Sapphic Voices Poetry

Poetry by Aru-chan

Poetry Set One

allisonpa[at]gaggle.net

A Lover’s Lament or Love’s Voyage

Copyright © by Aru-chan, July 11, 2004

The dock is quiet, the crying of the gulls has ceased.

I stand on the windswept planks, my heart beating rapidly, my soul inflamed within me.

The barge is just about to surface, the barge that is to take me to the boat that is to take me to you and my destiny.



The craft appears, handled by seven doughty oarsmen.


My breath quickens, ‘tis time. Lesbos awaits.

The barge has arrived, and the magnificent ship floats lazily on the Aegean.


I step aboard, the foolhardy boatmen looking as though I have an assignation with Hades. I understand not their fearful and spiteful stares. Pity that, and more‘s the pity to them, think I, ah, doomed Elysian!


The boat glides off, farther and farther out into the fathomless sea.

My excitement grows and grows, ever-increasing, never ebbing. Nearer, nearer, my love comes, greater to me than any treasure ever discovered by the most noble species of Man. I only pray to Poseidon that the bark will not sink, so that I may reach my heart’s darling and desire before Apollo’s chariot can return to his palace.




I hearken to the lapping waves, and have a sudden impulse to leap from on deck and dive into the tepid foam, and down into the Stygian depths, in order that I may obtain one gleaming pearl with which to adorn your beauteous tresses, and so fill the oyster that made it with deep chagrin. Pardon me, O ye gods, for my slight!


I would send out a prayer, and Aphrodite and Poseidon both would speed me more quickly to thee than any ship made by the hand of Man.



A wild but gentle dolphin would appear at the sea-god’s command, and it would carry me on its slippery back, through the salty spray to deposit me at last at my divine destination.

The ship is mooring now,and the gulls have begun to keen: a high, plaintive cry. They are heartsick.

The spray is in my face, my hair is a shambles. My beauty has been given to you and the sea. Take it, I pray thee, kind Amphitrite, and make thy scheming Poseidon repent his vicious ways!


Zeus’ beard rests on his craggy face, a rocky ridge upon a rocky ridge. This is my island, my soon-to-be sanctuary.


They say, “’Tis blessed by the gentle Aphrodite,” others by “the fell Hades.” I know not which to believe, nor especially do I care.

I disembark, and step out onto the hard, stony quay. I see the gulls flapping above, their shining wings beating the air. I think, disconsolately, of the Furies: Megaera, Alecto, Tissiphone, ye cold of soul and stern of brow. What better judges are there? Hades needs not his other three seated on their proud benches, aloof from the natural world. He needs only these three avenging angels, or devils, to swoop upon the luckless and friendless alike, and to harry the guilty with their shrieking cries.

A breeze sweeps in from the ocean, cool and fresh against my face. It smells of brine and sand, and I wonder, for the first time, why you are not here to meet me. A shadow falls over me; have I possibly been betrayed? Ah, and pray, for what purpose and what reason?


Oh, a sailor was I, ah, a hardy sailor upon the turquoise sea. Aegeas’ Sea, how aptly named! How we Greeks have a liking for tragedy! Know you why? I know not, ‘tis certain. Perhaps ‘tis merely the thought and the illusion of it that makes us prey to it. I suppose I should not speculate; wastes time, it does.

My ship was sunk, O best beloved; so why shouldst thou betray me? Down and down and down it went, into the foamy, shining abyss, but I did not follow. I wish, sometimes, I had. There, I could sleep for all eternity in a little grotto, concealed away from all; but then, I should get lonely, especially for you.

Never would I hear your dulcet tones, or hear you strum the lyre! Ha! You should give up lyre-playing, sweet, and string hearts instead. Better you were at that.

Lesbos is fine; indeed, indeed, as fine as I could wish. Gently lapping waves caress the shoreline as I walk along it. I see many women standing or sitting, or lying in the sand with their arms round one another. But you are not among them. Bitter blessing, my love!

I sit and talk with them, these women. Destitute seem they, but in each other’s company they are happy. I see their faces glowing crimson with embarrassment and wine; for of that there is plenty. Sweet, bitter, a multitude of flavours, just as there are a multitude of grapes.




More olives there are, and I do not touch those. No matter that their branches are symbols of peace, I cannot bear to eat the fruit.




Always I search and search for you, but nowhere can you be found. My heart grows sore and heavy within me; I try to make friends, and I half-succeed, but always am I hampered by the thought of thee. I must give thee up, mustn’t I, my heart’s darling? If only to retain some remnant of my self-respect?

One night, however, it has happened. Something is astir, the women are thrumming with it. Some new thing is in the air. What can it be? Take me, O Hermes, and fly with my soul to the source of this disturbance!

A barge approaches, I see it rise and fall on the waves. I hear voices raised in song, the sounds of lutes and harps, and the clear chorus of flutes. A celebration, of sorts. My thoughts are dull and sluggish. Mayhap they have some more good wine to taste. Not likely. I’ve tasted far too much wine than I should have over a fortnight. Ah well; I shan’t let it be my undoing.

I hear the drums now; a slow, steady, sonorous beat. Then a wild, undulating rhythm that threatens to sweep me away like an unexpected undertow. Lanterns, torches, glinting, gleaming, glittering. I have drunk too much. My head begins to pound, and not with music. Splitting agony; I breathe in the crystalline wind, fill my lungs with air and sea and sky.

