The Punishment of Marsyas
Posted: Sun Feb 04, 2024 1:43 pm
The Punishment of Marsyas
Marsyas in his travels finds a flute
and plays on it. It is the sort of hour
a god may step from Heaven. And in fact,
Apollo comes to Marsyas, who has
seen none more holy. Now, the flute
slips from his fingers. Now, the easy hand
that plucks the lyre, the drinking cup, the bow,
peels Marsyas the way one peels a fruit.
What does the satyr see? He sees the god.
What does he hear? The singing of the god.
What does he feel? The air we breathe. Nor did
he earn this torment. Such was not the death
that Marsyas imagined. From the cloud
that blanks Olympus, punishment has come
to shroud him now, though all he ever did
was play the flute and let Apollo know.
The path of Dionysus, with his mad
rout following, is not Apollo’s style.
Instead, untroubled and serene, his smile –
should he once smile – speaks of the fun he’s had.
Marsyas in his travels finds a flute
and plays on it. It is the sort of hour
a god may step from Heaven. And in fact,
Apollo comes to Marsyas, who has
seen none more holy. Now, the flute
slips from his fingers. Now, the easy hand
that plucks the lyre, the drinking cup, the bow,
peels Marsyas the way one peels a fruit.
What does the satyr see? He sees the god.
What does he hear? The singing of the god.
What does he feel? The air we breathe. Nor did
he earn this torment. Such was not the death
that Marsyas imagined. From the cloud
that blanks Olympus, punishment has come
to shroud him now, though all he ever did
was play the flute and let Apollo know.
The path of Dionysus, with his mad
rout following, is not Apollo’s style.
Instead, untroubled and serene, his smile –
should he once smile – speaks of the fun he’s had.