Eurydice Released

Upon return,

She spoke in strange words,

Or words familiar, but the application

Too old, or new, or still wet

From the oceans between worlds,

Where she accepted instruction

In all forms of water travel. 

She prefers her music purple, for example,

For how it flashes dark

Against the black sky—

Says Thunder really isn’t as loud as all that,

How on the other side it’s soft to the touch,

More like tiger fur than large drums.

She loosens her hair to blow wild

For Brahms.

She explains how she learned

That when God separated the Waters

From the Air, in the Beginning,

That they derived from the same substance,

And this is why the streams and currents interchange,

As we interchange, forgetting which Element

Owns us, for the moment—

Sound or silence,

Arrival or departure,

Grief or joy. 

At the moment of her release,

She confused Heaven and Hell,

Thinking God might be in both places,

Or how else was this possibly God?

The last gate vanished,

If it was ever there to begin with. 

Despite her Odyssey,

Her return has gone remarkably well.

She’s fond of clothes shopping

At the finer stores,

Seeks good conversation over meals,

And favors street musicians,

After the opera lets out,

Where once again the world

Rejoices her release,

While Ovid rolls in his grave

Cursing Peri. 

                                                December 6, 2011

Note:  In his opera of 1600, Peri and Cacinni changed the ending of Ovid's account of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, allowing them to rejoice together upon Eurydice's release.  Montiverdi, however, stayed true to the original.