The barge is moored now, and I can descry figures upon it. Men, women, small children; all dancing, or playing some instrument. And there, in the center of this group is one I know well. Sappho, the brilliant poetess, come home to her native isle! What surprise is this? And lo and behold, whom do I see walking out to embrace her? You, my sweet one! You, in your royal robes of lace and velvet, sparkling with jewels and sequins, all a dangle with gifts from your many admirers!

Quiet, my beating heart! Lest the object of your thoughts hear you. After all, why wouldn’t you be able to? You have heard my heart as it beat ‘gainst yours whilst we sailed to Thebes. Heard its cadences in time with yours as we held one another in the palace of Corinthe. Fool am I, fool am I, to fall under such a spell.

Eros himself could not have weaved it more carefully. Stay my hand, O wise Athene; I do not wish to make myself a spectacle for odious revelers. A tear slips down my face, and it burns my cheek like fire. Bitterly I regret the wine I imbibed; it was all for naught. For there you stand, the celestial songstress in the curve of your arm. Your head rests upon her shoulder, black upon red-gold.

Jealousy burns in me, a candle replaced by a spout, a spout of fire surging up from my inmost heart. Curse you, all ye vile bards! Take my hate and cast it at each other so that thou may’st know what I feel towards thee! Take my salty rancour and feed it if thou darest; See what conflagration you’ll begin!

Of a sudden, my rage and envy are quenched. I sink to my knees on the hard, unfeeling ground. Raw and yielding is this island, but only to those who are able to sample its delights. I, ostensibly, am unable.

A harsh, dry despair settles upon me. I watch as the strangers pour from the craft. I look on as you take Sappho’s arm, clasping it in your strong, slender hand. The fire starts to kindle anew, but fades again as I see your radiant face. Ah, agony and torture! They have been my constant companions of late, come and reside a while longer, will you not?

Your cerulean eyes scan the crowd as you depart, searching, searching for someone. My heart leaps, as a carp that has found water after being kept from the stream. The crowd gathered on the shore parts slightly, rippling off in all directions, and your gaze lights on me. I wish the ground would swallow me up, I am ashamed to be seen by you and yet am ashamed of shame. Help me, O goddess of love, in my desperate hour!




I uplift my head, and rise up to greet you. Sappho is weak, and more delicate than I had imagined as I grasp her wan hand. I smile bitterly; you always resented me being so strong and sure, I think. More’s the pity, I presume. Perhaps she needs you more than I, all those adulating fans must give her no comfort!

Ah, my mind has turned acerbic. Away, all ye caustic thoughts; you have no place here at present. I realize truly that you do love her, I can see it in your eyes, which have never been able to conceal the truth from me, as they have been wont to do with others. I feel a strange, glad feeling come over me, mixed with deep regret and despair again; O will it never leave me?

You laugh, a glorious sound to my ears. It is as if I am Tantalus, allowed to drink at last from the well so long-denied him. You seek my hand, I give it to you, let it be clasped in both of yours. My angel, forget me not, I beg of you. Treat your mate well! At least for her sake, if not mine.

The two of you depart, arm in arm, breaths mingling as you bend close to whisper to her. A shaft of pain pierces my breast, I sink again to the earth. Numbly analyze what is beneath me: cold, gritty sand, hard little shells, cowry and scallop. I wait in vain for pearls, I see. Another hope dashed. Another notch on the bow of my life. Persephone has departed for the underworld. Winter reigns in my soul.

I leave Lesbos, possibly never to return. Seems as if the boatmen were right, I did indeed have an appointment with the Lord of the Dead, though not quite like they’d thought.

When I was a sailor, I did that for love; leapt from the rock to the water; from the water to the ship, and thence to the arms of my warrior prince. Paris my dear one, was killed, as you know, for no particular reason save envy and spite.

I saw you then, for the first time, as you truly were. A poor, bereft woman whom no one believed, no matter what you prophesied. Once I began to know the real you, my heart was lost. Ah, wretches, the both of us! Foolish and ignorant! Menelaus had died since, and we could be together. But you betrayed me, O wicked tormentor, foreseer of fates not your own! Why did you this to me? Were you so affronted by my kindness and caring, my tender caresses?



Just as well, perhaps. A coin under the tongue of my husband not one moon and I have already fallen in love without reciprocation. Mea culpa, mea culpa, darling one! Do accept my condolences. Oh, how I have wronged you! In such nebulous ways have I wronged you! I guess ‘tis my fate. When I was a sailor, destitute and forlorn, you deigned not to throw me a rope. I would have drowned but for my perseverance. Struggling up through a chasm of self-hate and doubt, with no hand to hold save yours, and that only for a time.

Doubtless, you were afraid, my girl. Afraid of the fate of the lady of Troy you saw in your cards of doom. You should not have been, however. The fates are wily and cruel, but their blows we must take, and not let them beat us down.

For we can carve our own destinies if we wish, and this I wish to do. The kingdom of Crete lacks a ruler, Minos is dead. The great Minataur is slain, no longer is it a feared obstacle. Theseus, brave and noble! That is my goal, my own, and what you can see of it I neither know nor care to know.

Only think of me sometimes, my Cassandra, doomed soothsayer mine, and let some solace into your life if possible. When you stand with your damsel in the shadows cast in a cypress grove, think on me, and rejoice. I am now free, free forever from thy love, if not from thy memory.

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