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THE NAVIGATORS(To Albert Tucker)Being a contortionist myself,or at least an awkward gymnast—poised on the lip,forever stammering at the abyssof never-surrendered wishes—I take time now to praise true heroes,who chart real courses andarrive at real places,those landfall-making men: the Navigators.For when you think of it,the unknown is an impossible journey . . .The silence between one heartbeat and the next.(Pour we now Ubations unto each the dead)First comes ODYSSEUS,that many-troubled man . . .(tho' who would have thought it?)Raw salt in his beard,brown head thrown back—laughing, wicked eyes . . .Such an accomplished liar!Remembering of his voyagesonlythe seathe lonelinessand the bitter cold:the inhospitable ports.Forgetting (for Penelope) Calypso's generous thighs.Knowing too, when he recalled her,(Circe of the purple couch)that she expended small metamorphic power,used no enchantments of noteto turn men into swine . . .The silence between one heartbeat and the next.WESTERLY, No. 1, MARCH, 1968 13