Reading the scattered fragments of Sappho by no means makes complete all that has been lost of ancient Greek lyricists, but it does give some small sense of Sappho’s life nearly 25 centuries ago.
Each translation I read is distinctly taken with a grain of salt. Translations have always been a spectacular means for cultures to share themselves across linguistic boundaries. However, there is always something lost. It feels nearly impossible to capture all the nuance of another language or culture. Moreover, it is impossible to know how someone else’s mother tongue feels in the mouth and mind. Which is why I am so impressed when a book feels right even after translation. This is due greatly to the talents of the translator – a profession tragically overlooked. I bring this up in regards to Sappho’s collection of fragmented poems because not only are there challenges of translation, but also temporal dissonance. The era of which she speaks we piece together with mere remnants. All we have left are the artifacts that escaped erosions of time, and yet as I read Sappho, I cannot help but think to myself that we – humans – have always been the same. Though we are so separated by time and place, we nevertheless have changed very little these past 25 centuries.
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
This poem so magnificently shows one of the smallest moments of intimate domesticity; of women discussing what to wear. It is easy to imagine the women in this poem as girls today discussing the latest and most flattering of fashions. It, therefore, baffles me that after everything we still ask each other the same questions and we still seek the same answers – the same validation from others. The things that were once important remain important. That was what struck me most about this collection – the moments that felt contemporary in their scope and feeling. Sappho could have existed today and been writing the same poems. The very definition of timeless, Sappho should be included in the cannons that are so overflowed with her male counterparts.
It saddens me that Homer is a figure eternally recognized and perpetuated through culture, yet Sappho is immensely lesser know. If there is any book of poetry that I would recommend to all, it is this collection. It may not alter your prescribed life or move you to uncontrollable malaise, but this collection is undeniably important in its historical significance. There is a myth that expels women from the literary canon that must be dismantled. Despite patriarchal systems, women have always had minds and thoughts and the ability to express themselves through words and art. Sappho is an excellent example of a woman forgotten. Her work is only scatterings of the originals, so much has been lost, and yet I find that even the little that has survived gives the reader a glimpse of her greatness.
It is hard to categorize Sappho’s poetry, but if I were forced to describe it in one word, that word would be pleasure. Her words are so immensely refreshing and vivid. Her observations are sharp and witty. This is poetry for people, real living people who can stop, look around, and notice the world with only a few words. It is not only female lives that Sappho recognizes, but also the men around her, and the odd interactions they will inevitably share. Sappho is so very human. That might sound ridiculous, but what I mean is that upon approaching a renowned Greek lyricist one might think that it would be too highbrow for their taste. In this case, you could not be more wrong. Sappho’s poetry is so grounded in the fundamental expressions of being a human in the world. Her words hold clarity regarding humanity and beauty regarding nature. To read Sappho is to regard the world for the briefest of moments through her eyes, and how beautiful and humorous it is. This book is the best kind of poetry – sensual.
Awed by her splendor
Stars near the lovely
moon cover their own
bright faces
when she
is roundest and lights
earth with her silver
Sappho writes with great introspection on the lives of women. This theme combined with her minimalist style cannot help but remind me of Emily Dickinson. I imagine these two poets would have loved to meet. Two women who – despite the odds stacked against them – managed to stand the test of time with their art alone. Each giving snippets of their life, thoughts, and feelings through poetry, and both so very close to being forgotten. I would have loved to be able to read Sappho in its original Greek, still more it would have been unimaginably affecting to have heard Sappho perform. Yet, all we have are fragments from one of the earliest and best-regarded female poets from that era. The beauty of women is a theme throughout Sappho’s work for frankly quite obvious reasons. The term lesbian is meant to descend from those who followed Sappho of Lesbos. Therefore, lesbianism is ripe throughout her work which candidly celebrates the joy of women’s lives and bodies in ways that, sadly, seem progressive even today.
I have no complaint
Prosperity that
the golden Muses
Gave me was no
Delusion: dead, I
Won’t be forgotten
VAN BIBLIO 