In the cave into which we have stumbled
We are met by hummingbirds
Who, we will discover,
Have their colony deep inside the mountain.
Let us follow them into the darkness.
Just follow them (and me),
Following the whirring of their wings
And their urgent squeaking.
Some are lighting up like ornaments, self-charging.
After the darkness widens
And the worst of our fears release us . . .
Whoa, whoa, whoa! What?
None of this is acceptable or credible.
Back up. What cave? Why hummingbirds?
If there is a story here, tell us!
Even if we would appear ludicrous
(If we were visible),
Dressed for a formal event
That no one can remember attending,
With sh*t to our knees,
[And where did we leave our shoes?],
We deserve that much respect!
If there is a story, please tell us
Even if it doesn't hang together,
Even if we have heard some of it before
Or seen it dramatized in a flopped mini-drama by TV people.
OK, but just know that all the good parts have been excised
For the shorter attention span of a generic audience,
(I assume there are no PBS fans among us.)
And very little remains of the original
(Which was funnier).
I am just the storyteller, a spinner of yarns,
But primarily an entertainer at heart
But a principled guy, nonetheless.
I'm just saying, there are stories I will not tell
Until the time and place are right.
This is one of those.
So what if it lacks both depth and scope.
It carries the living spirit of a noble epic
That made its way
Across oceans and centuries.
(Why, it barely survived being stuffed in a barrel
By a doomed sailor
(Who scrawled his name in tar),
That was found by a beach bum in Carmel
(footnote: who was destined to become
The first mayor of Carmel!).
Lastly I would just like to say
That what you are going to hear is my own translation
Which is steeped in quaint suburban American slang.
That should sound comfortingly familiar.
Anyway, poetic licentiousness aside,
The original text being as lost in time as The Odyssey,
My interpretation might be the best ever,
Weaving elements of Rap with slapstick,
And ephemeral product references,
And puns geared for the inebriated,
That only make sense to
People with the names of Disney characters
Who go around sucking frozen culture on a stick . . .
Or to a sprinkling of random folks of solid American stock
Such as someone hosting a party,
Named Darwin or Lord Jim,
Who is bent on turning the thermostat way up
To melt the ice of his guests
Whose names are all exasperating nicknames,
Like "bad boy" or "Turbo" or "Willy"
(That will appear in quotes in their obituaries).
(Granted, this is too much for anyone!
I know that I have lost the thread.)
Just forget the story!
I promise you that something worthwhile will happen
To justify your winding up completely in the dark.
But if you stick with me,
You are better off without a story!
I have just received word
That someone is coming
Who will deliver a zen-slap
To each and every one of you.
But (a little heads-up!) they will not come from the cave entrance
But from the bowels of this cavern, in fact
From the very bowels of the Earth,
Which is the only place left on Turtle Island
That has not been bought or sold ad nauseum.
The hummingbirds?
They went to meet him.
(Article changed on Nov 24, 2025 at 7:44 PM EST)
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