Artifact #010, translated by H. Szabo and S. Singareddy. Dated circa A.S. 209. Original script by Aeschylus from ancient Greece, adapted for contemporary readers.

The Oresteia

an epic translated across time and space

re-printed in W. W. Norton, Edition IX, for educational uses

 

oresteia – opening fragments

eleusis, ancient greece, 458 b.c., Αἰσχύλος

WATCHMAN appears on the roof of the palace, lies down, and gazes out into the night.

I beg the gods to deliver me at last 

From this hard watch I’ve kept now for a year

Upon the palace roof of the Atreidae,

Dog-like, snout to paws, night after long

Night, studying the congress of the stars,

The unignorable bright potentates

That bring down through the night sky to us here

Below, the summer now, and now the winter,

Eternal even as they wane and rise.

And here I am still watching for the sign,

The torch flame, flickering news from Troy,

The bright flare of her capture. These are my orders

Straight from a woman’s hope-stiffened heart that urges 

like a man.

My bed is hard with restlessness

By night, and damp with dew by morning, and

Just fear (no dream or sleep) comes near it,

Fear that I’ll fall asleep, that my eyes will be drawn

Down into sleep, as if sleep were a sickness

I could cure by singing or humming, as I do,

From time to time some little tune or other,

And yet the more I sing, the more I have 

To weep for all the troubles of this house

That excellence no longer orders now.

Come soon, deliverance from this weight of watching,

Come, fire out of black night flashing toward me,

Come, happy news I’m ever watching for.

He sees the beacon.

At last!

Day-shining flare of night, I welcome you,

Blazing torch that will kindle the torch-lit dance

We’ll dance in Argos for the sake of this!

At last! At last! … 

 
 
 

oresteia in lux, I

location unknown, 129 a.s., Σινγαρεδι

 

oresteia in lux, II

location unknown, 429 a.s., ζαβο

WATCHMAN appears in the crow’s nest of a ship.

 

I plead the gods relieve me at last 

Of this difficult watch I’ve now kept for a thousand sol

Upon the mast of the Atreidae,

Hawk-like, eyes to sky, turning after long

Turning, studying the caravan of the clouds,

The gentle, meandering beasts that cast 

Past two titans between the light to us here

Below, tempering heat to bring us life under the storms’

Auspices, eternal as the two suns.

And here I stand still looking for the signal,

The red flag, delivering news from Troy,

The flying symbol of its capture. These are my orders

Straight from a woman’s hope-hardened heart that begs

like a man.

This perch is rough with restlessness 

At the first turn, and doused in sweat by the second, and 

Just fear (no dream or sleep) comes near it,

Fear that I’ll fall into a daze, that my eyes will be drawn

By light into that heavy oblivion, as if mindlessness were a malady

I could alter by trilling or toning, as I do,

Now and then some melody tune or other,

And yet the more I sing, the more I have 

To grieve for all the sicknesses of this clan

Which is longer ruled by excellence.

Come soon, relief from this eternal vantage point, 

Come, scarlet flag emerging from the waves, 

Come, buoyant news of arrest. I’m ever present.

He sees the flag.

At last!

Bloodied piece emblazoned in endless space, I embrace you,

Ruby fabric that will string the colored dance

We’ll dance in Argos for this reason!

At last! At last!

 
 

WATCHMAN appears in the submarine window and gazes out.

How much longer will I wait

To end this never-ending trudge of a job

At the window of the Atreidae,

Eyes out into the pits of the oceans

Studying the echoes of motion,

This underwater world, the darkness a relief 

From the burning and boiling sun overhead;

Below, shocking cold yields life below hostility,

Fragile as the cycles of days past.

I remain here waiting for a signal,

A red light from above, signaling Troy,

Revealing her capture. This is what I’ve been told

By a hard-hearted woman who behaves

like a man.

This stasis makes me restless.

I’m soaked with sweat as I wait for a sign, and

Fear that I’ll never be let up to see that horrid sun,

Fear that I’ll fall asleep forever, my eyes turning 

Forever from light into heavy oblivion, into mindless insanity

Of which I could never wrest myself free 

Through a distraction like the poem I receipt.

Yet the more I speak the more I think

Of the terrible sickness of the regime

I belong to — a corrupted clan.

I just want relief from this eternal watching.

This waiting among the waves can only cease

With a scarlet signal from above.

He sees the scarlet light.

At last!

Bright light shooting through endless waves, I reach for you.

I will ascend yet again, into a world of color,

A world of dance and motion.

At last! At last!

oresteia in nox, I

location unknown, 129 a.s., Σινγαρεδι

 

oresteia in nox, II

location unknown, 429 a.s., ζαβο

WATCHMAN appears on the roof of the palace, lies down, and gazes out into the night.

O, to ever be released at last

From this watch I’ve kept now

For an unmeasurable menagerie of moments,

Wolf-like, snout to paws, night bleeds into

Night; stars spin and swirl without cease,

Over a static backdrop of black velvet

Cycles of years past almost traceable,

Now an indiscernible chaos of motion;

No rhythm in the stars’ wane and rise.

And here I remain until an unreachable sign,

A pause to this unending halt;

The bright flare of Troy’s capture. These are my orders

Straight from a woman’s night-stiffened heart that urges

Like a man.

This perch lays shrouded in layers of black

Spindly motions under a guise of darkness, and

Fear — joy a forgotten memory — crawls unseen,

Fear that I’ll fall asleep, that my eyes will be drawn

Down into sleep, as if sleep were a sickness

I could cure by filling this immeasurable space with sound,

The emptiness with words of light appearing,

And yet the more I sing, the more I have

To weep for all this wretched house

That the natural cycles no longer order now.

Come soon, an egress from this eternal yearning,

Come, fire out of black night flashing toward me,

Come, old novelty I’m ever watching for. 

He sees the beacon.

At last!

A miniature of hallowed day, I welcome you,

Blazing torch that will kindle the torch-lit dance

We’ll dance in Argos for the sake of this!

At last! At last!

 
 

WATCHMAN steps on the mansion’s roof, sits, and looks out into the endless night.

I beg, release me now

From this task that occupies night on night,

Where I stand here and look and look,

Like a wolf, snout to paws, night turns into

Night, the stars turn and always swirl,

Over a curtain and black threads

The path of years past almost visible

Now unfathomable chaos lost in motion;

No order in how the stars move through the sky.

And here I’ll stay ‘till a never arriving sign,

A pause to this never ending quiet;

The burning flame of Troy’s capture. These are my orders

Straight from a woman’s starcrossed heart that urges

Like a man.

My lookout lays disguised in darkness

Restless movement beneath a cover of shadows, and

Fear — joy’s existence forgotten — lurks in shadows,

Fear that I’ll fall asleep, that my eyes will be drawn

Down deathlike, as if sleep were a sickness

I could cure by entertaining myself with sound,

The emptiness turning into light,

And yet as I sing more, I weep more 

As well for this family in shambles

That is no longer something natural.

Come soon, an answer to my wishes.

Come, brilliant blaze emerging from black velvet,

Come, the change I’m ever watching for.

He sees a distant flame.

At last!

Piece of heaven, I welcome you,

Dancing fire that will allow us in Argos

to dance as well for the sake of this occasion!

At last! At last!