
his bright life,
who reject wisdom in favor of speculation
beyond human bounds.
The simple and the common rule serves
as my guide.
Fourth Sermon
I will recall Dionysus, Semele’s son,
how he appeared on the shingle
of a headland as a youth
with mane of dancing dark hair,
purple cloak across his compact shoulders.
Will I dance
again barefoot nightlong
through thick air
a free believer?
As a fawn
in green ease
when it’s escaped
the closing hunt,
the strung nets,
shouting trackers and
their lunging dogs
after it sprints
like rushing wind
to make the safety of a riverbank
with quiet shade
away from men.
Planning to go from Icaria to Naxos, He hired a trireme of
Tyrrhenians. But once he was aboard they sailed past Naxos and
pressed on to Asia to sell him into slavery there.
What then is wisdom? What better gift from the Lord
than his hand
that vexes enemies?
God is good.
Though they tried to bind him,
he slipped the withies at his
hands and feet and sat smiling
through his blue eyes.
Slow yet certain
all the same
God’s power moves
against those who
with perverse teachings
deny his authority.
He hides cunningly
on time’s heels,
hunting the unholy.
Never set yourself
above the law.
It costs little
simply to believe.
The force of our Lord is divine,
lasting through time,
evident in life.
But soon a marvelous thing occurred:
First, the murmur of wine, its
fragrant tang filled the black ship.
All the sailors sensed it, dumbstruck.
Vines began to grow and tangle
the sail, here and there clusters
of grapes, tendrils entwined the mast.
Flowers bloomed and delicate fruit ripened,
trimming all the tholes.
What then is wisdom? What better gift
from the Lord
than his hand
that vexes enemies?
God is good.
Suddenly there in the bow
a lion--terrible--with thundering roar.
Midship a shaggy bear stood furious.
Manifest tokens!
He made the mast and the oars snakes and filled the hull with
ivy and the wail of flutes. The crew went mad and fled into the
sea and became dolphins.
They are lucky
who find a haven after a storm.
They are lucky
who overcome troubles and live to thrive.
Or others otherwise
whether in strength
or in wealth,
a thousand hopes
gained and lost.
But to be happy day to day--
this is blest.
John Tipton’s first collection, surfaces, was published by Flood Editions in 2004. Two translations of Greek tragedies have followed: Sophocles’ Ajax and Aeschylus’ Seven against Thebes. His most recent book is Paramnesia. A collage of translations from the Greek, Believers and Seven Sermons from the Bacchae, is forthcoming from Flood. He is the publisher of Verge Books, a small literary press he runs with Peter O’Leary.