The Death Of Odysseus Poem by Ivan Kovacs

At long last Ithaca had become a haven
And the long hours spent sitting on the portico
Were no longer idleness but a fulfilment.

Framed between two pillars,
And resting on the waist-high wall,
Stood an old, gracefully curved urn.

On either side, a view of the Aegean,
The deep blue occasionally interrupted
By the passage of a sleek ship with its colourful sail.

And white foam clearly showed as its bow
Ploughs steadily through the waves.
In truth, he thought, this is where I belong.

Pallas Athena no longer came to visit,
Her virtues long at home inside his heart.
And Poseidon was now safely held at bay.

Sometimes, his eyes narrowed
As he scanned the water near the coast,
He could see dolphins leaping as they arched

For a few moments above the surface of the sea;
Poseidon's trident had been replaced
By the watchful eye of Calliope.

Thinking back and thinking ahead had become one.
Like a Cyclops, his eye had become single,
As if it contained all knowledge,

As if he had become the whole wide world,
And time, no longer counted in hours or days,
Had simply become the Eternal Now.

He drank his wine and ate well,
And would listen when visitors stopped by,
Offering companionship and some story to tell,

Mostly it was his solitude that gave him joy.
One afternoon, with a cool breeze from the sea,
He became overwhelmed by all he had known,

And all he had done. His limbs went limp,
His lips set in an archaic smile.
At last he had become what he had always been -
The archetypal and immortal hero of an epic plot.