from Eros, The Muse, & Other Poisons

Dale Pendell & Laura McCarthy Pendell

(There are so few words in this fragment the poem is hardly there—most translators, quite correctly, refrain from attempting any reconstruction.)

desire (Sappho)

Her thighs already viscous and slick, it is easy

for you to bring Polyanaktidas to climax.

Her hips thrusting forward – yes –

as you play music upon those strings.

Leather phallus firmly strapped to your waist –

bobbing and twirling enviously.

You add a masterful quiver, have even anointed

its polished head with the fragrance of laburnum.

She longs for you to fill the hollow inside her.

A madness overtakes her. Forgetting all else,

she abandons herself to the swirling,

her body a shrine for the reenactment of the Mysteries,

those orgies so sacred to the gods. She leaves

thought behind and her cries become an oracle.

Speaking in tongues, as from a throne, she murmurs

a sound that only her companions in this initiation,

those with the Muses’ gift, can decipher.

The gods sometimes reveal their hidden forms in sacred rites.

Aphrodite also, with comb and mirror, deft fingers

and sweet lips, teaches the willing the true words of her hymn.

And, as I tell this to you, my sister,

so shall you share this vision with others,

as the world wishes to know of such things.

Thus Polyanaktidas displays again her wet secrets, and

this wanton madness we joyfully proclaim.

*******

(Another very sparse fragment—which made it more fun for us.)

ending (Sappho)

You said: “I feel like dying,”

and cried when you left.

“It was hard for us, Sappho,

this is not what I wanted.”

Leave with joy, and don’t forget

the things we did for you.

I, for one, will remember fondly

the times we spent together.

Violets I wove into a garland for your hair,

roses and lilies you arranged in my room,

a fragrant necklace, blossoms on your breast.

The way you scented my body

with light, sweet oils, and how,

on my soft bed, you satisfied

your longings – there was no holy site

for us, no sacred grove we left unravished,

no hidden grotto that did not dance to our music.