Odysseus* grills Aeolus
as doldrums shoal his ship:
"Give heed, ol' geezer: which fair breeze or
blast vast hast thy grip**...?"
* Throughout these verses the names
'Odysseus' and 'Ulysses' refer to the same fellow.
** Ancient demi-deity Aeolus stows away a
whirl of winds, possibly in a vast travelling bag
or grip, its size seems something between a
small portmanteau and a large Gladstone.
Then three pants plus puffs Aeolus:
"An alphabet's-worth I've,
and more, in here. Let me be clear:
and more, in here. Let me be clear:
I've one plus twenty-five." *
* The ancient Greek alphabet has but 24
letters, but Aeolus is ever the anachronist.
"First: Romans know Alisio --
when blowin' east to west --
one gentle gust sage sailors trust.
Alisi's breeze...? The best!"
"Two: Some winds...? Tame. Some others...? Lame.
Case seal'd! Brickfielder is.
Brick's dust drains down on Sydneytown.
Brick's dust: red-rust-hued...? 'Tis!"
"Third, on wind quests undertook
to source my coffee-table book,
I'd comb this nook near Stony Brook
to bag the breeze wags dub 'Chinook.'
On one such trip, by hook and crook,
I lock'd one in my pocketbook.
Here! Poke it with this Wolkestück!
'Twill let thee net a better look."
"Another breeze...? A Mother Sneeze...?
Diablo bobs to mind:
feeds forest fires in Frisco's shires.
Fires...? Ne'er 'gone with this /waInd/."
"Wait!" Circe's beau, Ur-cunning O,
spouts. "Cor! Them four ain't shit:
I like, sans foam, winds close to home.
Lie those within thy kit...?"
"Might the Aegean, plus 'Our Sea'* 'n' --
yeah! -- thy Adriatic
spawn winds more mild, less riled, less wild...?
More slack, less acrobatic...?"
* In Antiquity, Mare Nostrum was
a common Roman reference to the
Mediterranean Sea.
"Them threefold seas one single breeze,"
purrs Aeolus, "traverses.
Etesian...? She's ever been
an icon in like verses."
"She, dry as drouth, from north to south
blows long 'n' strong -- but steady.
She slows one's foes (King Phillip knows*)
nor never shows no eddy."
* Philip of Macedon laid siege to Potidaea
around July, 356 BC, just as the Etesian Wind
began to blow. This northerly breeze made it
harder for Athens to send any fleets into the
northern Aegean, so reduced the chance of
interference in the siege. It is possible that
Athens did indeed try and send aid, but if so
it arrived too late.
"Next...? Føn. They say blows t'other way:
from south to north (no feign).
Føn's fans who're fain to favor Føn
have Føn with Dick and Jane!"
(Ad libb'd he, then, glibly, "My mad Libyan Ghibli..."
had Aeolus, all'd have gone well.
But Ghibli's Føn's sibling; such wind, discern'd "Ghibli'ng,"
like sis blows -- the pisser from hell.)
"Which gale's most fear'd, most clear of steer'd...?
Haboob. ('Tis weird but true.)
'Boobs scrub the land, dump tubs of sand:
an Atacama* coup."
* A desert plateau in South America
"Raw Ice Fogs send 'white death,' my friend:
'Beware the pogonip!'
(Shoshones flee 'payinappih' --
wa-a-ay worse than smog -- you hip...?"
"The Feather River can deliver
Jarbos -- has done, thrice.
'18's cascade (worst ever!) made
a Hell of Paradise."*
*Cf Paradise, CA
"Of winds thou own, these ten thou've shown,"
Ulysses then chimes in,
"have fail'd, thee'll note, to float my boat.
What fresh wares can thee spin...?"
"Suppress thy fuss," spiels Aeolus.
"I have here in my sack
a Khamsin breeze. 'Twill ram, with ease,
thy scow. Prep, now, to tack!"
"My Khamsin blows (who cruises knows)
full fifty days, monsieur.
Kham's dry, hot puff should prove enough
to set thy skiff astir."
Then lyssesU-, as if on cue
some few of Loos requesting,
moans, "Me! Me crew! Me schooner, too!
We're stress'd from endless resting."
"If Loos alone won't get us go'n,'
add Mistrals to the mix.
No cats' meow...? What good be thou
and thy baguette of tricks...?"
What's Aeol say...? "Some Mistrals may
(though, then again, may not)
jump-start thy boat, which, though afloat,
will not 'get off the pot.'" *
* As in "Shit or (etc.)"
