Leonid Martynov
Daedalus

So, in the nocturnal stream
Of passersby, there crossed my way
Some tall man, unknown to me,
A stranger; and his hair was gray.

As if he were its architect
Outside a building still he stood:
Young people, wandering out at night,
Were a posturing and shouting crowd.

From where did those young people come
Where were they going, to what end?
The old man, hardly audible,
Spoke, and touched me with his hand:

“Together with Icarus I flew
But suddenly found I was alone:
The heat of the sun melted the wax
That bound his wings. He fell, my son.”

I started. “What was that you said?”
“I? Only what I’ve just been saying:
I built a labyrinth in Crete
For a king; but he was undeserving.

“And so that I should not be lured
Into that labyrinth of mine
Into the sky I soared on wings
I made for me and for my son.

“The two of us, as I was saying —
But suddenly I was alone:
The boy fell; on his wings the wax
Had softened, melting in the sun.

“Where did he fall? He fell below
Where mankind, on its daily round,
In stubborn striving and blind haste
Trod one another to the ground.

“I dived to seek my fallen son.
I called him from the earth, the sea,
The mountains, valleys: Icarus!
I shouted: Icarus! Where was he?

“But from the branches sang the birds
And from the grave-pit hissed the worm:
Heaven has no pity on your sons
Look after them! Look after them!

"And even through the sounding foam
Of the unquiet, untiring sea:
Guard your girls! Look after them!
The sirens sang the same to me.”

His voice swelled to a scream: that dark
Interlocutor of mine
Soared away into the sky
Somewhere, in a direct line:

Well, between two points, they say,
A straight line is the shortest way,
Otherwise you must go round
Over altogether too much ground.

Despite the searchlight’s bright beam
He vanished, and I saw no more
Of Daedalus* winged architect,
Daedalus, voyager of air!

Translated by J. R. Rowland