A Poetic Retelling of the Myth of Icarus and Daedalus, Martin Rizley

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A Poetic Retelling of the Myth of Icarus and Daedalus

—from “The Bird Man in the Sky”

So early at the break of day, when bright beams in the east
And cloudless skies told Daedalus that there was not the least
Foretoken to suspect that stormy weather would appear,
He told his son, with firm resolve, “It’s time to leave from here.

“We’ll tear our tunics into strips of cloth, so as to tie
Our wings securely to our arms, as we prepare to fly.
Come now, my son, the morning breaks, the wind is blowing west.
It’s time to stretch your arms and feel the wind against your chest!

“I know it’s scary to surrender captive to the breeze,
To mount on high into the sky above the open seas;
But we have miles and miles to go across the boundless deep,
Before we get to Sicily, where we can finally sleep.

“We have, therefore, no time to waste, nor can we yield to fear.
We must be brave and seize this wild adventure with good cheer!
Remember what I told you, that the wind’s a mighty force;
It cannot be controlled, but you can ride it like a horse.

“The way you turn your arms and chest will govern where you go:
If you roll back your arms, you will climb higher than you know;
If you turn down your arms, then toward the sea you will descend—
So watch out where you’re going, or your life will quickly end!

“If you roll over to the right, then to the right you’ll veer;
If to the left you lean, then to the left you will career.
The safest course, my son, is to stick closely by your dad;
Just follow where I lead you, and you’ll make your father glad!”

“Remember, flying out at sea, the middle course is best:
Don’t fly too low, or you’ll be swallowed by a rising crest;
Don’t fly too high, or else the rising temperature will bring
Disaster as the sun’s heat melts the wax that binds each wing.

Do not forget your limitations. Though we both may learn
A few skills from our feathered friends, we cannot ever turn
Ourselves into a different creature—that idea’s absurd!
You’ll always be a man, my son; you’ll never be a bird.

Now here we go! I’ll catch that rushing wind that’s pulling me!”
With that, he leaned into the breeze and suddenly was free
Of contact with the land, as he was lifted off his feet
And swept by currents high above the rocky cliffs of Crete.

Without a word, young Icarus, obeyed his father’s voice.
He wavered but an instant, since he really had no choice;
For suddenly, a gust of wind blew underneath his wings
And threw him off the cliff top like a rock that someone slings.

At once, the boy remembered what his father had just said;
He rolled his elbows back and kept his trembling arms outspread.
Although his heart was pounding, he was pleased when he looked down
To see things growing small, for then he knew he would not drown.

He called out to his father through the misty atmosphere:
“My father, do not worry! I am close behind you here!
At first, I was so frightened that I dared not look below,
But now that I know how to fly, I’ve lost my vertigo!”

“Stay with me, son,” his father cried; “don’t lose me from your sight.
Stay focused and don’t get distracted by the joys of flight.
We have to keep our minds on getting to our destiny;
We have no time to play now as we cross this perilous sea.”

Young Icarus obeyed his father for a little while;
He flew on silently behind him, mile after mile,
But then, he saw a flock of birds go flying toward a cloud,
And suddenly, a rising passion made him cry out loud:

“How wonderful it is to fly! I feel just like a bird,
In fact, I want to go wherever birds go, undeterred.
They keep on rising higher through the clouds up to the sun,
Then down they soar like lightning—oh, how thrilling! oh, how fun!

“They fly so freely anywhere their hearts lead them to go.
They scrape the vault of heaven, then they surf the waves below.
They are not bound by law, but dart wherever they desire,
Ablaze with boundless energy, like tiny flames of fire!

“My father cannot give to me a gift like this, then say,
You cannot now enjoy it, but must wait until a day
When all is safe; till then, this precious gift that you possess
Must be kept under chains, until we find a place of rest.

“That isn’t fair! Look at those flocks above me, soaring high!
Shall I not follow them, if I’m the bird man in the sky?
Shall I not do all things I see them do because I can!—
Since by my father’s gift, I am no longer just a man?”

With that, the young boy rolled his elbows back and cheered with glee,
As upward on the winds he rose, at great velocity,
Into the clouds and higher still. without an ounce of fear,
Into the far off regions of the upper stratosphere.

He saw his father far below, a small dot near the sea,
Then looked up as he came into the sun’s vicinity.
The round orb burned intensely as its bright beams warmed his face,
“If only my old dad could see me in this lovely place!”

He kept on drawing near, as if to kiss that ball of fire,
Without restraint, drawn by the force of passionate desire;
When suddenly, he felt some drops of hot wax on his back,
That burned his skin and trickled down his spine like hot shellac.

Then looking up, he saw the melting rows of feathers start
Unraveling, as from their wax frame loosed, they fell apart!
In horror, he looked on, for there was nothing he could do
To keep his wings intact, for they kept dripping like the dew.

And like the morning dew, his wings were soon to disappear,
Disintegrated by the sun to which he came too near.
As they fell all to pieces in that corner of the sky,
His father, far below him, heard a distant, desperate cry.

“Oh father, help me! Help me! I don’t want to die this day!
I thought that you were kidding when you told me not to play.
I did not know the danger I was courting to ascend
On high; but now, my wings are gone, my life is at its end!

Below, his father gasped in horror when he looked behind
And saw his son was missing, for there was no way to find
Where he had gone—then suddenly, he heard a sound on high,
And looking up, he saw his poor son falling from the sky.

He heard his piteous, wailing cry for help grow loud as he

Dropped earthward like a meteor and fell into the sea:
“O father, help me! Help me!” Were the final words he heard,
For soon the waves had claimed the boy who thought he was a bird.

The devastated father swooped down low to scan the tide,
But saw no trace of Icarus, though he searched far and wide.
He groaned with overwhelming grief, as tears streamed down his face,
Appalled to see no sign of life upon that watery waste.

So brokenhearted, Daedalus went on his lonely way
And reached the isle of Sicily around the end of day:
He landed safely on a beach and sat down on the shore
And wept profusely for the son whom he would see no more.

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Martin Rizley grew up in Oklahoma and in Texas, and has served in pastoral ministry both in the United States and in Europe. He is currently serving as the pastor of a small evangelical church in the city of Málaga on the southern coast of Spain, where he lives with his wife and daughter.