Sapphic Fragments

Sappho is a legendary poet, songwriter and musician that was born into an aristocratic Greek family on the Island of Lesbos around 620 BC. She wrote verses with female muses that have been recovered by archeologists in fragments. Sappho inspired contemporary terms such as 'lesbian' and 'sapphic' so that ‘women loving women’ (WLW) could have the language to validate this historically contreversial and yet totally worth it identity.

Sappho wrote at least nine surviving books of poetry. Her works are still being discovered to this day with the latest discoveries being made in 2004 and 2012. Her most celebrated poem is Fragment 31, documenting what should only be described as the first known experience of ‘gay panic’. Slide through for our favorite translation by Julia Dubnoff.

Sappho is often referenced as the ‘Tenth Muse’ with her work being sited by the likes of Plato and Aristotle.

Our girl was exiled to Sicily due to her political views on more than one occasion. She eventually married and subsequently divorced a historically insignificant man with whom she has. daughter named Cleis (so chic).

Then enters Phaon, the mystical f~ckboy/ferryman who was old and ugly (by all accounts, not just ours). According to thousands of years of historians playing telephone, Phaon was magically cured of this undesirable condition after rubbing on some magical anti-aging cream Aphrodite gifted him (likely the first batch of La Mer Moisturizer).

Anyways, his transformation lured in and seduced Sappho. They had a one night stand. He ghosted her and she jumped off a very tall something on the island of Leucadia, falling to her death, and drowning in the sea.

Moral of the story is... don’t date men and load up on La Mer moisturizer.

Fragment 31

That man to me seems equal to the gods,

the man who sits opposite you

and close by listens

to your sweet voice

and your enticing laughter—

that indeed has stirred up the heart in my breast.

For whenever I look at you even briefly

I can no longer say a single thing,

but my tongue is frozen in silence;

instantly a delicate flame runs beneath my skin;

with my eyes I see nothing;

my ears make a whirring noise.

A cold sweat covers me,

trembling seizes my body,

and I am greener than grass.

Lacking but little of death do I seem.

Ode to Aphrodite

Immortal Aphrodite, on your intricately brocaded throne,

child of Zeus, weaver of wiles, this I pray:

Dear Lady, don’t crush my heart

with pains and sorrows.

But come here, if ever before,

when you heard my far-off cry,

you listened. And you came,

leaving your father’s house,

yoking your chariot of gold.

Then beautiful swift sparrows led you over the black earth

from the sky through the middle air,

whirling their wings into a blur.

Rapidly they came. And you, O Blessed Goddess,

a smile on your immortal face,

asked what had happened this time,

why did I call again,

and what did I especially desire

for myself in my frenzied heart:

“Who this time am I to persuade

to your love? Sappho, who is doing you wrong?

For even if she flees, soon she shall pursue.

And if she refuses gifts, soon she shall give them.

If she doesn’t love you, soon she shall love

even if she’s unwilling.”

Come to me now once again and release me

from grueling anxiety.

All that my heart longs for,

fulfill. And be yourself my ally in love’s battle.