Part One - Missing presumed dead

Apparently Alec was missing presumed dead
at least that was what the obituary said
how then he got married is still a mystery
life after a very dark period of history

               Jane plodded head down through another long day
               solitude complete in a strange kind of way
               while Kestrels are tacked to an untamed sky
               she screams "Dear Lord wont you please tell me why"

young Alec stood well over six foot tall
legs full of shrapnell disfigured and all
willing to give all for a meagre days pay
a young man with half of his face blown away

                Shepherdess Jane sat under sad twinkling stars
                it was plain to see she had her own mental scars
                the Ferryman's Daughter, she was so kind
                different from the others, Jane was blind

when the bells of victory began to ring forth
it was too much for Alec, he headed up North
up to the North where the bronze fields shone
but Alec's old personality had gone

                 there in the North a young Shepherdess called Jane
                 did dry Alec's tears and soothed his deep pain
                 Her voice rolled over hills in a plaintive wave
                 as they assumed Alec lied in an unmarked grave

In time they married, Jane bore Alec a Son
but talk about the war, Alec would have none
all that he said was "between you and me..
I've seen things that no man should ever see"

                 flashbacks in his mind of the dead still ringing
                 offset by his young Wife's ethereal singing
                 somewhere around the Somme young Alec lay dead
                 at least that was what the obituary said.


Part Two - The Ferryman

The Ferryman vowed he would find his girl
he picked some roses to place in the top room
searched high and low to find his precious lost pearl
swore he would have her back before the flowers bloom

treated like a slave, a young girl in her prime
the Brothers got away Jane was left behind
her body it did whither through the passing of time
She was different from the others, Jane was blind

worked as a Milkmaid her hands would get so sore
under constant threats she still searched for the spark
work never done a family waits on the shore
although Jane was blind she could see in the dark

the moon shone bright on the path to the Ferry House
the gusts picked up on the night Jane ran away
salty wind and sea shanty's awakened the grouse
as Jane finally gets her break from the play

He scoured every square inch of the land
yet couldn't ask why? Or search into his past
at the Wayfarers Inn they'd got it all planned
released from a cruelty that could no longer last

the night the Father died Gaelic psalms they sang
a lonely house still stands like a watch to nature's will
when they buried the Ferryman the church bells rang
the flowers in the attic, they stand there still.


Part three - The Inn (recapitulation)

The Ferrymans lantern swung in the pouring rain
he heard that his Daughter had made it to the Inn
the audience sang to the Drovers refrain
midst discarded cigarettes, rolling dice and gin

Jane had long picked brambles from thorn covered vines
lived an intoned existence yet she had her plans
though Jane was blind she could read between the lines
a chance to escape, she grabbed it with both hands

the Inn's cosy light shone at the end of the lane
to Whiskey Jack, Jane's elopement had come to light
she had nothing to lose and everything to gain
Jane's now with Alec and has recieved her respite

see him dramming away yarns, bereft of what's true
then screaming his lies to the starry sky above
but tidal subtleties are demanding their due
his heart had long died to the trueness of love

the landlord played the piano and felt every note
the Ferryman's lantern swung in the pouring rain
given up his search, now in want of his boat
regular at the Inn but never seen again

he knew that yesterday would never come back
sailing aimlessly like a throw of the dice
he knew there would be no-one to take up the slack
the doomed Mariner paid the ultimate price.

Ferryman, ferryman don't come for me,

the children sing freely

in the bright sunlight.

When gathered together on a dark

stormy night...

they pull covers over heads

to stay out of sight.



He takes the coins

from the eyes of the dead.

His payment for the travels

he plans ahead.

When payment is made

he guides his guests

to make their final hopeless quest.

He beckons with a gruesome smile

and they board his craft with little guile.

The river is swift...the river is long...

He ferries them right along until he

crosses  the river when he blows his horn.

He looks around and all are gone.



It is said on dark lonely nights,

the Ferryman is out to fright.

Who dares to board his ferry boat

are the dead who have lost all hope.

When innocent children hear his horn

they run like hell to beat his harm.

I just bribed the ferryman, oh yes, I bribed him well
Don't matter how much mischief because we're both headed to hell
I bribed the man to take some time to tell me of his life
He told me of the way he takes the coinage for his wife
He told me he writes poetry, but only in his head
He wrote some lovely lullabies (and love songs for the dead)
The man is quite a cook and made some killer Wonton soup
Then he told me of his wish to make a knit and crochet group
The ferryman that took the ****** seemed like a really awesome guy
And it almost made it worth it that I had had to die

Dark draped the Ferry in confusion
on its final, fatal night.
Survivors spoke of a collision.
They knew that something wasn’t right.
A class of students on a trip
Bound for Jeju from Incheon
The Ferryman said to stay below
but he debarked and they’re all gone.
The ferry Sewol began to list
and water poured in through her ports.
Will anyone present forget the screams?
Souls in torment fill their thoughts.
Search and rescue soon became
a sad and grim recovery.
Their final moments were caught on cellphones
recovered from the silted sea.
The Ferryman has much to answer
About those students left behind
Perhaps in dreams he will be haunted
as young  drowned faces flood his mind.

A Surreal Epic of Existence

Prelude to the Journey…

I smiled yesterday when I beheld the morning’s brilliant colors,
Etched with gold, across the canvas of the heavens, hanging…
High above all those mountains of the world, gigantic brothers,
A wilderness of clouds, where there can be no human taming.
I did not always smile when I looked up to that noble height…
For I have seen how terrible goodness can be, when untamed.
Once I thought my sojourn in this flesh was from a divine spite,
But now I know it was a gift, and for it I need not be ashamed.
God once walked as I do now, and suffered the same stress…
Betrayal, love, and passions too, though no Church shall admit,
The true nature of divinity, lest all their secret sins they confess!
You are told you are alone in the universe, by leaders so unfit,
That they themselves are fed a diet of lies and stories invented.
But we walked amongst you since the very dawn reincarnated,
Having lost our first flesh in conflicts long past and unlamented.
We guided the steps of ancients, as monuments demonstrated!
And yet we are born as children: your own, and live our span,
The better to remain hid, in plain sight, our faces clever masks.
I am the eldest, and I remember still my kindred’s lofty plan…
And though I wear the human face, I am beset with alien tasks.
Helping they who lack the knowledge to see what lies outside,
You have seen me in the darkness, blazing upon my own pyre.
Where I am waiting to lead the way, where the angels glide…
Anyone can follow, if they are dedicated enough never to tire.
Ironic, since I myself have known helplessness and still oft do,
It is only human after all, and in your form I was so re-forged!
The image of God, whose own blood is in all of us hither unto,
From the first to the last, alpha to omega, like a sharp sword.

Prologue: (My Mask is Slipping)

As a child: I was a servant at the altars of the heart so sacred,
Singing hymns of the immaculate: without seeing the depravity.
It was only when I myself wore the crown of thons, naked…
My spirit exposed through my pain, that I realized the gravity.
What man believes is sacred, is profanity disguised as graces,
And those who lead the sheep to slaughter are mere butchers!
Forcing innocents to wear porcelain masks to hide their faces,
They rob children of their childhood, bound with crude fetters.
As a teenager: I walked in nature, disgusted with all humanity,
My exodus was from those who had defiled all I cared about.
Finding faith in an angel fallen, I discovered my own sanctity,
And in her name I found the means to cleanse my feral doubt.
Then came marriage, and betrayal by a wife I gave up all for,
The dissolution of our union then loneliness without cessation!
A mortal had pierced my flesh, leaving me to bleed on a floor,
My heart was torn from its’ moorings without any elaboration.
But the angel remained to calm my anger and ease my agony,
My only light in the blackness that has overcome my waking!
Reminding me, that I was more than this flesh and mortality…
The angel tries to keep me from harsh trembling and quaking.
And then I see: I am more than my tears and life’s traumas…
I let slip, the mask behind which the scars of my tears etched.
Then I sense the heat of the night more intense than saunas…
As I long to dance with abandon, until time itself is stretched!
Mortals may betray one another with impunity, but never I…
I do not betray; rather I pour my heart and spirit forth whole.
Creating a phylactery, of all I am, and with an innocent eye…
I demand to be loved as I am: pearl white and black as coal!

