Modern Hymns and Poetry for Apollon

Communal Hymn of the Old Thiasos

I pray to Apollo
Who runs with wolves
Who knows and who tells
I pray to Apollo of the Starry Bull
Flying the forests at night
Feet aflame with the pine underfoot
Whose hands have seized the sacrifice
The God of Those Who are Dead
Far flung your arrows
Piercing the flesh and bringing
Sudden death to men
The breath of rot exudes from
Your underworld throne
Or perhaps it is the Serpent’s flesh we scent, left to decay
Filling the oracle with life
Hail the wolf, the taker
Hail bright fire consuming all
Plague-stayer, healer, God good to mortals
Apollo Soranos ablaze!
Silent Hunter, Eyes in the Dark,
The Wolf that renders Your prey,
All ends with you; you are the limit of all the world,
The fence dividing the land.
But though You bring death,
Existence continues on the other side,
Envenomed and wrung out,
That much purer for the fire.
You fell the wood that needs felling.
Cull in us what must be culled.
Wreathed in spells as an icon in perfumed smoke,
Chanting verses that echo beckoning from lonely places,
Haloed in bog-fire, Wolf-faced, leading on the web-footed choir of Acheron,
Apollo Soranos, may we hear your songs of power!
Hear and be riven by madness,
Hear and join our voices, raised as smoke over the sacrifical pit,
Hear and dance amongst the dead,
Until our madness leaves us with but a tune upon our exhausted lips!
You are He upon whom we call
You are the burning wolf who tears
Asunder the ruddy dark bull
You are the coiled dragon of twilight
Looming over the sacred tomb
Pouring libations upon the earth
For you have torn the vine from the
Wine dark soil, you have consumed
The flesh of the living.
You are the bearer of the bull-goad
Preserver of the fruits. You reap all;
All of that which you nurture and sustain
And you He shall reap at the end
Of that brief time of mortal days,
In His lauded glory, and in his name.

My Apollon
by Sannion

I will hear no more of the poet’s Apollo, all sunshine and moderation and bland admonishments that men should know their place. I do not say that they lie: he is a huge god, I do not know him well, and what they see may indeed be there. But my Apollon is different. He is the terrible archer whose arrows carry plague and who danced on the corpse of the Python after it mocked his mother. My Apollon tore the skin from Marsyas to teach him what being a true artist is all about. My Apollon is a wolf-god, a hunter in the wilds far from man. He is a raven-god, manifest in its night-black wings and omenous eyes that see the mysteries that lie beyond mortal confines. The face of my Apollon is the jagged peaks of Parnassos, snow-covered and stretching up to the heights of heaven. His voice is the wind rustling through ancient trees in midnight forests, and the staccato beat of young men’s feet as they dance out the Paian for him. His breath is the scent of burning bay leaves and the sweat of the priestess as she struggles to give birth to the prophetic words with which he has filled her. My Apollon is in the swarm of bees and the icy depths of the virgin spring. My Apollon is a god of light – but the light that shines out of the darkness. My Apollon is a healer – but he heals through pain. My Apollon is a singer – but of magical chants not pretty songs. He lives far away, and it is a perilous journey to find him, one from which no man returns unchanged. This is my Apollon. I will never be an initiate of his, but I have had occasional and partial glimpses of him and I love what he has shown me. So I raise up this song to my Apollon, since the other Apollo has been hymned plenty of times before.

Prayer to Apollo Klarios
by Galina Krasskova

I give praise to this God
Who is radiant beyond measure,
Who illuminates and purifies
driving back vengeful spirits.

I give praise to this God
Whose wisdom is without question
Who fills oracles’ mouths with inspiration
sweeter than honey,
sharper than fire.

I give praise to this God
Who protects those who call upon Him,
warding them from bite of viper, of tick,
of scorpion, and every crawling pest.

He is mighty.
He is merciful.
Let His praises be sung
Apollo Klarios,
Gold-browed God
of Olympus.

Prayer to Apollo Klarios II
by Galina Krasskova

You come with blinding light,
a Presence like resounding song
Vibrating, pulsing, BEING,
filling everything,
filling the space around me
driving back all miasma.
You purify.

In You there is clarity.
In You, I can see sharply
and with wonder.

In You the scars of my soul
are comforted.
The noise in my head
takes order.
I am lifted up
to the places of  the Gods.

You raise me up, Lord Apollo,
and You are mighty.

My tongue longs ever for the sweetness
of Your prophetic touch,
a single blessing,
finger to lips –mantic caress,
kindling a fire that burns all who hear,
fire that purifies
All who carry it.

Radiant Lord,
So easily might I be lost in You.
The ecstasy You bring is surprising
and sweet.

Hail to You, Apollo.

To Apollon
by Sannion

Chief among the Gods
of Parnassos and Mount Soracte
is the Striker from Afar,
swan-riding Apollon,
with his long hair and his deadly bow.
He to whom the purifying fumes of the bay are dear,
the Lord of healing and plague,
who knows the secret places of men’s hearts
and shines radiantly from the darkness.
Apollon, burn away every sign of weakness and impurity within me,
make me to shine as brilliant and purely as Helios upon the horizon.
Fill my ears with the harmonious music of the heavens;
make my speech ring with prophetic truth.