“Who shaped the sea?
What maddened craft
Poured waves on its platter?
Who was it over the water’s back
That sketched the shape of soft,
shining Kypris, after turning thoughts
To the gods, the beginning of divine creation?
He made her naked,
Cloaking only as much as it is improper
To see, with the waves.
And she wanders over them,
Like seaweed, pressing
Her soft-skinned body in a voyage
Over the calm white waves,
And shapes a wake in her passing.
A huge wave marks the place
Where her neck meets
Rosy breasts and there
Kypris shines bright amid the calm
In the water’s furrow, like
A lily twisted in the violets.
On the silver surface
Upon dancing dolphins,
Lust, Longing, and Laughter
Ride, sorrowful thoughts for mortals at times,
Along with a curved chorus of fish
Diving into the waves
At play in the very place
Where the Paphian swims while laughing.”
“Once, among the roses
Love didn’t notice
A sleeping bee
And it wounded him, biting his finger.
How he howled over his hand!
He rushed and flew
To beautiful Kythera and said
“I am dying, my mother.
I have been killed. I am dying.
That tiny snake struck me
The snake with wings. The one
The farmers call a honey-bee.”
She responded, “if the bee’s
Little sting hurts, then
How much do you imagine
All the people suffer
From your attacks?”
Inside of a drinking krater–a mixing bowl for wine. This is a black vase with a red figure in the middle. The figure is a nude man with his head and shoulders in a giant wine jar
“I want to speak of the Atreides,
And I want to sing about Cadmos,
But the sound of my strings
Echoes only with Love.
Just yesterday I changed my strings
And then the whole lyre
And I was trying to sing
The labors of Herakles
But the lyre returned
Only the sound of Love.
Goodbye, heroes
For the rest of my time
My lyre sings only tales of Love”
Both of these poems use Troy and Thebes as metonyms for poetic traditions. The second is even more associative, substituting family names for the locations. In both cases, the contrast is between heroic tales of war and the subjects appropriate to lyric songs (love, etc). Troy and Thebes show up as the primary location for the death of the race of heroes in Hesiod too:
Hesiod, Works and Days, 158-165:
“Kronos’ son Zeus made a better and more just third race,
the divine generation of heroic men who are called
hemitheoi, the earlier generation on the boundless earth.
And then evil war and dread conflict wiped them out,
some of them under seven-gated Thebes, the Cadmean land,
where they struggled over the flocks of Oedipus,
and leading others in ships for booty across the sea
at Troy, for the sake of well-tressed Helen.”
“Not falling in love hurts.
Yet falling in love hurts too.
But more painful than everything
Is to fail at loving completely.
Family means nothing to love.
Wisdom, manner are crushed.
Only money matters.
I wish the first person who loved money
Would have died.
Because of it, no brother matters
Because of it, no parents matter.
Wars, murders–because of money.
And this is worse. Those of us who love
Lose because of money.”
“I imagined I was running in a dream,,
But on my shoulders wearing wings.
Love dragged lead somehow
On his pretty feet,
As he was pursuing, almost catching me.
What does this dream want to mean?
I imagine that while I
Have been wrapped up in many
Loves and have slipped away from some
I am caught, stuck, in this one.”
“Once upon a time
Tantalos’ daughter stood,
A stone on Phrygian river banks;
And Pandion’s daughter flew,
A bird, a swallow.
I wish I could become a mirror
So you would always look at me–
I wish I could become a robe
So you would always carry me–
I wish I could become water,
So I could wash over your skin;
I wish I could be perfume
So I could decorate you, my love.
To be support for your breasts
Or pearls for your neck or
Even a sandal I would be,
just for you to touch me with your feet.”
“Oh, I want to love, I do.
Love told me to
But I was thoughtless
I was unpersuaded.
He immediately took his bow
And his golden quiver
And challenged me to duel.
I draped my breastplate
From my shoulders
Like Achilles with my two spears
And my ox-hide shield
I went one-on-one with love.
He shot, but I dodged!
And when his arrows were gone
He was forlorn.
So he threw himself at a javelin,
Shot me through the heart
And weakened all my limbs,
I hold a pointless shield.
Why aim at others
When the battle is inside of me?”
Shot through the heart
And you’re to blame
Darling, you give love a bad name
An angel’s smile is what you sell
You promise me heaven, then put me through hell
Chains of love got a hold on me
When passion’s a prison, you can’t break free
Oh, oh, you’re a loaded gun
Oh, oh, there’s nowhere to run
No one can save me
The damage is done
Shot through the heart
And you’re to blame
You give love a bad name (bad name)
I play my part
And you play your game
You give love a bad name (bad name)
You give love
A bad name
Paint your smile on your lips
Blood red nails on your fingertips
A school boy’s dream, you act so shy
Your very first kiss was your first kiss goodbye
Oh, oh, you’re a loaded gun
Oh, oh, there’s nowhere to run
No one can save me
The damage is done
“I want to speak of the Atreides,
And I am willing to sing about Kadmos
But the sound of my strings
Echoes only with Love.
Just yesterday I changed my strings,
And then the whole lyre,
And I was trying to sing
The labors of Herakles.
But the lyre returned
Only the sound of Love.
So, Goodbye, heroes,
For the rest of my life.
My lyre sings only tales of Love”
