by Christopher Logue

    To welcome Hector to his death

    God sent a rolling thunderclap across the sky

    The city and the sea

    And momentarily——

    The breezes playing with the sunlit dust——

    On either slope a silence fell.

    Think of a raked sky-wide Venetian blind.

    Add the receding¹ traction² of its slats

    Of its slats of its slats as a hand draws it up.

    Hear the Greek army getting to its feet.

    Then of a stadium when many boards are raised

    And many faces change to one vast face.

    So， where there were so many masks，

    Now one Greek mask glittered from strip to ridge³.

    Already swift

    Boy Lutie took Prince Hector's nod

    And fired his whip that right and left

    Signalled to Ilium's wheels to fire their own，

    And to the Wall-wide nodding plumes⁴ of Trojan infantry——

    Flutes⁵！

    Flutes！

    Screeching⁶ above the grave percussion⁷ of their feet

    Shouting how they will force the savage⁸ Greeks

    Back up the slope over the ridge， downplain

    And slaughter⁹ them beside their ships——

    Add the reverberation¹⁰ of their hooves： and

    "Reach for your oars¹¹. . ."

    T'lesspiax， his yard at 60°， sending it

    Across the radiant air as Ilium swept

    Onto the strip

    Into the Greeks

    Over the venue¹² where

    Two hours ago all present prayed for peace.

    And carried Greece

    Back up the slope that leads

    Via its ridge

    Onto the windy plain.