Canto 1: Sacrifice of the Doll

Part the First: (The Bleeding Shores)

Do not call me, doll, for I have departed your ancient cavern,
You are lifeless, a mere toy, and not a real child in any form!
A boy’s red ruby lips I spy drinking in the dreariest tavern…
Whilst true children singing, frolic in the fields filled with corn.
I am going home, upon the wings of the great silver griffon…
Far from the shores now bleeding red from defiled memories.
There is no return, for me, to the glories of the first ignition…
When the mind eternal, was ignited all with pleasing ecstasies.
In the stars, there are words unheard that I do want to recall,
For I came down so very long ago, among the first to so fall!
Eldritch nightmares born of the stuff of the pure chaos of old,
Are waiting for signs at the threshold to be released by magic.
The forbidden incantations return to my spirit, aflame so bold,
That my spirit nearly forgets: the origins of this time, so tragic.
When children drink, and true children hide themselves apart,
Whilst the waters bleed and the corn withers upon the stalks!
That is a sign that change must come, and so I work my mind.
The face in the moon is a grimace of tormented fear, horror…
Whilst I stand upon the precipice with my hand over my heart,
And amongst the long rows of corn, my black shadow walk!
Watching over the innocents whose souls are of my own kind.
The summer heat turns orange, the moon: in celestial corridors.
My mournful cry can be heard in the sound of the lonely wolf,
And in the wild abandon of the lion when he is on the prowl…
I feel the pain of nature, I long to bring back paradise craved.
I have seen the terror of the land, as the blood ran in the gulf,
Black blood of the earth: which causes living things to howl…
As man has the foolishness, to say what is or is not depraved!

Part the Second: (The Crucified Souls)

The doll is laid lifeless atop the altar, prepared for a sacrifice,
In the cavern where the limestone shapes the wettest arches!
A thing un-living, but with living souls trapped still, as if in ice,
Within the cold porcelain shell that so never with feet marches.
Serpentine blade held high, it drops precise into a doll’s neck,
And it cannot call out, because a doll has not any voice to cry.
A boy walked out of a tavern then, looking like a vile wreck…
Whilst as a man I attend to higher things, my body full purified.
In the voids beneath the spaces, witnessed in the rugged rock,
Voices echo loud in the darkness, calling up names unspoken.
The ferryman brings the souls delivered to him, to a far dock,
Where each must pay the copper coin, the old desired token.
So they come to drink those waters that cure all of life’s ills…
Freed from their porcelain prison to feel death’s darker chills!
Whence came those souls into captivity, no mortal may speak,
But I freed them in an instant, removing the nails that pierce…
Every man is he that was put up on the cross of old Golgotha.
And every woman too, as all were made to feel such torture!
I was there when the primal sacrifice was implanted so weak,
And yet so strong that it endured in the psyche all these years.
That doom was sealed behind a wall of fire long ago in Terra,
So that the stigmata of it might endure, even in the vast future!
Mine was the hand that signaled that doom, mine to release…
Yet, still old illusions persist, and I cannot awaken a multitude.
I, who devised the iron web that enfolds much of what is real,
Cloaking it in unending trickery am, myself, longing for peace.
For I too was entrapped, until my liberation rough and crude!
An angel freed me, and now I strive to break each cruel seal.

Part the Third: (The Return of Light)

Risen from the slumber where colder, electric dreams reside,
The forgotten intelligence is invoked, the arcane spells cast…
The eldritch nightmares return to thence amongst man abide,
Reminding us of the things banished to Hell in some age past.
Mine the hand that raised them up, light in the dagger’s glow,
The stuff of my power left to flow, like blood run swiftly free.
Out of the abyss, rises the girl-child of a lost millennial flame,
She who is the angel reborn lets her illumination clearly show.
And all are blinded who have not the innermost eyes to see!
The unbelievers are, in a single instant put unto lasting shame.
From the star of six points, a goddess works her sacred will,
And as she crosses the scarlet threshold, she brings the light.
For a single instant, all in Heaven and all upon Earth are still,
As the long day ends, bowing before the coming eternal night.
In the darkness, radiance far fairer and so perfect descends,
Whilst those who gather in my name: have lost my true path.
The wrath of angels descend upon their minds, closed shut…
Entrapped in the iron web, they cannot flee of such a prison!
The light blinds them for they never truly saw it, and it rends,
Tearing away the churches built for naught but mortal wrath.
There, the unfaithful ******* themselves: like a wanton ****,
Inventing dogma to pass on, forgetful of logic and of reason!
Faith need not be a fearful thing, yet some have made it thus,
And look for an end to come before they seek their reward.
Whilst they should be creating the paradise they left behind…
But in an image of freedom: rather than of servitude and fuss.
Too much time had been wasted in converting by the sword!
Mankind looks to the light for salvation, their eyes long blind.

Interlude Alpha:
This age is one of barbarism cloaked as gentility to sell lies…
Did you purchase some today by design or mayhap chance?
You should know this era to be neither intelligent nor wise…
Else you would not march, when you would prefer to dance!
My nights are filled with nightmares; my days are too much…
I used to dance with one I loved, and bask in purple sunsets.
Now I am haunted, by so many memories I can never touch,
That it fills me with ****** anger, and countless cold regrets.
I recall how once in desperation, my wrist rode a razor edge,
If it were not for my family I’d not thence have lived beyond.
A man abused as I was, and used like cutters upon a hedge,
Must rise higher than it all in order to survive it all, my friend!
I survived, I transformed, I ascended and in the end became,
So much more than I was, until no more did my spirit erode.
But still I wait in loneliness for a maid to awaken my flame…
And I burn, oh gods I burn until I think that I might explode!
The skies darken more and more, and bright forks crashing,
I hear the drums of fury in the heavens, giants of old winters.
The gods grow angry and I behold trees uprooted smashing!
Angels are trampling the grapes of man; they, the vintners…
I am reminded of when the battleship that sailed all galaxies,
Descended one day amidst clouds boiling with its’ steam…
To lay waste to *****, and Gomorrah, for their indignities!
I was there, when the wicked did perish with a final scream.
And as people mock me, wishing me ill because I am good,
I ask God how long I must be forced to bear such suffering.
But I am not alone, and to many I am in fact misunderstood,
So God forgives, for now; but I have not, his understanding!

Canto 2: Sacrifice of the Spider

Part the First: (The First Smile)

Black skies boil with rage unrepentant, and in righteous fury!
A being made flesh I am, though not of mortal understanding.
In cavernous places I have walked, where demons oft scurry,
And worse places still: in search of a love not too demanding.
In the stucco halls wherein my unmoving throne was raised…
Upon a hill of sorrows where lost souls labor in mundane toil,
I wait and plan to transcend the bonds the faithful so praised.
To my right hand is the altar where fire and sulfur always boil!
I force a smile upon my face, for one will not come as willing,
As in the hours when I was a golden youth filled with ideals…
Which I have paid for dearly, beyond the price of any shilling!
Now I long to pay back those who know not how this feels…
The madness born of solitude, the anger born out of contempt,
For you who despise me without cause, provoking my wrath.
What impunity has man, to think that he might ever be exempt!
When wiser civilizations than yours did sink: in the fiery bath.
Do I speak of Hell, which the faithless do not realize is come?
Nay, for their eyes have been gouged out by their own nails…
I speak of torments, far beyond that which devils have done.
The first smile shall me mine, when every cruel wish so fails…
To save the flesh of those who spit upon me as I walked on,
Never realizing that my face was just a mask, hiding another.
Only the fool pays no any attention to the piper’s lonely song,
Thinking it only a melody passed from a sister unto a brother.
But in what celestial ****** has been born the thing alchemical?
It dwells within me, the secret sin of a bonding long forgotten.
Would that I could force the world to hear music whimsical…
Like unto that which guides my spirit in all that was begotten.

