Sirens by David R. Slavitt - Per Contra Poetry Summer 2008

Sirens by David R. Slavitt

There were three of them, or, some authors say, two,

with bodies either of women or feathered birds

with women’s heads, or sometimes potters had them

with bearded faces. One of the versions supposes

that if their fatally beautiful singing failed--

as of course it did when Odysseus passed by, bound

as he was to the mast, with the oarsmen’s ears all stopped

with beeswax to make them immune—the sirens would perish.

A hard rule, but what else can happen to magic

after it has been reduced to a mere

performance in recital and concert halls?

“Breathtaking,” we say, but still we can breathe.

So the artists should die? But, then, alas, they will,

every one of them, however gifted. They try,

(practice, practice) and come close to divine

perfection, but we applaud and then go home.

For writers, it’s less dramatic but we, too, try

our best, and although we do not admit it, dream

that the words will live on, that our hold on somone’s attention

here or there, may continue at random, blips

frequent enough to become a steady low tone,

not quite the song the sirens sang, but close.