Derived from the works of Alcaeus and Sappho

Ancient armoury

My father’s father and my own grew old
possessing this fair dwelling and its lands
but now their riches are for us to hold,
their weapons worn by war wait for our hands.
Old-fashioned arms and armour hang in proof,
warlike adornments, of their time the best;
their gleaming metal decorates the roof;
white plumes of horse-hair wave from helmet crest.
On floor and wall these precious things are spread;
they lend their glory to the stones and boards:
the shields that turned the spear and arrowhead,
belts, tunics, corselets, greaves and good, bronze swords…
but all of this is worthless without men
who have the will to wield the like again.



Fill every beaker

Like racing horses come the stormy rains,
with lightning in their hooves and howling breath;
with snow and hailstones whipping us like chains
to bring unsheltered men to freezing death.
Defy the storm; light up the lamps and fire.
What are we waiting for? Bring out the wine.
The last dull glimmers of the day retire.
Now is the time to venerate the vine,
the only remedy the dark earth knows
for all the thoughts by which the mind is vexed.
Fill every beaker till it overflows,
let every one be jostled by the next.
Oblivion is how the world began
and wine’s a thing that understands a man.




Sappho accuses Aphrodite

It gladdened eyes; its blossom fed the bee;
the sweetest apple ripened in the sun
upon the tip, the topmost of the tree,
and hung there still when harvesting was done.
Forgotten? No, but not a man aspired,
until the goddess came to shake her free,
to touch the apple that was most admired.
I’m sorry, Mother dear, but don’t blame me.
Blame Aphrodite; she has sent a youth,
as slender as the stripling apple tree,
to shake me with desire. You know the truth:
with love she traps us women, wantonly;
against this creature there is no defence;
we must surrender until love relents.


Cleis

I have a daughter, prettier than flowers,
and bonny as the budding boughs of May.
I would not part with her for golden towers
nor all the money that the world could pay.
My mother told me that when I was born
the girls had purple bands to bind their hair;
I’ve lately seen such coloured headbands worn
and I would get one but I know not where.
The fiery poppy and the cornflower blue,
forget-me-nots and herbs the shepherds find,
O daughter mine, are all I have for you
to plat and weave upon your head and bind…
but little Cleis, here in Sappho’s rhyme
you hair is handsome to the end of time.


Sappho sings to Anactoria

Some like to see the horseguards wheel and dash
across a wide plain, bright with tossing plumes,
when colours fly, when arms and armour flash.
But some prefer a cloud of cherry blooms
when happy April, bridesmaid of the sun,
adorns herself to show that spring’s begun.
While others say a fleet of sail at sea
surpasses any other scenery.
Although I love the troopers, cherries too,
my favourite, Anactoria, is you.
Your laughter thrills me, sweet as any flute;
I catch a glimpse of you and I am mute;
I sweat and tremble and I catch my breath;
your flame burns in me; I am close to death.

Sappho at the mirror

Before her mirror, in the morning light,
she finds some greyness in her silken hair
where all until this dawn was glossy bright;
she weeps to see the marks of passage there.
Soft Dawn, the midwife to the darkened earth,
delivers the new day when shadows fade
but never learns what this new thing is worth
for she is gone before it’s fully made.
Now Sappho sees that Dawn, who brings the sun,
goes with the shadows when they make their flight,
fades in the very glory she’s begun,
dies and dissolves in her created light;
she sees that death is evil, that the gods agree
and for themselves choose immortality.


Sappho sleeps alone

The moon sets; the stars fade; the midnight owl has flown;
the hours creep and she’s afraid for Sappho sleeps alone.
She fears there is some shallow maid, some wretched girl unknown,
some artful charmer who has made poor Sappho’s love her own;
so Sappho languishes, betrayed, forlorn and left to moan.
In all the world I love you best and yet we sleep apart;
come tell me I am dispossessed and let me make a start
upon a solitary quest for I long to depart,
to leave the dark earth unredressed and stay my aching heart.
At last you come! Look in my face; I’m burning with desire.
Your eyes are bright and full of grace but Sappho is on fire.
Unfurl your loveliness, unlace, and let your love be strong
and lingering as we embrace and night be twice as long.



Sappho appeals to Aphrodite

Immortal Aphrodite, I’m alone.
Come shield me from the anguish and despair
that overwhelm your Sappho, overthrown.
I sense swift wings that bring you through the air
and those old questions in your gracious smile:
you’ll ask me what has gone awry again
and who it is that you must reconcile.
My mad heart flutters in my breast till then.
‘Someone has spurned you, Sappho? Tell me who,
for she shall love you though against her will
and if she flees then she shall soon chase you
and what you heart desires I shall fulfil.’
Come Aphrodite, come to me, descend,
and be my ally, counsellor and friend.