We all mark seasons in different ways, often using holidays like Labor Day past, Thanksgiving upcoming. For me, the circle always wheels around the constellation Orion.
When he shows up deep into late-summer nights I’m thrilled. But now as he rises sooner and sooner, the big triangle of head and shoulders emerging over his straight-line belt, a smudge of stars as dangling sword, two points for legs, I feel bittersweet because I know what this portends: Winter’s coming.
In the cold he’s a night-long companion. And when he starts slipping below the horizon sooner and sooner I never say good riddance to him, only to the season.
There are multiple Greek myths about Orion, but always he is the hunter. Some say his downfall — or upfall — was because he was a braggart, angering Gaea the earth goddess by claiming he could and would kill every animal on the planet. I am more intrigued with the mythology chronicling love and jealousy among brothers, even allegations of rape that led to divine punishment.
Every version ends in exile and death, though opposite the usual order. That’s because in this case Zeus flung him into the heavens after his demise so he could keep hunting forever. He’s got his dog with him, Sirius the dog star, and Zeus also catapulted the scorpion that killed him, the constellation Scorpio.
I’ve never understood to what extent ancient Greeks took their myths literally. Did the devout believe the sagas the way devout today believe in the Bible as literal word of God?
My guess is that many appreciated the creativity, inspiration, and life lessons of the stories. But that didn’t necessarily mean they believed a character named Orion got turned into a bunch of stars by a marauding god named Zeus.
Either way, he has always helped me take stock of where I am, who I am, how I’ve changed since the last time I stood in a dark place and stared up at him after dinner.
Given his reliable order, structure and timing, it seemed that traditional verse would be the right form to express his ancient tale. So I wrote the following sonnet, three quatrains and a couplet, as an ode called
“Orion”
Only when forgotten scarf, parka, glove
And wool socks are remembered, and in use
Does this hunter, cinched at waist, towering above,
Silently stalk, his vengeance never loosed.
It seems the hunter has the advantage
His prey full view, only arm’s length away.
But they are same-swift, and from this vantage,
They seem stock-still, so speedy is their way.
Fickle fate made he that seemed sea-bound
Follow instead an everlasting scut.
Love transformed the heavens for his death-mound.
A brother less malicious might have – but
Nocturnal, universal, he won’t stray
In endless search of his illusive prey.
