CIRCE BY H.D.

Circe is a goddess of magic, sometimes portrayed as a nymph, witch, enchantress or sorceress. Circe was renowned for her vast knowledge of potions and herbs. Through the use of these and a magic wand or staff, she transformed her enemies, or those who offended her, into wild beasts. Some say she was exiled to the solitary island of Aeaea by her father Helios for killing her husband. Later traditions tell of her leaving or even destroying the island and moving to Italy.

Hilda "H.D." Doolittle (1886–1961) was an American poet and novelist, associated with the early 20th century avant-garde Imagist group of poets, including Ezra Pound. She published under the pen name H.D. She had a deep interest in Ancient Greek literature and her poetry often borrowed from Greek mythology and classical poets.

She befriended Sigmund Freud during the 1930s, and became his patient in order to understand and express her bisexuality, her writing, and her spiritual experiences. H.D. married once, and undertook a number of relationships with both men and women. She was unapologetic about her sexuality, and thus became an icon for both the LGBT rights and feminist movements when her poems, plays, letters and essays were rediscovered during the 1970s and 1980s.

Here is my favourite of H.D.’s poems. It concerns the goddess Circe. She could very well have been writing about herself and her own infamous, bewitching nature. “It is easy enough to call men/ from the edges of the earth”! Indeed!

Love, Susie x

Circe

It was easy enough
to bend them to my wish,
it was easy enough
to alter them with a touch,
but you
adrift on the great sea,
how shall I call you back?

Cedar and white ash,
rock-cedar and sand plants
and tamarisk
red cedar and white cedar
and black cedar from the inmost forest,
fragrance upon fragrance
and all of my sea-magic is for nought.

It was easy enough —
a thought called them
from the sharp edges of the earth;
they prayed for a touch,
they cried for the sight of my face,
they entreated me
till in pity
I turned each to his own self.

Panther and panther,
then a black leopard
follows close —
black panther and red
and a great hound,
a god-like beast,
cut the sand in a clear ring
and shut me from the earth,
and cover the sea sound
with their throats,
and the sea-roar with their own barks
and bellowing and snarls,
and the sea-stars
and the swirl of the sand,
and the rock-tamarisk
and the wind resonance —
but not your voice.

It is easy enough to call men
from the edges of the earth.
It is easy enough to summon them to my feet
with a thought —
it is beautiful to see the tall panther
and the sleek deer-hounds
circle in the dark.

It is easy enough
to make cedar and white ash fumes
into palaces
and to cover the sea-caves
with ivory and onyx.

But I would give up
rock-fringes of coral
and the inmost chamber
of my island palace
and my own gifts
and the whole region
of my power and magic
for your glance.