Prize-Winning Poem

The following is the first-prize poem in this summer's poetry contest. Its author, Charles O. Hartman, received a $25 first prize.

Theseus

The cheering patrons grow bored

With thirteen bull-dancers

Dodging and turning almost as one

Evading the goring horns.

The crowd calls

For the bull-leaper

Theseus.

Now, they say. Now

For some real sport.

Son of woman and god

He stands in the Cretan ring

Facing the bull:

Suddenly alone among friends

Man and beast stand

To be understood always in new ways:

Then each steps forward,

Bull rushes, leaper leaps,

Suspended

And they touch; painted horn

To sinewed hand,

A toss of the great head

With a hint of encouragement,

And this son of woman and god,

Half flung and half flinging.

Flies over the great

Curved and sbarpened horns.

His feet touch lightly on the bull's broad back

And then he springs

Up.

He scribes

The boneless are of a flying arrow,

And touches earth

Lightly

Reluctant to leave the air.

The bull stands tired,

Until tomorrow the man is safe.

They eye each other,

Finished for this day's dance.