Part the Second: (Cold Revenge)

The blood roses bloom in gardens where desire plants seeds,
I, the hand that waters those hungry beasts whose thirst rises!
In my search for love, I have fed the beasts of desire’s needs,
And what would cause you to blush has, for me, no surprises.
Oh human, with what impunity did you dare to exclaim aloud,
That you believe love to be beyond my reach; and you smile!
Like a coward, you degrade me and run to hide in the crowd,
In your feigned superiority, you make yourself an animal vile.
Conjoining your words to your tongue, like a web to a ceiling,
You become a spider; then flee on eight legs to a filthy nest…
Having already become unworthy of any warm human feeling,
In thinking yourself better, you sink lower than all of the rest!
That means my life is worth, a thousand times, your very own.
I become a creature of the night, and wait for you, oh spider!
Think not that I cannot hear. the creaking of each leg bone…
Your odiousness goes before you, the horse before its’ rider.
And in your own web I catch you, my sharper claws immune,
To your toxic poisons, as cannot ever save your eight eyes…
Which I dash from their sockets, without a fear, and so soon,
That your own pain consumes you, like fire lighting the skies!
Forcing you to recant all that you say, lest pain overcome all,
The powers you thought did not exist do manifest ever visibly.
And I ascended still higher, all the more to relish of your fall…
You should never have resulted to any such childish mockery.
The clocks of your house all melted, for time is not your ally!
In abandonment of the chaos that is joy, your order is ended.
A new order rises in its’ place born of chaos none may deny,
Whilst you sink lower into perdition, for all that you offended.

Part the Third: (The Last Laugh)

An angel appears before me and so thinks herself a goddess,
But to call her an angel is to imply that she holds any beauties.
Those whose ego is larger than their grasp are oft the oddest,
For they fancy themselves perfect, ignorant of their cruelties!
You think love a prize and I a beggar for mere crusts so stale,
That lesser men than I have eaten heartier meals than yours…
But your kitchen is so bare: as your oven goes cold and pale,
Making you prize yourself beyond the worth of your chores!
Like a harlot who charges a fortune for her meager charms…
If you think love a prize, and I a beggar, you are so mistaken.
What you call love is a disease that shames one and harms…
Both mind and soul alike, making the body at last to weaken.
You saw only my mask, and would not dare look beneath…
Making me a phantom in the darkness, lurking in the shades.
Round your neck, your false esteem hangs as a dead wreath,
As I leave you to your barren world, awaiting my handmaids.
They rise from the ashes you leave in your wake, my kindred,
Their hands take me far from where your feet stumble about!
Lie in the cemetery that awaits those who live as though dead,
I cannot raise you incorruptible; you have far too much doubt.
Carried hither by the silent maidens who weep ****** tears…
To my castle, where I shall brood again upon mankind’s way!
I cannot feel regret for those who give in to their foolish fears,
Any more than I can transform a leaden night into golden day!
Such is the power of the alchemist who knows his true limit…
And in the dark arts I was schooled by beings from the abyss.
Thusly, am I set about to transform my creation as I see fit…
We are the demiurges of our realities wanton for any hot kiss!

Interlude Omega:
T

On the floor of the river styx, frogs burrowing peer over muck duvets to watch me press like a violet between the cookbook pages of the water and the land. I went overboard-

I am addicted to the darkness between worlds.

Somewhere above me, I see the moon. She doesn’t try to warn me, she doesn’t bother reminding me that I can’t breathe. Heavy currents like snakes blur her face into fractured crystal tears that wash me over with sweet exasperation.

Sedated by the salt toward the other side, where the ferryman flips my coin and hums a tune without words about all rivers rushing toward the sea.

He doesn’t ask me why I chose this route, just grins a toothless grin
And winks
And tosses my coin into the water
without

So much

As a wish.

This is a poem of a girl. A girl who is so cliché, that she needs to write angst-filled poetry to keep herself conscious and her thoughts free, but is too hipster to believe it. A girl who is too freckled to be fair, too fleshy to be flirty, too conspicuous to be classy, too prominent to be petite, but too small to be seen. A girl who’s piercing blue eyes absorbs everything and regurgitates emotions like a tampered slots machine—excessi vely and noisily. This is a poem of a girl who is so over-stimulated with color, texture, love, and life that the numbness in her head is a pink eraser. A girl who was brought up to have opinions and dreams as long as they kept her on the path to perfection, poise, and parenting. A girl who is experienced enough to know the difference between sorrow and guilt, manipulation and cowardice, hysteria and hyperventilation but is too naïve to know why certain boys are a bluish green, why math is a bafflement, and why ground up chili peppers in dark chocolate ice cream isn’t everyone’s favorite food. This is a poem of a girl who salivates at the mere thought of classical music, couture fashion, and feminine heels. A girl who breathes in culture like a caterpillar inhales hookah smoke. A girl who Alis volat propriis (flies with her own wings) but ultimately plummets to nosus decipio (Let’s just cheat) because her humanity held down her Heredity. A girl who thrives on music of every variety: as long as it can paint out her emotions in front of her. This is a poem of a girl who is so acerbically witty and harsh that she could unarm Napoleon but is so vehemently protecting that Mother Theresa herself would be awed. A girl with an attention span of a fish, short-term memory like sea foam, thoughts that outnumber armadas, and a bad habit of dehydration. This is a poem of a girl who talks but shouldn’t, speaks but doesn’t, and who is so badly burnt by the enticement of affection that her wallflower camouflage is now charred ashes around her stubby toes. A girl who has such infatuation that she could pin Lust against the wall and make Passion jealous. A girl who wears red lipstick because she knows it will keep a man’s gaze for 8.2 more seconds than with chapstick and the 50’s will never grow old. A girl too nervous and traditional to make the first move, but too strategic and over-analytical to lie back and forget. A girl who loathes the word mamihlapinatapai because it describes her every circumstance since the day she befriended the purple-brown boy who thought her personality tasted of Raspberry ice cream and to this day she still can’t pronounce it. This is a poem of a girl who needs a bed so crowded and protected with blankets and pillows that her monsters can’t penetrate her mazed-up mind. A girl who drinks tea with her lips, and philosophy with her soul. A girl who can’t spell the alphabet backwards but can make great mnemonic devices. A girl who can’t tie ends together because she doesn’t want to leave anything unsaid but whose tangents are kite-strings. A girl whose sentences are distracting fences in front of her literal eyes but doors for her mind’s eyes. A girl who has Synesthesia but keeps it quiet because of the condescending kids in kindergarten who called her a freak, and a liar. This is a poem of a girl who thinks about Death and whether he is a snatching thief or just the ferryman. A girl who dances with her eyes shut, her heart open and her toe-socks on. A girl who will clean her room at 2 am because she can’t handle the sight and the night is too lively for sleeping anyways. A girl who wears her heart not only on her sleeve, but on her chest, open as a blushing book playing poker with hockey players and still winning a game. A girl who’s emotions are kept in a Tupperware box and left in the refrigerator but if you shake it hard enough the lid just might pop open

Ferryman, will I rest in the white roses
that can nevermore grow infirm-
where the rivers from the deep blue forest
are joined by currents of blood and ink?

Ferryman, the forest of the sky is beautiful
like blue bitumen, verdigris life moves, expires and is
reborn between the plane of those who do not die
and above the garden of grief

"Come brother, let us sleep" the phantom says
"One-Hundred and Fifty cuts cover me from head to waist-
old and beautiful tears that keep me from sleep
The heat of my lamp is ready to fade"

Ferryman,where in the house of shade shall I finally rest?
The voice of my lord is broken and dried
In the glade of cedar trees, air flushes and suffocates
The blushing of the moonlight fades and the snowy stars elude her

Make me know the ways of righteousness
The ferryman leads me down the tremulous waters
his words have escaped me like the fearful night's eyes
and in the distance the sudden emptiness of the roses

Pay the ferryman his dues, before you
take a punt
on the river of death;
'Cause if you don't
he might take offense
and that'll leave you in a right old mess,
For the ferryman
is not a merry man but
a mean and spiteful...

