The Inferno Elegies

By Tasha Jackson. Published on March 23, 2023.

This is a set of 6 interconnected poems about a physical journey through the rivers of hell, which was first discussed in Dante Aligheri’s epic poem known as Inferno, the first part of his The Divine Comedy (La Commedia in his native Italian). La Commedia is considered by many to be the greatest literary work in Italian history, and consists of 3 distinct parts: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso (Hell, Purgatory, and Heaven in English, respectively). Inferno was his story about traveling through the 9 different levels (circles) of Hell, with the famous poet Virgil as his makeshift tour guide, and drew from Dante’s knowledge of Greek mythology.

The Greeks imagined Hell as a physical place, rather than a metaphorical one – a hidden dimension, or a parallel universe, accessed only via specific conditions and timing. The rivers crisscrossed and flowed, both around, and through, the Underworld itself. Scholarly accounts differ widely on the order they were thought to follow within the plane of Hell, but a rough consensus puts them in this order: Acheron, Styx, Phlegethon, Cocytus, Lethe – this is the order Dante himself used in his work, so I will use it as well.

Poem 1: Acheron was the ‘River of Woe and Pain’, and served as a physical barrier between the living on Earth and the Underworld. In ancient texts, this river was the most important, and the one Charon, the ferryman, used to row the dead across to the Underworld. Many Greeks placed a coin in the mouths of the dead, with the belief that without payment for the ferryman, the dead person’s soul would be left on Acheron’s banks to wander aimlessly, rather than being able to move on to their final destination.

Poem 2: Styx was the river of hate, and represents the fifth circle of Hell. It begins as a tributary of Acheron, and was the only river of Hell mentioned in Homer’s Iliad. It was said to circle the Underworld City of Dis seven times. Modern authors believe this river was Charon’s highway for ferrying souls instead of Acheron. Styx began in marshland and contained dirty water full of Wrathful souls actively fighting each other, and the Sullen souls who were floating just beneath the surface. Charon’s monstrous three-headed dog, Cerberus, was said to wait on the far bank of this river, to greet him when he arrived.

Poem 3: The Black Gate lay within the River Styx and the fifth circle of Hell, and served as the entrance to the City of Dis, which itself lay beyond the gate. The gate was said to be tall and medieval-looking, and souls had to pass through it in order to enter the city, as the physical gate was understood to function as a gateway to the lower levels of Hell (collectively referred to as ‘Lower Hell’), which all lay within the city’s walls.

Poem 4: The River Phlegethon lay beyond the City of Dis, within the first of 3 rings that made up the seventh circle of Hell. This river lead to Tartarus, the land where the dead were judged, and which was also the location of the Titans’ prison. Phlegethon was known as the river of fire, and the Greeks considered it to be the source of streams of lava on Earth’s surface—the source of volcanic eruptions. It was also referred to by many as a river of hot, boiling blood.

Poem 5: Cocytus was the river of lamentation, and was found at the bottom of the well at the base of Hell’s eighth circle. It served as a passageway to the ninth circle, and was said to be made of frozen tears. It was also known as the river of wailing. Some accounts believed that souls who were not given a proper burial were sentenced to wander the banks of Cocytus for eternity (instead of Acheron), because they had no way to pay Charon to ferry them to their final resting place. Satan himself was said to reside in the middle of the frozen lake.

Poem 6: Lethe, the final river, lay in the center of the ninth Circle of Hell, flowing down from the Mountain of Purgatory. The river Lethe flowed to the center of the Earth, and was the first step on the path to reincarnation. Souls had to drink its waters in order to forget their earthly existence, and it was therefore known as the river of forgetfulness, or the river of oblivion. Many accounts described it as running parallel to Cocytus.

