A Hymn to Apollo
Quietly listen, dear friends, to the song I sing, for it honors the great Lord of Delphi, kindly master of men. Let my harp-strings carry you to high Olympos, where the lovely god lies upon a fragrant couch, unbraiding his long, long hair. He combs it out, golden tresses that fall like rays of the radiant sun, and the Muses lie at his feet, gazing with adoration upon him. Apollo pauses, smiles softly, then says in a voice as sweet as the lyre, "Hymn me a song, o beautiful maidens, for Olympos should ring with the sound of joyful song and light feet in sporting dances."
Klio lifts her head and begins to sing, hers the story of Leto's wanderings. She tells how Hera was wroth with the daughter of Koios, and how she laid a curse upon her, so that no place that had felt the sun would shelter her as she brought forth her mighty children. In great pain the goddess wandered, rejected at every turn, harried by the great dragon of Delphi, the Python. But when all seemed lost, and Leto feared Hera's curse would be her end, the humble island of Delos rose from the sea and offered to receive the goddess and her blessed children, since it had never felt the warm rays of the sun. Even before lovely-haired Leto had begun to be gripped with the pangs of childbirth, Artemis came forth, an effortless birth. Apollo, however, proved a great deal harder, and Leto labored for nine nights and nine days, her daughter serving as midwife for her. Then the joyous child sprang forth, Zeus' son, bathed in a golden light. The island laughed with joy, for it was the first to look upon the beautiful face of beautiful Apollo. And to this day, one can hear the echo of that laughter in the fragrant palm and cypress trees that adorn the once-craggy shores of Delos, rich in flowers.
Thalia takes up the song from her sister, weaving a humorous story, though not a light one. She sings of the baby Apollo, hunting the terrible dragon Python four days after his birth. Creeping along the mountain crevice, little Apollo clutched his bow to him, his chubby fingers barely grasping it. The smell of the cave where the dragon lived was foul, and the god turned up his nose but did not turn away, for his beloved mother had been wronged by the beast. When Leto wandered the world in great pain, Python drove her off and tried to still the life in her belly. For such an affront, Apollo had to have vengeance, whatever the cost. He spied the dragon slithering from its cave and drew back his bow. His arms were steady as he slid an arrow into place, and steady as he took aim. Then, Apollo let fly -- and the arrow took the serpent in the eye. Arrow after arrow flew until the enormous beast collapsed, and then Apollo rushed down, chanting his victory song, "Ie, ie, paion!" Such was the god's greatest moment, for he took possession of the Delphic oracle, the ancient seat of prophecy. From there, Apollo spoke the will of Zeus, his father, gaining much fame.
Erato's turn comes next, and her song is one of love. Kyrene was a nymph who hunted in the woods of Mount Pelion, protecting her father's herds with spear and sword. Apollo watched her from afar, delighting in her supple body and her quick movements. She seemed lovely to him as she raced with her hunting dogs or wrestled with wiry lions, and the god felt his heart leap in his breast at the thought of her. He appeared before her in all his shining glory, and Kyrene couldn't resist his full lips or shadowed eyes. She climbed into his swan-drawn cart and flew with him to Africa, where the god named a city after her. On Libya's golden couch, they whiled away the hours, lost in love. From their union came Aristios, hunter and herdsman. This was Apollo's greatest love, and unlike his love of Hyakinthos or Daphne, it was completely untouched by sorrow.
And with that, the song ends, and Apollo, greatly pleased, rises from his seat and joins the Muses in their dance.
And so too, does my song come to an end. Glorious Apollo do I honor, who kindly healed my mother, as she lay sick. Ie ie Paion!
Coming to Terms
with Apollo
Interestingly enough, it was the slaying of the Python which proved to be both the thing that kept me away from Apollo for so long, and the thing that eventually opened my heart to him. I had read many accounts of this pivotal scene, and many interpretations of it. A lot of authors present it as the masculine, rational, light and heavenly overcoming the feminine, magical, dark and earthy. It's presented along the same lines as Marduk killing Tiamat, or Yahweh slaying Leviathan. By this act, Apollo is said to usurp the oracle, previously under the control of Gaea, Themis and the Python. It's often seen as an act of patriarchal aggression. In fact, some authors have even said that it was nothing more than the mythologization of the warlike Dorians' conquest of the original peaceful agrarian inhabitants of Hellas.
Now, I rejected these interpretations a long time ago, but on some level, they still influenced me. It was hard to see Apollo as anything more than a macho, rational, repressive agent. As anyone who knows me can attest, I am a Dionysos man through and through, and Dionysos is the very antithesis of this. This dichotomy was established in my mind, and Apollo always came off on the short end, when comparing the two.
Then one day my mother had a stroke, and as she lay sick, I prayed to Apollo. As a Hellenic polytheist, I was well aware that he was the god I needed to pray to, as he was Paion, the Healer. Even though I'd never had a relationship with him and had, in fact, been rather hostile to him in the past, he answered my prayer, and my mother recovered. I knew, instinctively, that I should write a hymn in his honor, as he is Musagates, the leader of the Muses, and Patron of the Arts -- and it was the least I could do to praise him with my humble art. So I cracked open my copy of Carl Kerenyi's The Gods of the Greeks, and read up on Apollo, thinking I'd find a suitable scene, whip off something quick and be done with it. What I read really got to me.
Kerenyi talked about Leto, and how Hera had cursed her, so that nowhere that had felt the sun would shelter her as she birthed her children. He quoted Hyginus (Fabulae 140) who recounted how the Python had harried Leto while she was pregnant and tried to kill the babies inside her before Delos rose up from the sea to break Hera's curse. Four days after his birth, Apollo hunted down the Python, and slew it, avenging his beloved mother. That little piece of the puzzle made it all clear. He hadn't slain the Python as an act of jealousy over the oracle or to suppress dark, earthy, feminine power, but because his mother had been wronged, and he loved her so much that he would suffer anything to avenge that wrong -- even the humiliation of being a mortal's slave for a great year, the ultimate result of his defiant act. He and his sister later kill the children of Niobe because she insults their mother.
I can totally understand that. I'm the same way with my mother. When my sister is rude to my mom -- as 15-year-olds often are -- I have to stop myself from intervening. I still bristle, though, because that's my momma, and you don't mess with her!
After that, I totally warmed to the god. I started seeing all the things about him that I liked -- his association with crows and wolves, his long hair, his prophetic qualities, his espousing rationality and moderation (I love Dionysos, but I'm really not very Dionysian), his connection to poetry and music and medicine, his myths (which really are some of the best) and the fact that he was linked with Dionysos in so many ways. It all sort of clicked, and I have a new god in my personal pantheon as a result.
H. Jeremiah Lewis, or Sannion as he is known online, is a Hellenic reconstructionist living in Everett, whose patrons are Dionysos, Apollo and the Muses. He is currently looking to start a discussion group with the intent of forming a demos or local group to worship the Olympian gods. For more information, please check out Sannion's Sanctuary at http://www.angelfire.com/wa3/sannion/.