THE GRAVE OF ODYSSEUS Peter Huchel None shall find the grave of Odysseus, no thrust of the spade the encrusted helmet in the midst of petrified bones. Don't look for the cave beneath the earth, where a draught of soot, a mere shadow, injured by the torch's flaring pitch went to its dead companions, its hands raised, weaponless, smeared with the blood of slaughtered sheep. All is mine, said the dust; the sun's grave beyond the desert, reefs filled with the water's deafening roar, the endless noon, that still fives warning to the sea-pirate's son from Ithaca, the rudder, gnawed by salt, the charts and manifests of the ancient Homer. [trans. Joel Spector] BACK