"My wind ragout of Mistral/Loo
may wind up wishy-washy,
in which case I'll commence a trial
incorporating N'aschi..."
"...whose winds blow forth from east, from north
and, it is hoped, shall push
thy wet-dock'd ship to slip its slip --
and launch thee off thy tusch."
But Poluversed* forsees the worst:
"Me crew feels curs'd, thou blowhard.
We need a blast, one vast. And fast.
Don't make me call the coas' guard."
* The prefix polu-, meaning 'many-,'
is a prefix commonly used in conjunction
with attributes like '-skill'd- or '-vers'd
in forming epithets for Odysseus.
"Here's sev'ral things," then Wind Lord sings,
that just might get thee goin.'
Oroshi's one. Once it's begun,
it's rarely done with blowin.'"
But Ody balks. "No go, these talks!
Thinks me: thee be a schmoozer.
I need a waft to turn my craft
into a cabin cruiser...
...I've heard of one that's twin to none.
They call that wind Palouser."*
* Unintentionally reminiscent, perhaps,
of "They call the wind Maria" from Broadway's
Paint Your Wagon -- the long i in 'Maria'
pronounced 'eye,' of course.
Don DraftDude then dissents (again!):
"Beyond my ken's your 'lo(u)ser.'
And, by the by, what's true is: I
find thee a subtle user...
...I'll still, withal, ignore thy gall
and find a squall pour vous, sir."
No Creole, thus ol' Aeolus
renews his thoughtful search:
"Within my bag there must (no brag!)
sit efficacious merch..."
...At once, behold! a blust'ring, bold
Qebui forth does lurch.
"Hooey! Phooey! Screw Qebui!"
Thus the mad Achaean goes.
"Better far...? A Rashabar.
Allow me thou've got one of those."
"No Rashabars. Still, cool thy spars!"
great Aeolus blows back.
"A Sirocco in its place might thee
embrace from out my sack...?"
Then Penelope's groom
who Telemachus sired
does to Aeolus fume:
"My tired trireme's enmired."
"I need breeze to unfreeze
my well deck...but not wreck 'er."
"The ticket...?" cries Aeolus.
"Tehuantepecer!"
"Such Latinate currents
serve verveless deterrence,"
Odyss'us grows sore
and declines to hear more...
...re said Mexican puff.
"Is enough not enough...?
Can't thee come up with something more...
Undular bore!!...?"
"Undular bores
bide indoors until Spring,"
now old Aeolus roars.
"Here's a fa-a-ar better thing."
"Vendaval...? Pas...pas mal!
'Tain't no bluster banal,"
O and Aeol agree.
(But shall U's boat float free...?)
Yet, though Vendaval's huff
stirs the sea till it's rough,
it's, en fin, not enough.
And to U's a rebuff.
Cries Odysseus, "Pshaw!
Have we crawl'd to a draw...?
Where be wee Williwaw
when he's needed...?"
"There'll be no Williwaws.
But, as well, no faux pas,"
offers Ae'l. "And your plea'll
be acceded."
"O Xlokk! O Xlokk! O faux Sirocco!
Forth come from my bag!"
Ol' Ae'lus cries. "Thy enterprise
is needed now. Don't lag!"
Then, as he spoke, a stack of smoke
forthwith awoke, then tower'd
above the pair. This mast of air
rose up. The couple cower'd.
"High holy hell!" cries Aeo-el.'
"This must be Yel, I'm feelin.'
Yel leaves his hide. From deep inside
my sack -- alack! -- Yel's stealin.'
"I cou'n't care less, I must confess,"
Odysseus now stresses.
"Perhaps my mess Yel lessens, yes...?
'Til now we've zip successes."
"To launch your yacht alone he'll not
contrive," the wind god urges.
"Perhaps a mix would do the tricks.
If Yel with Zonda merges..."
'Tis then Aeol' (gods bless his soul!)
puts rigmarole on hold,
secures a coup -- one huge "A-a-a-a-choo!" --
nor ne'er no sign of cold.
The gust god's sneeze creates such breeze
that launch'd gets Uly's launch.
Cries Ul': "Hooray! Me ship's away.
Thee's proved me soul mate staunch."
Aeolus...? Why...ol' Wind Bag Guy
as U (bye-bye!) departed,
thinks, "Lo, the woe he'll never know,
the rift wide...if I'd farted."
