OURANOS (Orphic Argonautica 12, Orphic Frag Deveni Papyrus) AITHER, HEMERA, EROS (by Erebos) (Cicero De Natura Deorum 3.17) EROS, AITHER (Aristophanes Birds 685 & 1190) HEMERA (by Khronos) (Bacchylides Frag 7) AITHER, HEMERA (by Erebos) (Hesiod Theogony 124, Cicero De Natura Deum 3.17) PHANES (Orphic Argonautica 12, Orphic Fragment 101) OFFSPRING PROTOGENOI KHAOS (Hesiod Theogony 123, Nonnus Dionysiaca 31.115) In ancient art Nyx was depicted as a either a winged goddess or charioteer, sometimes crowned with an aureole of dark mists. Her opposite number was Hemera (Day) who scattered the mists of night at dawn. Nyx was an ancient deity usually envisaged as the very substance of the night-a veil of dark mists drawn across the sky to obscure the light of Aither, the shining blue of the heavens. Alone she spawned a brood of dark spirits including the three Fates, Sleep, Death, Strife and Pain.
She was a child of Khaos (Chaos, Air), and coupling with Erebos (Darkness) she produced Aither (Aether, Light) and Hemera (Day). NYX was the goddess of the night, one of the primordial gods ( protogenoi) who emerged as the dawn of creation. E.Night ( nyx, nyktos) Nyx goddess of night, Athenian black-figure lekythos C5th B.C., Metropolitan Museum of Art "Somewhere I Have Never Travelled, Gladly Beyond," E. I want to do with you what spring does with the cherry trees." I will bring you happy flowers from the mountains, bluebells, dark hazels, and rustic baskets of kisses. I go so far as to think that you own the universe. A long time I have loved the sunned mother-of-pearl of your body. So many times we have seen the morning star burn, kissing our eyes, and over our heads the gray light unwind in turning fans. How you must have suffered getting accustomed to me, my savage, solitary soul, my name that sends them all running. While the sad wind goes slaughtering butterflies I love you, and my happiness bites the plum of your mouth. Now, now too, little one, you bring me honeysuckle, and even your breasts smell of it. Even so, at one time a strange shadow ran through your eyes. Cling to me as though you were frightened. The storm whirls dark leaves and turns loose all the boats that were moored last night to the sky. I can contend only against the power of men. Here all the winds let go sooner or later, all of them. The sky is a net crammed with shadowy fish. Suddenly the wind howls and bangs at my shut window. Who writes your name in letters of smoke among the stars of the south? Oh let me remember you as you were before you existed. Let me spread you out among yellow garlands. You are more than this white head that I hold tightly as a cluster of fruit, every day, between my hands. Subtle visitor, you arrive in the flower and the water. "Every day you play with the light of the universe. I take as he takes-we have been practicing this. That is all I had to do, that evening, to accept the gift I had longed for-to say I had accepted it, as if being asked if I breathe. And then it was time to speak-he was offering me, no matter what, his life. And yet, I had been working toward this hour all my life. I felt as if I had come to claim a promise-the sweetness I’d inferred from their sourness and at the same time that I had come, congenitally unworthy, to beg. It was a vow of the present and the future, and yet I felt it to have some touch on the distant past or the distant past on it, I felt the silent, dry, crying ghost of my parents’ marriage there, somewhere in the bright space-perhaps one of the plummeting flies, bouncing slightly as it hit forsaking all others, then was brushed away.
We stood holding each other by the hand, yet I also stood as if alone, for a moment, just before the vow, though taken years before, took. In truth, we had married that first night, in bed, we had been married by our bodies, but now we stood in history-what our bodies had said, mouth to mouth, we now said publicly, gathered together, death. We stood beside each other, crying slightly with fear and awe. It was night, spring-outside, a moat of mud, and inside, from the rafters, flies fell onto the open Bible, and the minister tilted it and brushed them off. The church was wood, painted ivory inside, no people-God’s stable perfectly cleaned. "I did not stand at the altar, I stood at the foot of the chancel steps, with my beloved, and the minister stood on the top step holding the open Bible.
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