TO PAY THE FERRYMAN
TO PAY THE FERRYMAN

Let me be the color in your eyes
And let me be the sunshine in your skies
Let me be your stardust on a moonlit night
And to love you to your heart's delight

So let me be the smile on your face
Hold my hand if you feel somewhere out of place
And when if you ever feel tired or lonely
You will always have my shoulder to brace

All I need is to spend sometime with you
A day or two or may be until this life is through
And if I had only one wish that were ever granted
I will wish I would die in your embrace

But nothing in life is sure or as promised
So I carry my two coins just in case

M. N. R.
10 JUNE 2018

will you pass the shilling test?
your life is the slamming
of typewriter keys
to paint with crafted words the world you would dream
the world she would love you in
your life is the desperate holding at bay the hours evaporating
into a future you cannot
comprehend
into a land as foreign as another world
into a mist of unknowns
my leather bound case and trench coat
bible and cookware
a shilling for the ferryman

but fret over
like the wringing of sweaty hands
pacing the hall
small bald fat men
with neatly pressed brooks brothers suits
but fret over like the well greased
plans and carefully laid designs
of another mans futures past misgivings
will you pass the shilling test

another day and far away from such
musings i find myself at odds with
myself over the course i should follow
on this days misadventure
i have known deep seasons of love
and iv known vast feilds of emptyness and fear
these days are a mystry to me
i cannot see my way

I dreamt last night that you were with me
and we walked along that path leading to the river and the ferry across.
(do you remember the ferry?)

It was summer, or so it seemed,
and the air was heavy & hot.
The sky was blue, cloudless, except for distant flecks of white.
Insects and small birds shared the air
— I’m sure I saw a dragonfly, iridescent blue/green
hovering over a flowering thistle

The path we walked was as I remembered it;
narrow and hedged on each side
by waist high wild plants & flowers - blue and white, some blood red,
green, alive, hosting many flying fauna that buzzed and flitted
from bloom to bloom.

But interspersed among the verdant growths were
angry-thorned wild roses, nettles
and the dark brown and black of dying flora.

I wanted to hold your hand but the nettles and harsh-thorned plants
grabbed at our clothes and gashed bare skin.
So we plodded single-file, not talking;
I knew you were behind me but had to keep turning round to be sure.

It felt as though we had been walking for an eternity
until rounding a bend in the path,
we saw the river in the near distance.
Blue-green-still, dappled by sunlight,
its surface broken by occasional movements
from creatures beneath.

As we drew close the to river’s edge and the grey wooden jetty,
I noticed the buzzing insects and flying birds had ceased their aerobatics;
there was silence, not even the gentle lapping of water against the riverbank.

Looking across to that distant bank it seemed blurred and indistinct;
an eerie mist hovered at that far shore.

There was a brass bell atop a post standing at the back of the jetty,
aged and stained.

You came to my side and took my hand but spoke no words.

I reached out to ring the bell but you squeezed my hand.
I looked to you and your eyes were fearful.
Shaking your head, you mouthed ‘No!’

I nonetheless reached up and grabbed the cord tied to the striker
and rang the bell.
Three times I did this.
But not a sound was made.

The silence was heavy now & looking skyward I realised dusk had crept upon us.

I looked out at the river and the mist that moments before
had been at the distant shore was now edging towards us.

The air chilled suddenly and in the silence
I could hear my heart pounding in my ears.

Your hand still clasped mine; it was clammy, cold.

I looked at you but your eyes were drawn to that distant river’s edge
And the mist that crept towards us.

I strained too to see into the approaching brume and saw a yellow light
in the now black, starless darkness around us.
It appeared to be hanging in the air.

Moments later, a small boat loomed from the mist,
the light bobbing on a spar at its prow.
And the ferryman, thrusting his pole into the green-dark depths of the river,
tall, thin, indistinct in the half light.

Silently the boat came to rest at the end of the jetty.
The ferryman caught my eye: I do not recall his face,
it was as though it was devoid of features.

He raised an arm and gestured towards us.
You pulled your hand from mine.
I looked at you but your eyes were locked on the ferryman.

He gestured again and you turned to me, smiled, and walked onto the jetty.
I wanted to reach out to you but I was frozen, paralysed.
I tried to speak but could not form any words.

In a few steps you were at the end of the jetty and stepped onto the boat;
it didn’t rock, almost as though you were as weightless as the mist around it.

I tried to call out to you but again no words came out.
You turned to me then.
Your eyes were sad.
You touched your hand to your heart then turned away.

The boat began to move away, back into the brume
and was soon lost to the night  …

The gentleman in the black trench coat
breathed out
a puff of smoke
and said,through the fog,
"I am a breeze of relief
to some
and
a storm of wrath
for others."

He took out a crumpled piece of paper.
Read it and mumbled,
"I wonder what your share is?"

These are my modern English translations of ancient Greek poems by the immortal Sappho of ******…

With my two small arms, how can I
think to encircle the sky?
—Sappho, fragment 35, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Mother, how can I weave,
so overwhelmed by love?
—Sappho, fragment 90, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

What cannot be swept ——— aside
must be wept.
—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What cannot be said
must be wept.
—Sappho, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon has long since set;
the Pleiades are gone;
now half the night is spent,
yet here I lie—alone.
—Sappho, fragment 52, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Midnight.
The hours drone on
as I moan here, alone.
—Sappho, fragment 52, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You are,
of all the unapproachable stars,
the fairest.
—Sappho, fragment 155, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Someone, somewhere
will remember us,
I swear!
—Sappho, fragment 147, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Gold does not rust,
yet my son becomes dust?
—Sappho, fragment 137, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

No droning bee,
nor even the bearer of honey
for me!
—Sappho, fragment 113, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have a delightful daughter
fairer than the fairest flowers, Cleis,
whom I cherish more than all Lydia and lovely ******.
—Sappho, fragment 132, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have a lovely daughter
with a face like the fairest flowers,
my beloved Cleis ...
—Sappho, fragment 132, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Attis, you forsake me
and flit off to Andromeda ...
—Sappho, fragment 131, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

He is dying, Cytherea, the delicate Adonis.
What shall we lovers do?
Rip off your clothes, bare your ******* and abuse them!
—Sappho, fragment 140, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Awed by the moon’s splendor,
stars covered their undistinguished faces.
Even so, we.
—Sappho, fragment 34, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Those I most charm
do me the most harm.
—Sappho, fragment 12, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Just now I was called,
enthralled,
by golden-sandalled
dawn...
—Sappho, fragment 15, loose translation by Michael R. Burch

Once again I dive into this fathomless ocean,
intoxicated by lust.
—Sappho, after Anacreon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Did this epigram perhaps inspire the legend that Sappho leapt into the sea to her doom, over her despair for her love for the ferryman Phaon?

Sappho, fragment 138, loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch

1.
Darling, let me see your face;
unleash your eyes' grace.

2.
Turn to me, favor me
with your eyes' indulgence.

3.
Look me in the face,
——— smile ———
reveal your eyes' grace!

4.
Turn to me, favor me
with your eyes’ indulgence.

Preposterous Eros
by Michael R. Burch

“Preposterous Eros” – Patricia Falanga

Preposterous Eros shot me in
the buttocks, with a Devilish grin,
spent all my money in a rush
then left my heart effete pink mush.

Keywords/Tags: Sappho, translations, ******, lesbian, love, Eros, ******, Greek, Greece

Fresh from the accouterments
of green,
creatures churn out of control
rinse and repeat
he gave me a smile
one down to his knees
the wind a born again breeze
and the moon was born
spinning silver on his tongue
while crows hum forgotten
biennial messages
a post part-em in drums
hell arrives on a River boat
demands six pence for passage
we'll pay the Ferryman
just to go home to get some sleep
but all dreams smell the same;
lost,
in this rich man's world.

