Sounds of grief
Must I remind you, Cleis,
that sounds of grief
are unbecoming in
a poet's household?
and that they are not
suitable in ours?
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Related quotes
Must I remind you, Cleis,
Must I remind you, Cleis,
that sounds of grief
are unbecmoming in
a poet's household?
and that they are not
suitable in ours?
[Note: "A poet's household" is more litterally one "dedicated to the Muses."]
Must I remind you, Clesis,
Must I remind you, Cleis,
that sounds of grief
are unbecmoming in
a poet's household?
and that they are not
suitable in ours?
[Note: "A poet's household" is more litterally one "dedicated to the Muses."]
Cleis
Sleep, darling
I have a small
daughter called
Cleis, who is
like a golden
flower
I wouldn't
take all Croesus'
kingdom with love
thrown in, for her
---
Don't ask me what to wear
I have no embroidered
headband from Sardis to
give you, Cleis, such as
I wore
and my mother
always said that in her
day a purple ribbon
looped in the hair was thought
to be high style indeed
but we were dark:
a girl
whose hair is yellower than
torchlight should wear no
headdress but fresh flowers
Sappho
tr. Barnard
I took my lyre
I took my lyre and said:
Come now, my heavenly
tortoise shell: become
a speaking instrument
Sappho
tr. Barnard
The Muses
It is the Muses
who have caused me
to be honred: they
taught me their craft
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Leto and Niobe
Before they were mothers
Leto and Niobe
had been the most
devoted of friends
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Words
Although they are
only breath, words
which I command
are immortal
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Blame Aphrodite
It's no use
Mother dear, I
can't finish my
weaving
You may
blame Aphrodite
soft as she is
she has almost
killed me with
love for that boy
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Cyprian, in my dream
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
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Sleep, darling
Sleep, darling
I have a small
daughter called
Cleis, who is
like a golden
flower
I wouldn't
take all Croesus'
kingdom with love
thrown in, for her
---
Don't ask me what to wear
I have no embroidered
headband from Sardis to
give you, Cleis, such as
I wore
and my mother
always said that in her
day a purple ribbon
looped in the hair was thought
to be high style indeed
but we were dark:
a girl
whose hair is yellower than
torchlight should wear no
headdress but fresh flowers
It was you, Atthis, who said
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
"a spring, bathe in the water.
Cleis is bringing your best
pruple frock and the yellow
"tunic down from the clothes chest;
you will have a cloak thrown over
you and flowers crowning your hair...
"Praxinoa, my child, will you please
roast nuts for our breakfast? One
of the gods is being good to us:
"today we are going at last
into Mitylene, our favorite
city, with Sappho, loveliest
"of its women; she will walk
among us like a mother with
all her daughters around her
"when she comes home from exile..."
But you forget everything
Prayer to Our Lady of Paphos
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
from your father's house to your
gold car, to yoke the pair whose
beautiful thick-feathered wings
oaring down mid-air from heaven
carried you to light swiftly
on dark earth; then, blissful one,
smiling your immortal smile
you asked, What ailed me now that
me call you again? What
was it that my distracted
heart most wanted? ``Whom has
Persuasion to bring round now
``to your love? Who, Sappho, is
unfair to you? For, let her
run, she will soon run after;
``if she won't accept gifts, she
will one day give them; and if
she won't love you --- she soon will
``love, although unwillingly...''
If ever --- come now! Relieve
this intolerable pain!
What my heart most hopes will
happen, make happen; you your-
self join forces on my side!
Sappho
tr. Barnard
No Word
I have had not one word from her
Frankly I wish I were dead.
When she left, she wept
a great deal; she said to
me, ``This parting must be
endured, Sappho. I go unwillingly.''
I said, ``Go, and be happy
but remember (you know
well) whom you leave shackled by love
``If you forget me, think
of our gifts to Aphrodite
and all the loveliness that we shared
``all the violet tiaras,
braided rosebuds, dill and
crocus twined around your young neck
``myrrh poured on your head
and on soft mats girls with
all that they most wished for beside them
``while no voices chanted
choruses without ours,
no woodlot bloomed in spring without song...''
Sappho
tr. Barnard
To Aphrodite
You know the place: then
Leave Crete and come to us
waiting where the grove is
pleasantest, by precincts
sacred to you; incense
smokes on the altar, cold
streams murmur through the
apple branches, a young
rose thicket shades the ground
and quivering leaves pour
down deep sleep; in meadows
where horses have grown sleek
among spring flowers, dill
scents the air. Queen! Cyprian!
Fill our gold cups with love
stirred into clear nectar
Sappho
tr. Barnard
To any army wife
To any army wife, in Sardis:
Some say a cavalry corps,
some infantry, some again,
will maintain that the swift oars
of our fleet are the finest
sight on dark earth; but I say
that whatever one loves, is.
This is easily proved: did
not Helen --- she who had scanned
the flower of the world's manhood ---
choose as first among men one
who laid Troy's honor in ruin?
warped to his will, forgetting
love due her own blood, her own
child, she wandered far with him.
So Anactoria, although you
being far away forget us,
the dear sound of your footstep
and light glancing in your eyes
would move me more than glitter
of Lydian horse or armored
tread of mainland infantry
Sappho
tr. Barnard
Anactoria
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
Now among Lydian women she in her
turn stands first as the red-
fingered moon rising at sunset takes
precedence over stars around her;
her light spreads equally
on the salt sea and fields thick with bloom
Delicious dew pours down to freshen
roses, delicate thyme
and blossoming sweet clover; she wanders
aimlessly, thinking of gentle
Atthis, her heart hanging
heavy with longing in her little breast
She shouts aloud, Come! we know it;
thousand-eared night repeats that cry
across the sea shining between us
Sappho
tr. Barnard
You Remind Me Of Gold
Baby, when I think about you
And thats when I think
I think about gold
You remind me of gold
And when I see the sunrise in the sky
And when I hear your brakes come squealing by
I forget
Everything Ive been told
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
Baby I always think about you
I think of the life and glory you hold
You remind me of gold
And even though there was no sun today
And though you are a thousand miles away
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
You remind me of gold
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Poet Should Be
A poet should be romantic as spring
chocolate and cherry
mellifluous honey
drinking day-lit blossoming
Yet a poet should be
suspicious jaded wary
deepest indigo sour wine poison
ice blister winter night scathing
A poet should be loving
beyond bewildering
passionate so jealously
A poet should be spiteful
boisterous unbecoming
belligerent as unseemly
A poet should ever enjoin
engage the reader
emphatic empathic
paving pathos
ever so eternal
most intimate
enduringly
copyright Randy Resh 2008
Futureale Magazine June 2009
poem by Randy Resh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Remember what is unbecoming to do is also unbecoming to speak of.
Neal Barnard
Loves every being,
every captive animal in a barnyard,
the brilliant and courageous
physician, Neal Barnard
*
Barnard is a psychiatrist and founder of PCRM (dot org)
poem by O. Anna Niemus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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