Plodding slow
In one hand staff and cup
In another
A large pitcher still
Steaming
Now
Every half minute
He
Quaffs
Quaffs now from one
Then other
His look is blank
be he sad or
Sad joy betook him?
I, Poet Seer
Will not
Leave this King
Even if beggar dressed
I would still follow:
My Muse give me
More than a few verses
Stop not,
Yield not,
Continuous Bacchanal verses.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
There is an impersonal quality to the god Bacchus in his appearance in this poem. He may be stoned on wine and whatever else he's quaffing. Or it could be we simply cannot read his divine nature, being so human and limited. The Poet Seer is characteristically sympathetic to suffering, and senses the depth of his grief. The Poet Seer calls him a King and will not abandon him. He is playing ther Antigone role to edipus.