The Journey

In our journey down the long road of life
we have weather some storms some trouble and strife
we have travelled down some sunlit plains
some awesome places to hard to explain

Then a fork in the road appeared in sight
you went to the left, I took the right
but the landscape was changing as we travelled our ways
from lush tranquil plains to a dark barren day

Our paths came together on the banks of a river
we stood there together and looked out at the vista
the splendour over there was somewhat a dream
the sun was shinning the earth was so peaceful and green
but the river was running deep and wide
how was it possible to get to the other side

Then magic occurred and a ferry appeared
a tall dark man at the helm with a long flowing beard
“To get us to the other side I asked what would be the fare”
“It is what you shall pay” came the answer so clear
“A deposit will be paid before you may board
the balance will come before we reach the other shore”

The dues I paid with pain emotion and fear
then I boarded the ferry and departure was near
the river was ruff with wind and tide
but calmness could be seen on the other side
as the ferry departed I looked back to see
you were standing on the bank, you were looking at me

So i’m crossing this river all on my lone
and so far in the journey I feel I have grown
I am feeling  and learning as much as I can
changing my ways to be a better man

When finally I reach the other shore
the splendour and peace I shall embrace and adore
but wait I shall with emotion love and bliss
for you to make the journey I pray you do not miss

I turn to look if you were there for me to see
my eyes can’t believe that you are waving at me
I turn to the ferryman “you must stop this vessel hence
we must return to the side we have just left
my girl has decided she will take this ride
so we can land together when we reach the other side”

We return to the shore you leap in my arms
the ferry departs I melt in your charms
“but her dues are in debt for she has not paid”
“what sum is required she has already made”

It might take some time for this voyage to complete
the learning thats to come in its self will be a feat
we don’t have to worry about the outcome
the ferryman’s been paid the job has been done

In our journey  to the other side
we  battle fierce wind and very strong tide
our ferry has taken water the pumps I have manned
the cables have strained beyond their command

At times our ferry seemed to have wings
flying along at the speed of the wind
that distant shore was truly in site
I was sure we would make it I was willing to fight

A storm now comes bigger than before
my hopes are now fading of reaching that far shore
the waves start to surge the cables do strain
hull planks are cracking and here comes the rain

The ferries cables are now parting its the end of the ride
when the ferry brakes free we’ll be at the mercy of tide
we will drift with the stream and land were we may
regardless of the site its were we will stay

But fight I will so we can survive
I will splice that cable and keep us alive
I will pump that bilge and mend broken wood
keep this ferry afloat like I promised I would

My heart is bleeding with the strain of the toil
you come to my aid with river in boil
you help with the splice and repairs to be done
the team is back we surely have won

The sun brakes through the waves do abate
the air starts to clear and not to late
we feel a bump and concerned Ive become
but its the shore we have reached the journey is done

We open our eyes to a vision so sweet
we step from the ferry pure sand at our feet
the landscape is lush filled with sweet peace and love
birds sing in harmony from trees high above

I turn to the ferryman “thank your my friend”
a smile returns and a shake of the head
“The journeys is over and you both saved my ship
let karma be with you and thanks for the tip”

I need someone to breathe for me
because between the binder squeezing under the too tight seat belt
and the panic clogging my throat
as I scramble for my glasses
so I can at least see the wreck in front of me,
I cannot breathe on my own.

I get in a car and suddenly everything around me is a threat,
and I can't do anything without second guessing myself,
so breathing isn't really a priority anymore.

Telling someone to breathe will not make them breathe.
Telling me to breathe makes me breathe even less,
because now I have to spit out the words I'm trying
while feeling even more like I can't do anything right.

-

If you want me to keep crying, tell me that everything is okay.
Tell me that I will be okay.
Make me think of a million outcomes.
where I won't be.

When you work in insurance
you don't even have to use your imagination.
I can tell you how many things can go wrong
and how often they actually do.
I am a bad statistic
but I can't calmly transfer myself to claims,
I can't ignore the process that comes after.
Sitting calmly at my desk and playing solitaire
Is not an option anymore.

And now I'm in class learning about
probabilities
and personal finance
and risk management.

Being constantly reminded of your failures
does wonders for your self-confidence.

-

I drove to the endocrinologist a week after my first accident
and as they checked my vital signs
they said my blood pressure was a little high,
and my heart rate was a little high,
and they asked if I was nervous.

I didn't know then if it was excitement or fear.
I still don't.
My heart is still beating too fast.

-

Through forgetting how to live without panicking,
I've in turn forgotten how to do anything else.

My dresser has been standing empty in my room
since the beginning of the month
when I dusted it off and dragged it into the house.
My laundry has piled up
and I still need to buy a three ring binder.
I have boxes sitting in the living room that I need to unpack,
and I've been meaning to go outside and get some sun for years.
I have a mouthguard that I need to start using
so that one day my mouth doesn't close and never open back up again,
and I still haven't talked to my father about
what exactly I'm using his health insurance for.
I had a 150 day snapchat streak with a boy
but that disappeared with one day of panicking under the covers.

Whenever the light turns green
I have to stare at it for a few extra seconds
To make sure I'm not imagining it.

Every time I'm at a stop sign, I look left and right five times, ten times,
And still hold a scream in my stomach whenever I finally move.

I think in the crash my car wasn't the only thing to stop working.
I think I caught on fire that night too.
The circles under my eyes look like ashes, anyway.

-

There is one nice thing about crashing two cars.

It forces on me a sense of invincibility.
I am wrapped in a cape of steel and debt and guilt.
The collar is tight and scratchy and
it's like the tinny voice on the other end of the phone
telling me to breathe
because I literally can't afford not to anymore.
In a way my life is not my own to end anymore.

Besides, I just got a new mattress,
so I guess I should stay alive for another eight to ten years at least.

You extracted a price,
from the life and flutter
of a slender wet tongue

I felt used

But so does Charon extract,
from the still and stale
hollows of our dead tongues!

Ferry me over -
you know where,
for that price
Ferry me over,
so I need not pay twice

SAPPHO'S POEMS FOR ATTIS AND ANACTORIA

Most of Sappho's poems are fragments but the first poem below, variously titled "The Anactoria Poem, " "Helen's Eidolon" and "Some People Say" is largely intact. Was Sappho the author of the world's first 'make love, not war' poem?

Some People Say
Sappho, fragment 16 (Lobel-Page 16 / Voigt 16)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Warriors on rearing chargers,
columns of infantry,
fleets of warships:
some call these the dark earth's redeeming visions.
But I say—
the one I desire.

Nor am I unique,
since she who so vastly surpassed all mortals in beauty
—Helen—
seduced by Aphrodite, led astray by desire,
departed for distant Troy,
abandoned her celebrated husband,
turned her back on her parents and child!

Her story reminds me of Anactoria,
who has also departed,
and whose lively dancing and lovely face
I would rather see than all the horsemen and war-chariots of the Lydians,
or their columns of infantry parading in flashing armor.



Ode to Anactoria or Ode to Attis
Sappho, fragment 94 (Lobel-Page 94 / Voigt 94)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

So my Attis has not returned
and thus, let the truth be said,
I wish I were dead...

'Honestly, I just want to die! '
Attis sighed,
shedding heartfelt tears,
inconsolably sad
when she
left me.

'How deeply we have loved,
we two,
Sappho!
Oh,
I really don't want to go! '

I answered her tenderly,
'Go as you must
and be happy,
trust-
ing your remembrance of me,
for you know how much
I loved you.

And if you begin to forget,
please try to recall
all
the heavenly emotions we felt
as with many wreathes of violets,
roses and crocuses
you sat beside me
adorning your delicate neck.

Once garlands had been fashioned of many woven flowers,
with much expensive myrrh
we anointed our bodies like royalty
on soft couches,
then my tender caresses
fulfilled your desire...'

Unfortunately, fragment 94 has several gaps and I have tried to imagine what Sappho might have been saying.



The following are Sappho's poems for Attis or Atthis...

Sappho, fragment 49 (Lobel-Page 49 / Voigt 49)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
I loved you, Attis, long ago...
even when you seemed a graceless child.

2.
I fell in love with you, Attis, long ago...
You seemed immature to me then, and not all that graceful.

(Source: Hephaestion, Plutarch and others.)



Sappho, fragment 131 (Lobel-Page 131 / Voigt 130)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You reject me, Attis,
as if you find me distasteful,
flitting off to Andrómeda...


Sappho, fragment 96 (Lobel-Page 96.1-22 / Voigt 96 / Diehl 98)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Attis, our beloved, dwells in distant Sardis, but her thoughts often return here, to our island, and how we honored her like a goddess, and how she loved to hear us singing her praises. Now she surpasses all Sardinian women, as, after sunset the rosy-fingered moon outshines the surrounding stars, illuminating salt seas and meadows alike. Thus the dew sparkles, the rose revives, and the tender chervil and sweetclover blossom. Now oftentimes when our beloved goes wandering abroad, she is reminded of our gentle Attis; then her heart assaults her tender breast with its painful pangs and she cries aloud for us to console her. Truly, we understand all too well the distress she feels, because Night, the many-eared, calls to us from across the dividing sea. But to go there is not easy, nor to rival a goddess in her loveliness.



