Xerxes, having many soldiers
but few warriors, leaped
three times from his throne
in amazement at the Spartan handiwork–
faking retreats, slaying his "immortals."
But as always, sniffing out enemy
gold, the traitor came to kiss,
and led whispering Persians over the cliffs
at night.
Betrayed, the glinting
Greeks combed their lovely hair
and moved silently into the open
for the right performance
the day the steely king of Sparta
turned
to
singing stone.
Jerome Rothenberg
A POEM IN YELLOW AFTER TRISTAN TZARA *
angel slide your hand
into my basket eat my yellow fruit
my eye is craving it
my yellow tires screech
o dizzy human heart
my yellow dingdong
• Refer: "Poeme pour une robe de Mme Sonia Delaunay"
