Christopher Logue

All Day Permanent Red [to Welcome Hector To His Death]

o 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 receding traction 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 ridge. 
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 plumes of Trojan infantry— 

Flutes! 
Flutes! 
Screeching above the grave percussion of their feet 
Shouting how they will force the savage Greeks 
Back up the slope over the ridge, downplain 
And slaughter them beside their ships— 

Add the reverberation of their hooves: and 
'Reach for your oars. . .' 
T'lesspiax, his yard at 60°, sending it 
Across the radiant air as Ilium swept 
Onto the strip 
Into the Greeks 
Over the venue 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.