SAPPHO
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others call a fleet the most beautiful of sights the dark earth offers, but I say it’s what- ever you love best.
everyone, for she who surpassed all human kind in beauty, Helen, abandoning her husband—that best of
never spent a thought on her child or loving parents: when the goddess seduced her wits and left her to wander,
anything but longing, and lightly straying aside, lost her way. But that reminds me now: Anactória,
step, her sparkling glance and her face than gaze on all the troops in Lydia in their chariots and glittering armor.
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dat voetvolk, dat een vloot het mooiste om zien is dat de donkere aarde te bieden heeft, maar ik zeg dat het mooiste is wat je ’t liefste ziet.
want zij die alle mensen in schoonheid overtrof, Helena, die haar echtgenoot, de beste van alle mannen, in de steek liet,
aan haar kind of liefhebbende ouders dacht toen de godin haar verstand benevelde en haar liet zwerven,
herinneren behalve verlangen en zachtjes dwalen, ze verloor de weg. Maar dat herinnert me er nu aan: Anactória,
haar sprankelende blik en gelaat, dan te staren naar alle troepen in Lydië in hun strijdwagens en glinsterende wapenrusting.
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I have not had one word from her
I have not had 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..."
--Translated by Mary Barnard
Come to me here from Crete
Come to me here from Crete,
To this holy temple, where
Your lovely apple grove stands,
And your altars that flicker
With incense.
And below the apple branches, cold
Clear water sounds, everything shadowed
By roses, and sleep that falls from
Bright shaking leaves.
And a pasture for horses blossoms
With the flowers of spring, and breezes
Are flowing here like honey:
Come to me here,
Here, Cyprian, delicately taking
Nectar in golden cups
Mixed with a festive joy,
And pour.
Translation A.S. KLINE
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…already old age is wrinkling my skin
and my hair is turning from black
to grey; my knees begin to tremble
and my legs no longer carry me…
oh, but once, once we were like young deer
…what can I do?…
…it is not possible
to return to my youth; for even
Eös, the dawn, whose arms are roses,
who brings light to the end of the earth –
found that old age embraced Tithonus,
her immortal lover…
…I know I must die
yet I love the intensity of life
and this, and desire, keep me here in
the brightness and beauty of the sun
[and not with Hades…]
Translation: Josephine BALMER
Please
Come back to me, Gongyla, here tonight,
You, my rose, with your Lydian lyre.
There hovers forever around you delight:
A beauty desired.
Even your garment plunders my eyes.
I am enchanted: I who once
Complained to the Cyprus-born goddess,
Whom I now beseech
Never to let this lose me grace
But rather bring you back to me:
Amongst all mortal women the one
I most wish to see.
--Translated by Paul Roche
To Atthis
My Atthis, although our dear Anaktoria
lives in distant Sardis,
she thinks of us constantly, and
of the life we shared in days when for her
you were a splendid goddess,
and your singing gave her deep joy.
Now she shines among Lydian women as
when the red-fingered moon
rises after sunset, erasing
stars around her, and pouring light equally
across the salt sea
and over densely flowered fields;
and lucent dew spreads on the earth to quicken
roses and fragile thyme
and the sweet-blooming honey-lotus.
Now while our darling wanders she thinks of
lovely Atthis's love,
and longing sinks deep in her breast.
She cries loudly for us to come! We hear,
for the night's many tongues
carry her cry across the sea.
Translation Willis BARNSTONE
A Hymn To Venus
O Venus, beauty of the skies,
To whom a thousand temples rise,
Gaily false in gentle smiles,
Full of love-perplexing wiles;
O goddess, from my heart remove
The wasting cares and pains of love.
If ever thou hast kindly heard
A song in soft distress preferred,
Propitious to my tuneful vow,
A gentle goddess, hear me now.
Descend, thou bright immortal guest,
In all thy radiant charms confessed.
Thou once didst leave almighty Jove
And all the golden roofs above:
The car thy wanton sparrows drew,
Hovering in air they lightly flew;
As to my bower they winged their way
I saw their quivering pinions play.
The birds dismissed (while you remain)
Bore back their empty car again:
Then you, with looks divinely mild,
In every heavenly feature smiled,
And asked what new complaints I made,
And why I called you to my aid?
What frenzy in my bosom raged,
And by what cure to be assuaged?
What gentle youth I would allure,
Whom in my artful toils secure?
Who does thy tender heart subdue,
Tell me, my Sappho, tell me who?
Though now he shuns thy longing arms,
He soon shall court thy slighted charms;
Though now thy offerings he despise,
He soon to thee shall sacrifice;
Though now he freezes, he soon shall burn,
And be thy victim in his turn.
Celestial visitant, once more
Thy needful presence I implore.
In pity come, and ease my grief,
Bring my distempered soul relief,
Favour thy suppliant's hidden fires,
And give me all my heart desires.
Translation Ambrose PHILIPS
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dag breekt weldra aan. Uren komen, uren gaan.
En steeds blijf ik alleen.
En de Plejaden. Middernacht, De tijd verstrijkt,
Ik slaap alleen.
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On What Is Best
Some celebrate the beauty
of knights, or infantry,
or billowing flotillas
at battle on the sea.
Warfare has its glory,
but I place far above
these military splendors
the one thing that you love.
For proof of this contention
examine history:
we all remember Helen,
who left her family,
her child, and royal husband,
to take a stranger's hand:
her beauty had no equal,
but bowed to love's command.
As love then is the power
that none can disobey,
so too my thoughts must follow
my darling far away:
the sparkle of her laughter
would give me greater joy
than all the bronze-clad heroes
Translated by Jon CORELIS
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That fond Youth, who plac’d by thee, Hears and sees thee sweetly gay,
Talk and smile his soul away.
And depriv’d my Heart of Rest. For in speechless Raptures tost,
Whilst I gaz’d, my Voice was lost.
Glided swift thro’ ev’ry Vein; Darkness o’er my Eyelids hung;
In my Ears faint Murmurs rung.
Gentle Tremors thrill’d my Blood; Life from my pale Cheeks retir’d;
Breathless, I almost expir’d.
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de man die tegenover jou mag zitten en van dichtbij hoort hoe jij zachtjes praat
met mooie stem
mijn hart heftig onder mijn ribben laat slaan. Zodra ik ook maar even naar je kijk verstomt
mijn stem volledig,
mijn tong ligt gebroken in mijn mond, meteen kruipt er een ragfijn vuur onder mijn huid, mijn ogen zien niets meer, een machtig gonzen
vult mijn oren,
neemt bezit van mij, bleker dan verdord gras ben ik, slechts een paar korte stappen nog en
ik lijk te sterven.
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Beauty/Muurbloempje
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A-top on the topmost twig,—which the pluckers forgot, somehow,— Forgot it not, nay, but got it not, for none could get it till now. |
die bloeiend aan een takje hangen bleef toen de appelpluk was gedaan, zo vergaten zij haar. Vergaten de plukkers haar? Neen, zij konden er niet aan.
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