Sappho Sappho
Must I remind you, Cleis,
that sounds of grief
are unbecoming in
a poet's household?
and that they are not
suitable in ours?
translated by: Barnard
Cyprian, in my dream
the folds of a purple
kerchief shadowed
your cheeks —- the one
Timas one time sent,
a timid gift, all
the way from Phocaea
Before they were mothers
Leto and Niobe
had been the most
devoted of friends
Set are the Pleiades; the Moon is down
And midnight dark on high.
The hours, the hours, drift by,
And here I lie,
Alone
We put the urn aboard ship
with this inscription:
This is the dust of little
Timas who unmarried was led
into Persephone's dark bedroom
And she being far from home, girls
Although they are
only breath, words
which I command
are immortal
It was you, Atthis, who said
"Sappho, if you will not get
up and let us look at you
I shall never love you again!
"Get up, unleash your suppleness,
lift off your Chian nightdress
and, like a lily leaning into
We shall enjoy it
as for him who finds
fault, may silliness
and sorrow take him!
I took my lyre and said:
Come now, my heavenly
tortoise shell: become
a speaking instrument
Yes, Atthis, you may be sure
Even in Sardis
Anactoria will think often of us
of the life we shared here, when you seemed
the Goddess incarnate
to her and your singing pleased her best
It is the Muses
who have caused me
to be honored: they
taught me their craft
Dapple-throned Aphrodite,
eternal daughter of God,
snare-knitter! Don't, I beg you,
cow my heart with grief! Come,
as once when you heard my far-
off cry and, listening, stepped