Then Iapetos led away a daughter of Ocean,
Klymene, pretty ankles, and went to bed with her.
And she bore him a child, Atlas, stout heart,
And begat ultraglorious Menoitios, and Prometheus,,
his mind a shimmer, and witless Epimetheus,
Who was trouble from the start for enterprising men,
First to accept from Zeus the fabricated woman,
The Maiden. Outrageous Menoitios broadbrowed Zeus
Blasted into Erebos with a sulphurous thunderbolt
On account of his foolishness and excessive violence.
Atlas, crimped hard, holds up the wide sky
At earth’s limits, in front of the shrill-voiced Hesperides,
Standing with indefatigable head and hands,
For this is the part wise Zeus assigned him.
And he bound Prometheus with ineluctable fetters,
Painful bonds, and drove a shaft through his middle,
And set a long-winged eagle on him that kept gnawing
His undying liver, but whatever the long-winged bird
Ate the whole day through, would all grow back by night.
That bird the mighty son of pretty-ankled Alkmene,
Herakles, killed, drove off the evil affliction
From Iapetos’ son and freed him from his misery—
Not without the will of Zeus, high lord of Olympos,
So that the glory of Theban-born Herakles
Might be greater than before on the plentiful earth.
He valued that and honored his celebrated son.
And he ceased from the anger that he had before
Because Prometheus matched wits with mighty Kronion.


That happened when the gods and mortal men were negotiating
At Mekone. Prometheus cheerfully butchered a great ox
And served it up, trying to befuddle Zeus’ wits.
For Zeus he set out flesh and innards rich with fat
Laid out on the oxhide and covered with its paunch.
But for the others he set out the animal’s white bones
Artfully dressed out and covered with shining fat.
And then the Father of gods and men said to him:

“Son of Iapetos, my celebrated lord,
How unevenly you have divided the portions.”

Thus spoke Zeus, sneering, with imperishable wisdom.
And Prometheus, whose mind was devious,
Smiled softly and remembered his trickery:

“Zeus most glorious, greatest of the everlasting gods,
Choose whichever of these your heart desires.”
This was Prometheus’ trick. But Zeus, eternally wise,
Recognized the fraud and began to rumble in his heart
Trouble for mortals, and it would be fulfilled.
With both his hands he picked up the gleaming fat.
Anger seethed in his lungs and bile rose to his heart
When he saw the ox’s white bones artfully tricked out.
And that is why the tribes of men on earth
Burn white bones to the immortals upon smoking altars.
But cloudherding Zeus was terribly put out, and said:

“Iapetos’ boy, if you’re not the smartest of them all.
So you still haven’t forgotten your tricks, have you?”

Thus Zeus, angry, whose wisdom never wears out.
From then on he always remembered this trick
And wouldn’t give the power of weariless fire
To the mortals who live on the earth.
But that fine son of Iapetos outwitted him
And stole the far-seen gleam of weariless fire
In a hollow fennel stalk, and so bit deeply the heart
Of Zeus, the high lord of thunder, who was angry
When he saw the distant gleam of fire among men,
And straight off he gave them trouble to pay for the fire.

Pandora

The famous Lame God plastered up some clay
To look like a shy virgin, just like Zeus wanted,
And Athena, the Owl-Eyed Goddess,
Got her all dressed up in silvery clothes
And with her hands draped a veil from her head,
An intricate thing, wonderful to look at.
And Pallas Athena circled her head
With a wreath of luscious springtime flowers
And crowned her with a golden tiara
That the famous Lame God had made himself,
Shaped it by hand to please father Zeus,
Intricately designed and a wonder to look at.
Sea monsters and other fabulous beasts
Crowded the surface, and it sighed with beauty,
And you could almost hear the animals’ voices.

He made this lovely evil to balance the good,
Then led her off to the other gods and men
Gorgeous in the finery of the owl-eyed daughter
Sired in power. And they were stunned,
Immortal gods and mortal men, when they saw
The sheer deception, irresistible to men.
From her is the race of female women,
The deadly race and population of women,
A great infestation among mortal men,
At home with Wealth but not with Poverty.
It’s the same as with bees in their overhung hives
Feeding the drones, evil conspirators.
The bees work every day until the sun goes down,
Busy all day long making pale honeycombs,
While the drones stay inside, in the hollow hives,
Stuffing their stomachs with the work of others.

That’s just how Zeus, the high lord of thunder,
Made women as a curse for mortal men,
Evil conspirators. And he added another evil
To offset the good. Whoever escapes marriage
And women’s harm, comes to deadly old age
Without any son to support him. He has no lack
While he lives, but when he dies distant relatives
Divide up his estate. Then again, whoever marries
As fated, and gets a good wife, compatible,
Has a life that is balanced between evil and good,
A constant struggle. But if he marries the abusive kind,
He lives with pain in his heart all down the line,
Pain in spirit and mind, incurable evil.
There’s no way to get around the mind of Zeus.
Not even Prometheus, that fine son of Iapetos
Escaped his heavy anger. He knows many things,
But he is caught in the crimp of ineluctable bonds.