Ode to Anactoria
Sappho, fragment 31 (Lobel-Page 31 / Voigt 31)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

How can I compete with that ****** man
who fancies himself one of the gods,
impressing you with his 'eloquence' …
when just the thought of sitting in your radiant presence,
of hearing your lovely voice and lively laughter,
sets my heart hammering at my breast?
Hell, when I catch just a quick glimpse of you,
I'm left speechless, tongue-tied,
and immediately a blush like a delicate flame reddens my skin.
Then my vision dims with tears,
my ears ring,
I sweat profusely,
and every muscle in my body trembles.
When the blood finally settles,
I grow paler than summer grass,
till in my exhausted madness,
I'm as limp as the dead.
And yet I must risk all, being bereft without you...



Ode to Anactoria
Sappho, fragment 31 (Lobel-Page 31 / Voigt 31)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

To me that boy seems
blessed by the gods
because he sits beside you,
basking in your brilliant presence.
My heart races at the sound of your voice!
Your laughter? ―bright water, dislodging pebbles
in a chaotic vortex. I can't catch my breath!
My heart bucks in my ribs. I can't breathe. I can't speak.
My ******* glow with intense heat;
desire's blush-inducing fires redden my flesh.
My ears seem hollow; they ring emptily.
My tongue is broken and cleaves to its roof.
I sweat profusely. I shiver.
Suddenly, I grow pale
and feel only a second short of dying.
And yet I must endure, somehow,
despite my poverty.



The following poems by Sappho may have been addressed to Attis or Anactoria, or written with them in mind…

Sappho, fragment 22 (Lobel-Page 22 / Diehl 33,36)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

That enticing girl's clinging dresses
leave me trembling, overcome by happiness,
as once, when I saw the Goddess in my prayers
eclipsing Cyprus.



Sappho, fragment 34 (Lobel-Page 34 / Voigt 34)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Awed by the Moon's splendor,
the stars covered their undistinguished faces.
Even so, we.



Sappho, fragment 39
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We're merely mortal women,
it's true;
the Goddesses have no rivals
but You.



Sappho, fragment 5
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

We're eclipsed here by your presence—
you outshine all the ladies of Lydia
as the bright-haloed moon outsplendors the stars.

I suspect the fragment above is about Anactoria, since Sappho associates Anactoria with Lydia in fragment 16.



Sappho, fragment 2 (Lobel-Page 2.1A)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Leaving your heavenly summit,
I submit
to the mountain,
then plummet.

Sappho associates her lovers with higher elevations: the moon, stars, mountain peaks.



Sappho, fragment 130
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

May the gods prolong the night
—yes, let it last forever! —
as long as you sleep in my sight.



Sappho, fragment 102 (Lobel-Page 102 / Voigt 102)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Mother, how can I weave,
so overwhelmed by love?



Sappho, fragment 147 (Lobel-Page 147 / *** 30)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Someone, somewhere
will remember us,
I swear!

'From Dio Chrysostom, who, writing about A.D.100, remarks that this is said 'with perfect beauty.''―Edwin Marion ***



Sappho, fragment 10
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I lust!
I crave!
**** me!



Sappho, fragment 11 (*** 109)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You inflame me!



Sappho, fragment 36 (Lobel-Page 36 / *** 24 & 25)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
I yearn for―I burn for―the one I miss!

2.
While you learn,
I burn.

3.
While you discern your will,
I burn still.

According to Edwin Marion ***, this fragment is from the Etymologicum Magnum.



Sappho, fragment 155
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

A short revealing frock?
It's just my luck
your lips were made to mock!

Pollux wrote: 'Sappho used the word beudos for a woman's dress, a kimbericon, a kind of short transparent frock.'



Sappho, fragment 156
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

She keeps her scents
in a dressing-case.
And her sense?
In some undiscoverable place.

Phrynichus wrote: 'Sappho calls a woman's dressing-case, where she keeps her scents and such things, grute.'



Sappho, fragment 47 (Lobel-Page 47 / Voigt 47)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eros harrows my heart:
wild winds whipping desolate mountains,
uprooting oaks.

The poem above is my favorite Sappho epigram. The metaphor of Eros (****** desire)  harrowing mountain slopes, leveling oaks and leaving them desolate, is really something―truly powerful and evocative. According to Edwin Marion ***, this Sapphic epigram was 'Quoted by Maximus Tyrius about 150 B.C. He speaks of Socrates exciting Phaedus to madness, when he speaks of love.'



Sappho, fragment 130 (Lobel-Page 130 / Voigt 130)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Eros, the limb-shatterer,
rattles me,
an irresistible
constrictor.



Sappho, unnumbered fragment
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

What cannot be swept
aside
must be wept.



Sappho, fragment 138 (Lobel-Page 138)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
Darling, let me see your face;
unleash your eyes' grace.

2.
Turn to me, favor me
with your eyes' indulgence.

3.
Look me in the face,
smile,
reveal your eyes' grace...

4.
Turn to me, favor me
with your eyes' acceptance.

5.
Darling, let me see your smiling face;
favor me again with your eyes' grace.



Sappho, fragment 38 (Incertum 25, *** 36)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I flutter
after you
like a chick after its mother...

From the 'Etymologicum Magnum' according to Edwin Marion ***.



In the following poem Sappho asks Aphrodite to "persuade" someone to fall in love with her. The poem strikes me as a sort of love charm or enchantment…

Hymn to Aphrodite (Lobel-Page 1)
by Sappho
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Immortal Aphrodite, throned in splendor!
Wile-weaving daughter of Zeus, enchantress and beguiler!
I implore you, dread mistress, discipline me no longer
with such vigor!

But come to me once again in kindness,
heeding my prayers, as you did so graciously before;
O, come Divine One, descend once more
from heaven's golden dominions!

Then with your chariot yoked to love's
white consecrated doves,
their multitudinous pinions aflutter,
you came gliding from heaven's shining heights,
to this dark gutter.

Swiftly they came and vanished, leaving you,
O my Goddess, smiling, your face eternally beautiful,
asking me what unfathomable longing compelled me
to cry out.

Asking me what I sought in my bewildered desire.
Asking, 'Who has harmed you, why are you so alarmed,
my poor Sappho? Whom should Persuasion
summon here? '

'Although today she flees love, soon she will pursue you;
spurning love's gifts, soon she shall give them;
tomorrow she will woo you,
however unwillingly! '

Come to me now, O most Holy Aphrodite!
Free me now from my heavy heartache and anguish!
Graciously grant me all I request!
Be once again my ally and protector!

'Hymn to Aphrodite' is the only poem by Sappho of ****** to survive in its entirety. The poem survived intact because it was quoted in full by Dionysus, a Roman orator, in his 'On Literary Composition, ' published around 30 B.C. A number of Sappho's poems mention or are addressed to Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of love. It is believed that Sappho may have belonged to a cult that worshiped Aphrodite with songs and poetry. If so, 'Hymn to Aphrodite' may have been composed for performance within the cult. However, we have few verifiable details about the 'real' Sappho, and much conjecture based on fragments of her poetry and what other people said about her, in many cases centuries after her death. We do know, however, that she was held in very high regard. For instance, when Sappho visited Syracuse the residents were so honored they erected a statue to commemorate the occasion! During Sappho's lifetime, coins of ****** were minted with her image. Furthermore, Sappho was called 'the Tenth Muse' and the other nine were goddesses. Here is another translation of the same poem...



Hymn to Aphrodite
by Sappho
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Rainbow-appareled, immortal-throned Aphrodite,
daughter of Zeus, wile-weaver, I beseech you: Hail!
Spare me your reproaches and chastisements.
Do not punish, dire Lady, my penitent soul!
But come now, descend, favor me with your presence.
Please hear my voice now beseeching, however unclear or afar,
your own dear voice, which is Olympus's essence —
golden, wherever you are...
Begging you to harness your sun-chariot's chargers —
those swift doves now winging you above the black earth,
till their white pinions whirring bring you down to me from heaven
through earth's middle air...
Suddenly they arrived, and you, O my Blessed One,
smiling with your immortal countenance,
asked what hurt me, and for what reason
I cried out...
And what did I want to happen most
in my crazed heart? 'Whom then shall Persuasion
bring to you, my dearest? Who,
Sappho, hurts you? "
"For if she flees, soon will she follow;
and if she does not accept gifts, soon she will give them;
and if she does not love, soon she will love
despite herself! '
Come to me now, relieve my harsh worries,
free me heart from its anguish,
and once again be
my battle-ally!



