Yesterday by chance I climbed the highest summit of poetry. The comparisons in the Iliad are like short daydreams. In the middle of the carnage, thoughts naturally turn away towards the order of things, wind, rain, seasons, or to the order of human labours. We give only brief glances at this wise and eternal nature, brief glances which are metaphors. We no longer know how to compare, because we want the comparison to be adjusted to the object; but on the contrary, in Homer, the comparison is contrasted with the object. Hence the contrasting terms, the straw in the wind, the snow, the lion, the beacons sending an alert from one island to another, are developed always according to their own law, or better, assert their own law. And if it’s said that the warrior falls like an oak, the imagination has to pause in a short scene of high mountains, forest, a woodcutter, a fire of twigs and the smell of a rustic meal. So the fire of the passions throws light on something that it can’t destroy, but by which, on the contrary, it is nourished. For where have these oxen and the wine, that feed courage, come from if somewhere far off a man was not driving a plough? And where have the ships come from without the woodcutter?
So, following this deceptive war and this true peace, both warhorses driving our thoughts, I had arrived at the extreme point of anger. Achilles covered himself with ashes and rolled in them like an animal; Achilles swore to slaughter a dozen captives on Patroclus’ tomb; Achilles showed himself above the rampart, a furious flame; Achilles shouted three times; he no longer had weapons. It’s then that the god of blacksmiths sets to work and thinks with his hands. Silence. The shield of Achilles is decorated with thoughts. The Homeric daydream appears; the world is created anew, as it is, as it was, as it will be. Here is something greater than the Bible; for the separate God could only create the world once. But what does the blacksmith god make?
First he makes the sky and the earth; the sun, the moon in splendour, the Pleiades, the Hyades, and the Great Bear facing Orion. And then he makes two cities; in one, marriage and trial, flowers thrown, children running, lawyers and judges; with the other, a siege, armies, famine, an ambush for cattle; and the arrows fly. And then he makes labours; and, a marvel of the art, although the sculpture is in gold, we see the earth darken behind the plough. The crops, harvest and fruits; then the grape harvest; then songs and dances. In short all of human history, following the eternal return of the seasons and the ages. This doesn’t raise questions, this doesn’t give reasons, but carries reason, madness and everything. This signifies the gods; the celebration of festivals; what we thank each morning, what is most beautiful each morning. Birth, loves, labours, thoughts. This sufficiency of the world as it is; these first industries, which never tire; this felt harmony of the world and the human. A charter of life. A charter of peace. Everyone a sign and happy as such. Vulcan has competed his work; he throws the new weapons at Thetis’ feet. Wisdom and peace, these are what Achilles will push before him into the fray, and despite himself; so the blacksmith has decided.
(May 29; PI)
Translation copyright Michel Petheram