S A P P H O
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ELEVEN POEMS

 

Translated by Stephen Vincent

2.

 

Gone from her: jagged alabaster underfoot
No ripe peach orchard
No cedar glow, no candle lit
No amber flame

Boiled saltwater percolates steam into
Wilted roses into rank deadheads
What was radiant glimmers nowhere
No sleep will warm her breasts

The goat's kids chomp the grass bare
Sacrifice without honor
Like hard dry pomegranate skin
The wind goes so still

In Crete no one will take you up:
   Offered small jade glass cups
Turn acrid water across the tongue
   Into one's funeral, love's loss.

 

 

n e x t

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