old man crete

In the middle of the sea there lies a wasteland,
he immediately began, that is known as Crete,
under whose king the world knew innocence.

There is a mountain there that was called Ida;
then happy in its verdure and its streams,
now deserted like an old, discarded thing;

Rhea chose it once as a safe cradle
for her son, and, to conceal his presence better,
she had her servants scream loud when he cried.

In the mountain's core an ancient man stands tall;
he has his shoulders turned toward Damietta
and faces Rome as though it were his mirror.

His head is fashioned of the finest gold;
pure silver are his arms and hands and chest;
from there to where his legs spread, he is brass;

the rest of him is all of chosen iron,
except his right foot which is terra cotta;
he puts more weight on this foot than the other.

Every part of him, except the gold, is broken
by a fissure dripping tears down to his feet,
where they collect and erode the cavern's rock;

from stone to stone they drain down here, becoming
rivers: the Acheron, Styx, and Phlegethon,
then overflow down through this tight canal

until they fall to where all falling ends:
they form Cocytus.  What that pool is like
I need not tell you.  You will see yourself.

And I to him: If this small stream beside us
has its source, as you have told me, in our world,
why have we seen it only on this ledge?

And he to me: You know this place is round,
and though your journey has been long, circling
towards the bottom, turn only to the left,

you still have not completed a full circle;
so you should never look surprised, as now,
if you see something you have not seen before.