We’ve
not had anything from Sappho for a
couple of years of National Poetry Month, so let’s remedy
that.
You’ll
recall that very little of her work is around these days because in 380 C.E. the early
Christian church fathers destroyed most of everything she produced. She had at
least two strikes against her, being female and pre-Christian, so all that’s
left is a couple of poems and fragments.
In
“Girls, [you] be ardent”, we get some hard truth: so much of literature speaks
of the strengths and beauties of youth, not so much of the ravages of age. Yet
it’s mortals’ fate to grow old (if you’re lucky). Even if you marry into the
family of gods.
(When Eos
stole Tithonus to be her lover, she petitioned Zeus to grant the man
immortality, but she forgot to specify that she wanted eternal youth. And she
got precisely what she’d asked for.)
Girls, you be ardent for the
fragrant-blossomed
Muses’ lovely gifts, for the clear
melodious lyre:
But now old age has seized my tender
body,
Now my hair is white, and no longer
dark.
My heart’s heavy, my legs won’t
support me,
That once were fleet as fawns, in
the dance.
I grieve often for my state; what
can I do?
Being human, there’s no way not to
grow old.
Rosy-armed Dawn, they say,
love-smitten,
Once carried Tithonus off to the
world’s end:
Handsome and young he was then, yet
at last
Grey age caught that spouse of an
immortal wife.
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