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Once, before the world was formed,
Or Athens raised, or togas worn,
Before the planetary bodies
Told the fates of Spartan squaddies,
Before the Gordian knot was twisted,
Before such things as knots existed,
Or notions such as ‘time’ advanced,
Eurynome, the goddess, danced.
She’d risen out of Chaos, naked
(This would start a fashion), waited
For instruction, signal, sign.
Receiving none, she said, “Well, fine.
I’ll dance. I should’ve started sooner,”
Began a tango para una.
(Eurynome, as I have said,
Was naked. If this story’s read
By children, for their education,
Kids: use your imagination.)

Dancing, though, was complicated
With no dancefloor yet created.
Even goddesses can’t tango
In the Void, still less fandango.
So, Eurynome decided,
Sea and sky must be divided.
“Sea goes up and sky goes down.
No, wait, the other way around,”
She spoke, the universe obeyed,
The goddess sashayed on the waves.

I say the goddess. As the only
Deity, she soon grew lonely.
Though there was one consolation:
Being queen of all creation.
This, though, wasn’t worth a lot.
Without a sun, it wasn’t hot,
No land, no animals, no trees,
Meant few leisure activities.
Life, frankly put, was rubbish. Think:
The world was like a massive sink
With no plughole or rim. Or tap.
(Quite simple, this primeval map.)
And being Goddess of All Things
Was pointless without underlings
To smite or crush or boss about.
How strange – a goddess with no clout.

Eurynome danced southwards, just
Because she could. She wasn’t fussed
About her destination, since
There wasn’t one; indeed, by dint
Of how she’d made it, all was lake,
And so she danced, for dancing’s sake.
(And also to keep warm, it’s true.
If you remember, she was nude.)
She danced, and as she danced, the air
That she displaced (by dancing there)
Took on existence independent,
Now down-swirling, now ascendant,
Dancing, as if to impress her;
She beheld a newborn zephyr,
The north wind (in another era,
It would batter South Utsire).

“Did I do that? Gosh, well I never!
I must be divinely clever,”
Said the goddess, quite elated.
(It was not premeditated
But this detail didn’t stop her.)
As the north wind paused atop her,
Suddenly she seized it, held it
(Goddesses can do this), smelled it,
Shook it, rubbed it with her thumbs,
And murmured supernatural sums.
From this peculiar performance
There emerged a quite enormous
Serpent – Ophion by name.
(At least, that’s what my sources claim.)

Ophion was a massive beast,
Nineteen times normal size at least.
Each scale was bigger than your fist,
Each tooth was thicker than your wrist,
Each eye was seven times as great
As Epicurus’ largest plate.
But no vast attribute impressed
Ophion’s maker, the goddess.
Eurynome observed the snake
With discontent; she’d hoped to make
Something a little more complex,
That wasn’t basically just neck.
Sulkily, she faced her scion:
“You won’t protest, I hope, Ophion,
Or think that I lack courtesy
If I don’t stay for pleasantries.
You see, I’d planned to dance this evening.”
“I wouldn’t dream of intervening,”
Said the coiled serpent, straightening,
“If you don’t mind me spectating.”
“Why not?” the goddess said, “It’s true,
“There’s bugger else for you to do.”

Eurynome began to jive,
Which makes for splendid exercise.
It aids one’s self-esteem, I’m told,
And helps to warm you when you’re cold,
And since her body was still bare
(Ophion was not unaware
Of this), it seemed her choice was fitting.
Whirling where the snake was sitting,
She began with mild burlesque,
High-kicked expertly, soon progressed
To riverdance with fewer flaws
Than Flatley does; the snake’s applause
Was genuine and thunderous
(Though what is truly wondrous
Is that the snake managed to clap
Despite his natural handicap).
Ophion’s adulation moved her,
So she danced what most behooved her,
Part moonwalk, and part robotic,
Very dextrous, quite erotic,
(Plus, it aids the circulation.)
This time Ophion’s ovation
Lasted half an hour or more,
“Goddess!” He cried out, “I adore
Your boogie roll, and your foxtrot,
Your salsa’s gloriously hot,
I like your tap, I love your rhumba,
But your last dance, that robot number,
Oh! So perfect, so beguiling!
What flamboyance! What freestyling!
In all the world, there’s none above you.
Eurynome, I think I love you.”
(That penultimate line is true,
Since ‘all the world’ meant just those two,
But let us not be too pedantic,
He’s trying hard to be romantic.)

