Adam Elgar
At the Revival of the Atlantean Ambassador to the Greeks
They are a swarm of lawless malcontents
Hatched from the slag we cast five centuries ago,
Tied to the whim of their disgusting gods,
Knowing no quietude until they take
All quiet from the world. Ambitious, driven, thieves….
And all their world is bronze.
(Christopher Logue, after Homer)
Day One
his eyes stay closed
we wait for breath
his ours
while our array of instruments hums in a chromium glow
submersibles patrol the exposed streets of their long-drowned capital
his grey skin grows paler
Day Two
his chest rises falls
his eyes still shut us out
valves and lab coats whisper
stifled expectation dries our mouths like panic
the temple of the sky god opens like a flower to our probes
behind the lab’s glass we hear the sea growl
Day Three
his eyes are open
their green stare still excludes the world
no one is sure if a syllable just slipped between his lips
on the page his language rises
and falls like music on its staves
we riffle our Homeric phrase books hoping he will recognise our dubious
stammered Greek
the theatre has been revealed
our explorers marvel at the purple images of maidens dancing with butter-
flies huge as eagles
Day Four
we sit him up
he is lighter every day
in his ear someone whispers philoi friends
adelphoi brothers
his flinch is almost slight enough to miss
our cranes and diggers have opened the stadium
limpet-crusted statues commemorate magnificent contests of grace
spray smudges light against the windows of the lab
our vessel rocks minutely in the swell
Day Five
his hands cover his face
small sounds emerge between his fingers like bubbles
we transcribe them with great care
the archaeologists have entered the hall of sleep where citizens assembled to
collect their nightly allotment of dreams
his skin is translucent now
as we change his dressings we see a small pearl-coloured box lying in his belly
Day Six
he is nothing but water
in the box a fragment of papyrus
bronze-minded men
they are the time to come
their only purpose is pursuit
we are ashamed to meet our women’s eyes
the air is growing filmy salt and chill
let this be the end
the sea was also in the box
we stop our ears at its roar
..........................................................................................................................................
Page(s) 53-55
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