Robert Hunter (Grateful Dead lyricist) said a poem in a selected works is like an orphan, it’s not the same as it is in the book from which it came. Well, he said it better than that, here, but my point remains--the poem is out there all on its own without its relations. This is how I have to look at Robin Robertson’s poem “On Pharos” as I have not yet read his book, Swithering.
On Pharos
Four hollows and four seal-skins
on the beach, by a cave, their stink
undercut by the faint scent of ambrosia;
some tracks, of wild boar and panther;
the scales of a serpent; the hair,
perhaps, of a bearded lion;
torn leaves from a tree
when there were no trees anywhere near;
and, round a puddle of fresh water,
scorch-marks in the sand
and the signs of a struggle.
Seemed quiet enough now, though,
so we went and got our towels from the car.
I laughed on my first reading, a good sign, I think to get an emotional, instinctive response--it means that this poem resonates with me. Uh, oh, I thought, but what could it possibly mean, then? The note below clued me in to the mythological references and from that the poem opened itself to me…that we don’t remember the lessons of the gods. This poem for me is a Cassandra.
Note:
In Book IV of the Odyssey, Menelaus, King of Sparta, recalls being becalmed under the spell of the gods on the island of Pharos. He meets Eidothea, who advises him to capture her father Proteus, the Old Man of the Sea: a prophet who so dislikes being questioned that he will assume any form to avoid his questioners. Menelaus and three companions lie in wait, covered in freshly flayed seal-skins, and surprise the sea-god on the beach. They hold him tight as he changes successively into a variety of animal, vegetable and elemental forms before returning to the human. Proteus is then obliged to break the binding spell and free the waters.