The goddess was extremely flattered
By the snake’s adoring chatter;
Blushing slightly, but delighted,
Said, “My dear, your love’s requited.
I could never hope to find
Another audience so kind,
And anyway, it seems creation
Rather swings on our relations.”
Then, Eurynome once more
Began to dance. “For my encore,
A dance of physical desire,
Appropriate for my attire.
Ophion, you must dance it too.
It’s only possible with two.”

I cannot give a full report
Of what went on, but I’d have thought
They—no. I shouldn’t speculate.
It’s wrong to. But, alas, too late.
Inside my mind there’s imagery
Of sinuous asymmetry
That might prove difficult to budge.
But really now, I shouldn’t judge.

And so, goddess and serpent mated,
Womb divine was impregnated.
Then, and why I can’t suppose,
Eurynome metamorphosed
Into a dove. Why? Well, good question.
Perhaps this was a new suggestion,
All the rage with mums-to-be
In god-parenting magazines.
Maybe childbirth didn’t appeal,
Brooding seemed a better deal.
(Or maybe it was just her whim.
When pregnant, you can want strange things.)
So, the goddess, thus translated,
Took a deep breath, concentrated,
Pushed and groaned and pushed and wheezed,
And pushed again, until out squeezed
The Universal Egg, so-called,
Because, contained in eggshell walls,
Was all the world of beasts and men,
Arrayed behind the albumen.
The swamps, the mountains, glaciers, fjords,
Savannahs, prairies, pampas, swards,
The coastal shelves and river basins,
Cumulonimbus cloud formations,
Sun, moon, planets, stars and sky,
Uncomfortably side-by-side
And floating in primordial yolk.

Once it was laid, its mum invoked
Her right divine to be obeyed.
She said “Ophion, I have laid
This egg. As far as I’m concerned,
That’s my job done. I think I’ve earned
A rest. Now, honey, I declare
It’s time for you to do your share
Of parenting. It would be sad
If our egg had a deadbeat dad.”
The serpent gave his quick consent,
Too wise to contemplate dissent.
To raise a protest might be fatal,
With the goddess just post-natal.
“Snookums! Sweetheart! Babycakes!
Of course I’ll help! For heaven’s sakes,
Did you believe that I might spurn
Your wishes? Clearly it’s my turn!
What would you like?” The snake asked, nervous,
“Milk? Buttered toast? I’m at your service.”
“Actually,” the goddess said,
My darling, you must hatch the egg.”
“Pardon?” “That’s right. Do as I say
Or you’ll be giant snake pâté.”
Ophion paled. “Yes yes, of course,
No problem, darling.” Thus perforce
Obliged to do so, daddy nursed
The embryonic universe.
He coiled around it sevenfold,
To keep it from becoming cold,
He checked its size and weight each hour,
He never gripped with too much power
Nor not enough; in fact, just right.
He even tucked it in at night.
Eurynome sang lullabies
As all her parent-books advised.
(Their efficaciousness was moot,
But she thought it beyond dispute.)

Then, one day, the eggshell shivered,
(“Look!” The parents shouted), quivered,
(“It’s happening!”) It wobbled, twitched,
And HATCHED – and all things that exist
Came tumbling out. (Ophion hissed,
“Did you bring the camera, honey?”)
Suddenly, the world was sunny,
Day and night-time alternated,
Planetary spheres rotated,
Simmering volcanoes rumbled,
Tumbleweed, correctly, tumbled,
Tapirs, platypuses too,
Did whatever thing they do,
Fields had flowers, which had bees,
The earth was more than endless seas.

The proud progenitors retreated
To a mountaintop; here seated,
They looked on with gaze benign
And intervened, from time to time.
(I heard a rumour that they may be
Planning for another baby.
Eurynome still likes to dance,
So I’d say there’s decent chance.)
And so, prehistory began.
The first (the ‘Golden’) age of man
Had started, full of mad heroics,
Written down by epic poets.
This is backstory, no more.
The real tales to shock and awe
With details of outrageous actions,
Wars between conflicting factions,
Fearless heroes, shocking crimes…
I’ll save them for another time.