Sappho, fragment 113
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

No droning bee,
nor even the bearer of honey
for me!


Sappho, fragment 113
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Neither the honey
nor the bee
for me!



Sappho, fragment 52
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

The moon has long since set;
The Pleiades are gone;
Now half the night is spent,
Yet here I lie ... alone.



Sappho, fragment 2 (Lobel-Page 2 / Voigt 2)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Come, Cypris, from Crete
to meet me at this holy temple
where a lovely grove of apple awaits our presence
bowering altars
  fuming with frankincense.

Here brisk waters babble beneath apple branches,
the grounds are overshadowed by roses,
and through the flickering leaves
  enchantments shimmer.

Here the horses will nibble flowers
as we gorge on apples
and the breezes blow
  honey-sweet with nectar ...

Here, Cypris, we will gather up garlands,
pour the nectar gracefully into golden cups
and with gladness
  commence our festivities.


Sappho, fragment 58 (Lobel-Page 58)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Virgins, be zealous for the violet-scented Muses' lovely gifts
and those of the melodious lyre ...
but my once-supple skin sags now;
my arthritic bones creak;
my ravenblack hair's turned white;
my lighthearted heart's grown heavy;
my knees buckle;
my feet, once fleet as fawns, fail the dance.
I often bemoan my fate ... but what's the use?
Not to grow old is, of course, not an option.

I am reminded of Tithonus, adored by Dawn with her arms full of roses,
who, overwhelmed by love, carried him off beyond death's dark dominion.
Handsome for a day, but soon withered with age,
he became an object of pity to his ageless wife.



Sappho, fragment 132 (Lobel-Page 132)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1.
I have a delightful daughter
fairer than the fairest flowers, Cleis,
whom I cherish more than all Lydia and lovely ******.

2.
I have a lovely daughter
with a face like the fairest flowers,
my beloved Cleis …

It bears noting that Sappho mentions her daughter and brothers, but not her husband. We do not know if this means she was unmarried, because so many of her verses have been lost.



Sappho, fragment 131 (Lobel-Page 131)
loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch

1.
You reject me, Attis,
as if you find me distasteful,
flitting off to Andromeda ...

2.
Attis, you forsake me
and flit off to Andromeda ...



Sappho, fragment 140 (Lobel-Page 140)
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

He is dying, Cytherea, the delicate Adonis.
What shall we lovers do?
Rip off your clothes, bare your ******* and abuse them!



Sappho, fragment 36
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Vain woman, foolish thing!
Do you base your worth on a ring?



Sappho, fragment 130
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

May the gods prolong the night
—yes, let it last forever!—
as long as you sleep in my sight.



... a sweet-voiced maiden ...
—Sappho, fragment 153, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I have the most childlike heart ...
—Sappho, fragment 120, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

There was no dance,
no sacred dalliance,
from which we were absent.
—Sappho, fragment 19, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I love the sensual
as I love the sun’s ecstatic brilliance.
—Sappho, fragment 9, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

I love the sensual
as I love the sun’s splendor.
—Sappho, fragment 9, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

You anointed yourself
with most exquisite perfume.
—Sappho, fragment 19, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Awed by the moon’s splendor,
stars covered their undistinguished faces.
Even so, we.
—Sappho, fragment 34, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sappho, fragment 138, loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch

1.
Darling, let me see your face;
unleash your eyes' grace.

2.
Turn to me, favor me
with your eyes' indulgence.

3.
Look me in the face,
           smile,
reveal your eyes' grace ...

4.
Turn to me,
favor me
with your eyes’ indulgence

Those I most charm
do me the most harm.
—Sappho, fragment 12, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Those I charm the most
do me the most harm.
—Sappho, fragment 12, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Midnight.
The hours drone on
as I moan here, alone.
—Sappho, fragment 52, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Once again I dive into this fathomless ocean,
intoxicated by lust.
—Sappho, after Anacreon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Did this epigram perhaps inspire the legend that Sappho leapt into the sea to her doom, over her despair for her love for the ferryman Phaon? See the following poem ...

The Legend of Sappho and Phaon, after Menander
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Some say Sappho was an ardent maiden
goaded by wild emotion
to fling herself from the white-frothed rocks of Leukas
into this raging ocean
for love of Phaon ...

but others reject that premise
and say it was Aphrodite, for love of Adonis.

In Menander's play The Leukadia he refers to a legend that Sappho flung herself from the White Rock of Leukas in pursuit of Phaon. We owe the preservation of those verses to Strabo, who cited them. Phaon appears in works by Ovid, Lucian and Aelian. He is also mentioned by Plautus in Miles Gloriosus as being one of only two men in the whole world, who "ever had the luck to be so passionately loved by a woman."

Sappho, fragment 24, loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch

1a.
Dear, don't you remember how, in days long gone,
we did such things, being young?

1b.
Dear, don't you remember, in days long gone,
how we did such things, being young?

2.
Don't you remember, in days bygone,
how we did such things, being young?

3.
Remember? In our youth
we too did such reckless things.

Sappho, fragment 154, loose translations/interpretations by Michael R. Burch

1.
The moon rose and we women
thronged it like an altar.

2.
Maidens throng
at the altar of Love
all night long.


Even as their hearts froze,
their feathers molted.
—Sappho, fragment 42, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Your voice beguiles me.
Your laughter lifts my heart’s wings.
If I listen to you, even for a moment, I am left speechless.
—Sappho, fragment 31, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

Sappho, fragment 57
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch

1a.
That country ***** bewitches your heart?
Hell, her most beguiling art's
hiking her dress
to ****** you with her ankles' nakedness!

1b.
That country ***** bewitches your heart?
Hell, her most beguiling art
is hiking her dress
to reveal her ankles' nakedness!

2.
That hayseed ****
bewitches your heart?
Hell, her most beguiling art's
hiking her dress
to ****** you with her ankles' nakedness!

3.
That rustic girl bewitches your heart?
Hell, her most beguiling art's
hiking the hem of her dress
to ****** you with her ankles' nakedness!

Keywords/Tags: Sappho, ******, Greek, translation, epigram, epigrams, love, ***, desire, passion, lust

Ferry your troops into the fray, watch them as they fall, remember where they lay. That they answered your call willingly, with the courage to obey. The beasts of men, with shattered bodies, broken then decayed. As their booted feet trample ****** earth, these soldiers march nameless and forgotten into the endless grey...

Deliver me from the folly of jealous men . From the mirth of mischievous demons that long to traduce and besmirch , remove all thought of appeasement toward the rancorous and ill intended serpents that crawl the Earth . Shelter me from the disingenuous , the naysayers of good intent and those that portend lies as benefaction , seeking my friendship through groundless merit and frivolous actions ..
Guide my feet across the perilous river of treachery toward my fellow man , directing my ears to the benefits of silence , gravitate my persona into the light of Dharma ..
Bind my arms from receiving poisonous bounty , render my tongue stillborn to boastful atrocity ..
Sharpen my eyes in the confusion of night , grace the helm of life's vehicle with the Angelic aura of pure white light* ..

Scraggly curl hair bounces in the air
wagging with whisky eyes breezy pleasing the eclectic electric hectic now mind
like finding a papaya inside an oyster
battery powered like a pomegranate passionfruit flower growing and glowing
around my trinity heart with the noise of a sphere's galactic ******!

Crystal Citrine Mountains provide water fountains of sunlight
as so tye-dye t-shirt hip-cat hippos smokin' coconut shisha bathe in barrels
of bourbon.
Lion snakes spit words of worlds hurling nebulous timeline's spiraling
and crashing and splashing baptism ripples together painting Pollack Splatters
with the aroma of Byrd Jazz Jam on rye-whisky bread.