I.  AcheRoN

you were only legendary

for spreading your own rumors

you thought it’d lead to Fame

but that road only curved toward Ruin

how could it not—

you looked like summer in a human form

and you watched them feed on me—

wolves tearing away at the thin flesh of

my exposed neck—

a part I’d made vulnerable, only for you—

gloating like the Cheshire cat

as you reveled in my suffering

carved relief—my ashen face

and you became someone else then—

an empty, soulless Thing inside

a void with arms & legs

predator coiled around its prey

that sullen shadow I would come to know

so well, that I’m beginning to forget

your sandpaper thumb

brushing my cheek

the promise

that you wouldn’t let anyone hurt me

anymore

(my rescue boat against the crushing swells)

before an enemy took root

and spread its venom in your brain

just because you severed the leaden cable

that connects us, with a sword

didn’t mean the nerves

hanging ragged from my chest

no longer felt your absence

I’m not sorry

for loving you

with everything I had

I’m not sorry

for trying everything I could

to save you—

from yourself

I always wanted it more

than I wanted to save Me

so I gladly pay the fee

with this coin beneath my tongue

to the ferryman

with eyes aflame

whose thoughts broadcast

directly through my veins

shockwaves through my limbs

each time he deigns to speak

and I begin my journey

down this dark river

it’s not a journey it’s a sentence

away from the shores of mad

screaming corpses

begging for mercy as they claw

at each other, blood blanketing the dirt

to a place where I can leave

my memories of you behind

good luck with that

the somber sky an iron mask

where the air is always Night

where I can imagine

in these dreams

that you never mattered to me

you do know why you’re here, don’t you?

so I can pretend that it was true

when you whispered—

lips grazing at my ear—

that I’d be safe with you

II.  StyX

disgust and hatred unfurl inside my heart

rampant symbiotes of darkness

until there’s nothing left to taste

gaping wound festering in an empty chest

a vicious contagion

revenge consumes my waking thoughts

now that I’m alone

in a storm-battered grimy

ancient rowboat of my own

to carry me through churning, brackish waves

with hurricane curtains

obscuring every view

to finish what we started

before you destroyed it all

Charon paused as though awaiting

a thank-you for the ride

so I maimed him with his steerage pole

to buy myself some time

he blinked at me, a bit confused

I’m Heracles—a clever ruse

and the nightmares continue—

the two of us

expired shells in all of them

but it doesn’t feel wrong

only—almost—

s  a  t  i  s  f  y  i  n  g  …

the electric power of knowing your demise

was written by my hand—

fingers dripping malice—

spraying red

that I’m the one who gets to end your story

just like you ended mine—

crushing my ribs beneath

your heavy boots,

gaining leverage to rip your arrow

from my neck—

its cracking deafened me

split me to the core

now I no longer hear the screaming

coming through the floor

and this surge of revulsion

will take me right where I belong—

because I’ll never forgive you

and I’ll never let go

you thought you could escape me

but you don’t get to choose the ending!

‘cause even though I wake up

from these twisted dreams

occasionally

it doesn’t mean it wasn’t ever real—

for me

it doesn’t mean I didn’t feel anything           

III.  The Black Gate

the fog creeps in

a snake winding through dark sand

waves of billowing gray smoke

water slowing to a rolling boil

as I enter the canal

this worthless dinghy finally approaching

the eternal city known as Dis

has it been days, or weeks?

my plan was to escape unscathed

barnacle-encrusted gate

swings open to admit me,

colossal in its scope

iron bars that wheeze

a jarring

c

   r

      e

         a

            k

in the blistering haze

a thick tangle of black grime

coats ruined buildings—

ivy vines

swampy muck struggles to reclaim

each brick facade, in turn

they sink slowly

and all at once

while floating through—

the ugly stench of spoiled meat

an auditorium of whispers

nobody lives here

nobody lives here

but the crimson, haunted eyes of Shades

see through me

from behind smudged window panes

the water slowing still as glass

the echoes of vampiric children

reaching toward my pallid hands

as I chew frantically at my nails—

eyes scanning through the gloom for you

because I know, if ever I deserved this

than you deserve it too                       

IV.  Phlegethon

I wrestle to remain afloat

on the descent into the valley

my source of transportation being swallowed

by this river of liquid flame

but I don’t feel its heat—

my nerves no longer connect to

anything meaningful

I’m putting up my one last fight

before my limbs melt into

the curdled surface—

a sublimated fantasy

where we could’ve ended up

together

as spider lightning

rents across the sky

illuminating great towering Things

lurking ahead

that I wish I could define

mangled bodies, anguished mouths

desperate for an end

to their agony

sweat seeping from their faces

bloodied hands clawing the sides

of my sinking vessel—

but only one of us can make it

and I’ve come too far now to let them win                

my clothes hang from my tired frame

       sopping

      substantial

                s m o k i n g

and I’m so sick

is it my skin on fire,

or the fever in my brain?

