Tags
Canadian poet, Elaine Stirling, medieval French fixed verse, poetry with a sense of humour, the heroine's journey, the myth of Sisyphus, triolet
~~three triolets~~
I
Sisyphus, it’s Zeus, your ancient cortical
connection to full power over gods.
You no longer stand so vertical,
Sisyphus. It’s Zeus, your ancient cortical
desire to dominate, toppled to diagonal.
Where wisdom finds no purchase, idiocy plods.
Sisyphys, it’s Zeus, your ancient cortical
connection to full power over gods.
II
Oh, suspicious Sisyphus, your sibilance
sprays pointlessly like toms among the spayed.
What use is your opinionated vigilance,
oh, suspicious Sisyphus? Your sibilance,
unlike my rain, is spit and spit upon. To push against
resistance steepens your already hopeless grade.
Oh, suspicious Sisyphus, your sibilance
sprays pointlessly like toms among the spayed.
III
Thanatos (Death) and I with Hermes have conferred.
You’ve pushed your rock up long enough. No more!
So what, you’re man enough to give the gods a bird?
Thanatos (Death) and I with Hermes have conferred.
It’s time you faced downhill, my friend, and heard
what sings beyond the morbid river Styx dark shore.
Thanatos (Death) and I with Hermes have conferred.
You’ve pushed your rock up long enough. No more!
~~~
Some years ago, I co-facilitated a series of goddess workshops for women, based on my adaptation of The Hero’s Journey (called The Heroine’s Journey). We rented the upstairs floor of a Starbucks convenient to us all. The name of the Starbucks manager? Zeus. You can’t make that sh*t happen.
The tight, repetitive form of the triolet seemed to lend itself nicely to poor, boulder-pushing Sisyphus. It also gives a sense of how it might feel to have the father of the gods spray-talking at you.
© Elaine Stirling, 2016