Fractal Berries served by the Far Out Faerrie Ferryman Skeletan with bejeweled emerald eyes
winks while I read in the reeds panting in pan-flutes while water rabbits scamper
into clay enclaves to bathe in pinecone designed sand-tubs.

The hieroglyphic phoenix twists and skip-scats neon green vinyl
turning the wind inside out to x-ray flames of fireworks.

It's a lost planet;
all jacked up on
caffeine and pride.
The slime from the snail
tastes like jasmine
and tangerines.
When I think about
death, I picture all
the billions of
people who have already
died.

Death is
just as known
as life.
Death is not a mystery
to the dead.
It's as common as
paper clips, and
grasshoppers.
My Mom and Dad
know.
Bukowski and James
Dean know.
All three stooges
and Superman
dine for eternity
with the worms and
the rot.

This mindset steals the
fear from the ferryman,
and the river Styx becomes
a placid stream.

The weight of the world,
has settled at last.
The world shifted on,
as I fell to the past.

I open my eyes,
but they do not obey.
I taste copper in my throat,
and the sweet scent of decay.

I can hear splashing,
so faint it’s a dream.
I can also hear breathing,
and I just want to scream.

My arms will not listen,
when I tell them to lift,
and something is scraping,
with small groaning shifts.

The breathing is closer,
and the breath is so foul.
It’s trying to speak,
but its voice is a growl.

I’m trying to scream,
but my voice is a squeak.
Then my blood runs cold,
as it finally speaks.

“Payment”, it growls,
in a gravely tone.
And then I feel its touch,
and shiver to the bone.

The shape shifts away,
and the weight is now gone.
I open my eyes,
and am blinded by the dawn.

I blink at the figure,
hunched over the oars,
and stare out at the water,
looking for shore.

I want to ask the question,
but then I see his hands.
There’s no doubting the decay,
of the limbo ferryman.

Corded muscles of the neck ferry the voice of sky,
Charon of words adrift in a salivary dislocated sine,
A fracture of breath, the stenciled rowing of a sigh.
Psychopomps of moonlight, past-throated vultures,  
Carrion of clouds even if stripped clean in vulpicide,
Even if our scorched and coining tongues tip at stars.

I

I learnt this week
that time and distance
can be friends to memory
their respective lengths
only wet and sharpen
the edge of love

but for us dear friend
we hold hard to hope
that we may
one day soon
share the present
and live each moment
in each other's heart.

II

Hearing you on Holkham beach
- whose soul is greater than the ocean
whose spirit stronger than the sea -
did I doubt for a moment
that you, though buffeted
by a cold east wind
would never age for me,
nor fade, nor die.
Nor you for me (she said)
Goodbye, my love,
a thousand times goodbye.
Write me well (she said)
and turned and ran.

III

The Reedham ferry was but a river's width
and yet I stood at the water's brink
and watched the reeds quiver in the wind,
watched the rain splatter on the puddled path.

All around to the human eye
this valley, a plain of grassland
broken only by reed-fringed pools,
was a gentle, unpeopled, easy place.

The absence of relief left
no fixed frame of reference.
Places apart from one another
would concertina and merge.

Tempted to cross I waved a no
to the ferryman in his quayside hut
then turned and walked quickly
back down the long, low road.

As I leave this world;
And enter another
I must first crossover the river of death
The River Styx they call it
A ferryman stands idly by;
Waiting for new souls, lost souls
To guide across
I approach this guide, with hopes that he will guide me across
Into new light
Or maybe he will guide me somewhere else
A place that’s only purpose is to provide fright
Onwards we go
And as I look down into the cold river
I see lost souls, their purpose only to find their way
But alas they are trapped
In a realm in between ours
Not quite at peace, but not in agony either
Maybe they will find what they seek one day
And as the ferryman helps me cross over these souls
I can only hope that I do not end up in their same predicament
As I grow closer to my destination
I can see the light
And soon we will cross over into the grand unknown
Maybe I will finally know peace
Maybe I will finally have a home
The Ferryman had other plans though
For he tipped over the boat, leaving me in the icy cold grip of the river
Now I am forever lost, among the other lost souls
My journey is now over
The river is now my home
I succumb to the darkness
My only purpose now is to forever roam
It’s funny how I once pitied the souls;
Lost to this river
Now I am one, gone without a sliver;
Of hope, my body, now cold and forgotten
I forever serve my punishment
Simply because my heart was rotten

To lonely, bent Charon, it seemed
As though beneath the sunless sky
The waveless River somehow gleamed
With light unseen. A long, soft sigh

Breathed like wind over the dead fields
As there approached One who, sunlike,
Crested the fort that never yields;
Pale Death o’ercome by One unlike

Any that yet had passed these shores.
Strange sight! A naked king, each hand
And foot marked deep with cruel red sores,
Addresses the ageless Styx and

Meets the ferryman’s soulless gaze
With eyes whose irises of gold
Seem to encompass endless days.
Before Eternity the Old

One flinches; his strength cannot bear
To match for long seconds the weight
Of the Stranger’s undying stare.
A trembling seizes him - a great

Terror swallows the ferryman.
“What hast Thou to do with us? Thou
Who opens the door, and none can
Close?” The Visitor waits. “And how

“Can I grant Thee passage, and see
Such light made food for my fell lord?”
Then lo, having finished his plea,
Charon resolves to keep his word

And carry out his solemn task.
But still, as he takes up his oar
He glances up, as though to ask
His charge for some sign, some word, or

Anything that might give him peace.
The Sojourner answers: “I will
That your master’s reign should now cease;
So go, then, that we may fulfill

“All righteousness.” Thus He boarded
The morbid ark, and a low wail
Creaked from boards which ‘neath the sordid
Weight of lost souls were used to sail.

Thus the ferryman sets out, he
Navigates rivers men have wept,
Plying across the morbid sea;
Meanwhile, the Guest lay down and slept.

Before an hour in Death’s domain
Had passed upon the waters, all
Ears were pricked by a cry of pain;
The Styx let out a plaintive call

And shuddered while the shuddering
O’ercame the ferryman as well
For ne’er was dread Styx known to sing
And ne’er before did whimper Hell.

Then, falling at the Master’s knee
Charon woke the Sleeper and cried
Aloud: “O Lord! Depart from me,
A poor wretch!” The Passenger sighed,

Looked up, and with a quiet, bold
Command He rebuked the River
And all fell silent. Blood ran cold
In the guide’s black veins, a shiver

Gripped him as they approached the shore
Where on the nearing beach there stood
A company of phantoms, for
Their dry bones ached for Him who would

With beautiful feet step onto
The sepulchral sands to declare
That doleful ghosts shall be made new,
Allowed to breathe the Heav’nly air.

**! Life’s Author disembarking!
Thund’rous Life into Satan’s hall!
Death, shattered, kneels before the King!
His Heart oped, Hades proves too small!

The vault of Hell’s bleak sky does shake
And burst, for the Word has spoken
With grave finality: “Awake
Now, arise! The Dawn has broken!”

Ferryman on the water,
Sliding his oar silent,
In the river Styx,
And is it quiet,

The thinnest line of ripple,
Seen by the thinnest eye,
Could tell where he went,
Where none dared try,

Upon the Styx,
Only one man could pass,
The ferryman alone can pierce
This surface of glass,

The land of the dead,
Two souls await,
Two lives of long past,
Both paid one gold, the ferry’s rate.
Both sailed straight,
Both would last.

After so long,
The fog was gone.

Clear.

In the lowland fens at the worlds end,
Like the ferryman, a blue heron waits,
Eyes of dragon fly, hover, over still water,
His legs are the oars rowing to the dead.

i.
i jar spare change for my trip home.
it’s moved away from me recently,
it sleeps across concrete rivers now.

i jar my change for the ferryman,
he will recognize me soon.
i will make this migration often,
and soon he will wink at me when i come to sit in his boat-
he knows what’s pulling me down the river.

and when i come collapse
into your arms,
my weariness will melt away,
wicking away in the warmth of you.

and i’ll be home,
for a while.


ii.
ice clenched between my teeth
i pull away from you
ferryman doesn’t wink this time.
he knows how bitter it is.

iii.
my spare change tink-tinks into the bottom of my jar.

the cold on my skin
is worth it.

summer wouldn’t be as sweet without the snow.