The Palace under the Sea
I say “Novgorod” and your eyes say,
Onion-shaped towers, czars,
Princesses with golden tiaras.
Both of us are in another space now,
Ready for anything.

Sadko plays the dulcimer for the boyars
And they throw him a few kopecks,
Ignoring him
The way we ignore the bird itself,
But enjoy its song in the oak.

You ask what a boyar is,
But you have already guessed about the kopecks,
And laugh as you repeat
Boyar! Boyar! Boyar!
And
Here’s a kopeck, boy!

Sadko’s true love was a river,
A slender river
That wound herself around Novgorod.
On her banks he sang,
“There is no woman in Novgorod
More beautiful than you,
My little river.”

Your upturned face asks,
“Did the river have a name?”

“Volkhova,” I said,
And how you like the “kh”,
kh, kh, kh you rasp,
Like a steam engine.

VOLXOVA

It doesn’t seem to bother you
That a man should love a river.
Do you not gaze away afternoons
With the stream gliding past your feet?
If only I had the key
To unlock your little mind!

One day Sadko played sweetly
On the banks of the Volkhova,
When a giant of a man,
With blue hair to his waist
Under a crown of gold,
Spoke as a storm at sea speaks,
With howls and thunder,
And water ran down his face
Like waterfalls down a mountainside.

“My thirty daughters love your singing,
And as a reward,
If you cast your net into the river,
You will find a chest full of gold and jewels.”

You don’t sound like a storm,
I hear you say,
And you’re right,
But help me,
And you huff and growl.

That was the Czar of the Sea,
And he sank from sight
Beneath the waves,
But his last words were,
“If you accept this payment,
You must someday sing for us
In my Green Palace.”

Why’s it green? you ask.
Because it’s made from the timbers
Of wrecked ships,
Green with sea plants.

Sadko is now rich,
No need to play the dulcimer.
He voyages in trading vessels to China
And India and the Spice Islands.

Is that where cinnamon comes from?

Cinnamon and cloves and pepper,
There even the coins smell of spice.

Then on a voyage across the Caspian,
The ship halts,
The sails billow but the ship stays put.
The sailors know this is magic,
Know some god is angry,
So they each take a piece of string from a fist,
And Sadko’s is the one that has been cut.
He dives with his dulcimer into the sea
And swims to the Green Palace,
Where two knobby sturgeons guard the gate.

Knobby? Like doorknobs?
No, like points on armor,
Like on a dinosaur.
Oh.
Sadko plays his dulcimer
And the Czar of the Sea dances,
Dances and twirls,
Kicks his feet and jumps,
And the sea boils,
Ships sink,
The shore is pounded with waves.
But the Czar of the Sea grows tired
And the sea overhead becomes calm.

I notice you don’t ask
How can a man sing underwater?

The Czar of the Sea lined up his thirty daughters
And said, “Choose one for your wife.”
Each was beautiful in her own way,
The way orchids and broom and morning glories
Differ in their beauty,
But he choose the last,
Her name was Volkhova,
The little river that flows from Lake Ilmen.

You smile, but say nothing.

During the noise and drinking of the wedding party,
Volkhova quietly takes Sadko away,
And they grasp the reins of a herd of seahorses,
Which pull them to the banks of Lake Ilmen.
Sadko has had a busy day
And Volkhova lies beside him
And sings a lullaby,
And while he sleeps she turns to mist,
She falls as droplets into the lake,
From where she flows as a river
To the sea,
For she knew a goddess cannot marry a mortal.

You too must have been a god,
For you became mist,
Like Volkhova,
You fell back to your true home,
In the lakes and rivers,
To your Green Palace.
We sail upon you,
Listen to your quiet words that sound
Like the plash of waves against the prow,
And in winter we skate upon you
And watch the shower of ice arc in the air,
Forming a rainbow.
In spring we hear your teeth grinding,
Like ice breaking up,
And in fall we watch your moods,
Singing wildly in the night,
Using the forest as your dulcimer,
Or playing pensively
With beams of sunlight.

June 29th, 2005