In Wild Friday at Poets United, Sanaa invites us to complete one of Sappho's fragments — this one:
In my eyes he matches the gods
In my eyes he matches the gods, that man who
sits there facing you—any man whatever—
listening from close by to the sweetness of your
voice as you talk, the
sweetness of your laughter: yes, that—I swear it—
sets the heart to shaking inside my breast, since
once I look at you for a moment, I can't
speak any longer,
but my tongue breaks down, and then all at once a
subtle fire races inside my skin, my
eyes can't see a thing and a whirring whistle
thrums at my hearing,
cold sweat covers me and a trembling takes
a hold of me all over: I'm greener than the
grass is and appear to myself to be little
short of dying.
But all must be endured, since even a poor
So here is my idea:
But All Must Be Endured ...
But all must endured, since even a poor
fellow may sit, laugh, speak with you, touch your hand—
even one utterly unworthy to stay
near your sweet beauty.
He is privileged as a god, even if
you care nothing for him. He is free to bask
in your least glance, the slightest remark you let fall—
while I sit like stone.
Yes I, watching, show no sign of the turmoil
inwardly destroying me. My face is a mask.
Near fainting, yet I contain myself: remain
still, silent, alone.
(I kept to the syllabic pattern of the original.)