I know now that I was never meant

to leave this place alive

maybe I’m just losing it

these ashes gravel in my throat

because you’re not here

you’re not here!

and I know you should be.

V. cocytus

a lead silence blankets the riverbanks

as I slog through the last

of the frigid debris to the shore

this is the river of my frozen tears

and your bruised-up corpse is lying

face-down in the blackness

oxygen-starved limbs bobbing along

in the subtle current

I struggle to turn it over

but it’s so heavy

tiny ice crystals matted

to your lashes—

the ones that promised all the girls

adventures in secret.

the realization—

I’m too late—

an iceberg’s direct hit

to my chest

no leftover laughter in your eyes

they’re just tunnels in your face that lead to doom

long fingers swollen, broken

this frozen horror now your tomb

and now I’ll never know—

if you did this to yourself

I know it’s not you anymore

so why does it even matter?

I want to sink beneath the craggy surface

because this isn’t worth it anymore—

but how would I drown in my own tears?

I’m already in Hell

So I’ll just curl up next to you

on this ugly rime-encrusted beach

our story’s conclusion just detritus among black sand

and discarded arms and legs preserved in

harshly-angled chunks of ice

a hint of rot whispering in the gloom

as I run my fingers quietly, desperately through

the coarse mane of your lion hair

because it’s all I know how to do—

this is all that I have left of you

and I know that I told you

I didn’t need you anymore

but I lied

I lied!

I tricked the Prince of Liars!

and I don’t know how to go on

from here

So I just lie still—

wishing for the death

I know won’t come,

because there’s nothing left

for me to do.              

VI.  Lethe

we could’ve told our story so differently

we could’ve given us a happy ending

why didn’t you stay?

why didn’t you fight for me?

does it sting more sharply that you just let go,

or because I’ll never know why?

the malevolent Shade you left behind

surges forward, on a quest

to rip out my vocal chords

silencing my strangled screams

snapping sounds like rubber bands

blood coats my throat like cotton

I become a still-life torture portrait

but it’s still not enough

and I could try to drown, in all of this regret—

one last gasp before I slip beneath the punctured surface—

but it won’t change anything

it’s never gonna bring you back to me

but wait!

Charon said this river has a parallel!

over an embankment to its edge I scramble-slide

and—

oh!

I see our story there—

the one you cast aside—

visible in squalid muck

swollen cover Irish green

its pages edged in gilt

but also, oiled sheen

all of us still lives between the pages here

and then I understand

you colossal idiot

you sabotaged us—

then you sacrificed yourself

to save me

but that’s not how it’s supposed to end

and deep inside this hollow chest I know

you weren’t the poison—

you’re the flame

but with this book I have another way

to return you to the fold

to try to put us right again

before I get too cold

so I will drink from these new waters

chilled and blue and clear and clean

to forget you

again and again

and again

as many times as it takes

an endless cycle on the stopover path

     that leads to dreamland

          that leads to happy

               that leads to us—

                    I can believe enough for both of us

               as the sky turns upside down

          and the glow of dawn turns purple-white

     on the new horizon up ahead

and I start climbing

because there has to be a future

where we get this right—

there has to be a future

where we make it

Tasha Jackson is a genealogist from Iowa. One of her ancestors commanded the troops to fire the 'shot heard round the world' in the American Revolution, and her 9x great grandma was convicted of witchcraft in 1692. She plays the guitar, and loves Doctor Who, the X-Men, going to concerts, her pet chinchillas, and reading poetry from her two favorite guys named Charles: Baudelaire and Bukowski. Her poetry has appeared in Simpson College's journal SEQUEL, and her photography was in a German Life Magazine calendar.