Driven over high seas in a fast ship Attis
Touched down in the Phrygian grove on quick keen foot
And in woodland approached the goddess’ haunts
Veiled by shadow, summoned there in heightened frenzy,
Drifting from his senses,
He freed with sharp flint the weight from his groin.
And when he felt his remaining limbs were male-free,
Still soaking ground below with fresh blood,
She took quickly in her pale hands a light drum –
Your drum – Cybele, for your rites, mother,
And tapping hollow bull hide with slender fingers
Commenced with trembling voice her song to her companions:
‘To the heights, Gallae, come together to Cybele’s groves,
Together come, Mistress of Dindymus’ vagrant flock,
Who like exiles sought places unknown
As friends of mine and followers of my way
And endured savage salt and wild sea
And unmanned your bodies in deep hatred of Venus.
Hearten the mind of your mistress by meandering quickly,
Let the thought of dallying delay fade from your mind, together come
Let us lead the way to the Phrygian home of Cybele,
The goddess’ Phrygian groves,
Where cymbals cry and drums call back,
Where Phrygian flautist plays profoundly on curved reed,
Where ivy-bearing Maenads shake their heads wilfully
And add encouragement to sacred rites with shrill ululations,
Where that nomad troop of the goddess likes to flutter
And where we should hasten with furious dancing.’
As soon as the counterfeit female Attis sang so to her friends
Her throng suddenly cried with tongues which danced,
The light drum groaned back, the hollow cymbals called back,
The quick chorus approached green Ida on feet that could not wait.
Raging and gasping and drawing breath all at once Attis led the way
To the accompaniment of drums in wandering the shadowy groves
Like an untamed heifer avoiding the weight of the yoke,
The quick Gallae followed their fleet-footed leader.
And so when, quite exhausted, they reached Cybele’s home
After much exertion they fell asleep without dinner,
Slow sleep, slipping languidly, covered their eyes.
Fervent fury abandons the mind in soft sleep.
But when the golden-faced Sun with eyes of rays
Surveyed the white sky, hard ground, wild sea,
And drove off night’s shadows with lively loud feet
Sleep woke Attis there and fled quickly.
The goddess Pasithea welcomed Sleep in her trembling bosom.
In the wake of quiet sleep and free from frenzied madness,
The moment Attis replayed in her mind what she had done
And clocked, clear-headed
Where she was
What she lacked
She made her way back to the shore again.
Her heart was rippling.
Watching, there, a desert of sea with tears in her eyes
She spoke to her country in a voice that was sad, miserable, like this:
‘Oh my country, my maker, my mother, my country oh
How rueful when I left you, as runaway slaves escape their masters
So my feet took me to Mount Ida’s groves,
To be mid-snow and ice-riven beast lairs
And to approach, quite witless, their dens in the shadows.
Where do I believe you lie, my country? Or on which plots?
My very pupils burn to turn their gaze to you
While for sharp season my mind is free of rabidity.
Am I to be uprooted from my home to these backwoods?
Am I to retire from my country, possessions, friends, parents?
Am I to retire from the forum, palaestra, racecourse, gym?
Helpless, helpless, heart, more, more, must you weep.
For what shape or form have I not been at one with?
A woman now, pubescent, young man, boy
I blossomed at the gym; I was the fat in the olive oil;
My doorways were busy, my porch was warm,
My house was decked with plaits of flowers
When it was time to leave my bed at dawn.
Must I wait today on the gods and suffer in Cybele’s service?
A priestess, me, a part of myself, a seedless man, shall I be?
Am I to garden the frozen snow-cuddled soils of green Ida?
Live my life beneath the tall pillars of Phrygia
Where deer farm forest, where boar gad grove?
Now, now, I regret what I did. Now, now, and I grieve.’
When this sound rushed from her rosy lips
Relaying unprecedented news to the twin ears of the gods
Cybele at once released the yoke from her lions
And goading the enemy of the flock to her left, says this:
‘Onwards,’ she said, ‘Go Fierce One, see that fury drives him on,
Let him be struck by the blow of madness and return to the groves,
Since he so obviously desires to elude my authority,
Come whip your back with your tail, suffer your own lashes,
See everywhere resound with bellow and roar,
Toss the ruddy mane on your taut neck.’
So spoke fearsome Cybele and loosed the yoke with her hand.
Roused, the beast incites himself to speed,
Roams, roars, tramples the vegetation with ranging paw.
And when he approaches the damp ground on the whitening shore
And sees delicate Attis near the marble sea
He makes his attack. She, out of her wits, flees into the wild grove;
There she spent all the rest of her life as a servant to the goddess.
Goddess, great goddess, Cybele, goddess mistress of Dindymus,
May all your madness be far from my home, Mistress,
Urge, incite others, drive others to madness.