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Streams of the sacred rivers flow uphill;
Tradition, order, all things are reversed:
Deceit is men’s device now,
Men’s oaths are gods’ dishonour.
Legend will now reverse our reputation;
A time comes when the female sex is honoured;
That old discordant slander
Shall no more hold us subject.
Male poets of past ages, with their ballads
Of faithless women shall go out of fashion;
For Phoebus, Prince of Music,
Never bestowed the lyric inspiration
Through female understanding -
Or we’d find themes for poems,
We’d counter with our epics against man.
Oh, Time is old; and in his store of tales
Men figure no less famous
Or infamous than women.

The gods, the gods take heed of men; they observe wickedness and goodness.
Gold, with good fortune,
Yoked to the chariot of mortal life,
Speeds it along the course of pride;
On their flank is harnessed unscrupulous power.
The reckless driver gives never a glance 
At the return course or the time yet to come. 
He hurtles ahead of Law,
Gives rein to his lawless will,
Smashes his own success in full career,
And the dark dust covers him. 



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The Red Fetish Washington, D.C.

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