Acts of Love: Ancient Greek Poetry from Aphrodite's Garden Hardcover - 2006

Excerpt

ANAKREON

(ca. 563–478 b.c.)

1

Lord Loud-Shout, playmate

to Love the Winner,

and the dark-eyed Nymphs

and rosy Aphrodite,

roaming the hilltops,

I will kneel to you

that you come to me

disposed to answer

my prayer favorably,

O, D I O N Y S O S,

and advise Kleoboulos

to accept my love.

2

I’ve got a crush on Kleoboulos,

I’m crazy about Kleoboulos,

can’t take my eyes off Kleoboulos.

3

Say, boy, you with that girlish look,

I’m after you and you don’t care,

don’t even know you’re my charioteer

and hold the reins to my heart and soul.

4

Look how I climb up the White Cliff,

drunk with love, to dive into churning waters.

5

Since you’re so open to strangers,

how about a little drink for me.

6

See how Love, like a blacksmith, hammers me,

and then douses me in the chilly stream.

7

Bring water, my boy, and bring wine,

and bring me garlands of flowers.

I’m ready for another bout with Love.

(or)

Waiter, a double Jack Daniel’s on the rocks, please,

and a dozen Wellfleet oysters on the half shell.

I’m here to take on Love’s next challenger.

(or)

Cheers!

Light me!

Ring the bell!

8

. . . and it was in this room

he played at marriage but not as the married man.

9

So why do you look askance at me, my Thracian filly, and shy away from me as if I have no idea what I’m doing? You should know I could bridle you like that, mount and ride you around this track. For the moment, you enjoy the pleasures of the meadow, to frolic, frisk, and graze, believing there’s no rider around who can break you.

10

It seems I’m both in love and not in love,

mad about somebody, and yet not mad.

11

Golden-haired Love hits me

with his purple ball,

inviting me to play

with the girl in the smart sandals.

But no,

she comes from that fine place,

Lesbos,

is turned off

by my white hairs

and goes all agape

after someone else.

12

I fly up on light wings

to fetch Love from Olympos,

but he won’t play anymore

now my beard’s getting gray,

but flies right past me,

blown aside by the wake

of his glittering wings.



ARCHILOCHOS

(fl. 648 b.c.)

1

she delighted in holding a myrtle branch

and a lovely rosebush flower . . .

. . . and her hair’s

shadow fell over her shoulders and back

2

for such a hankering to love cut loose under my heart,

poured a heavy mist over my eyes,

stole my dim wits clean out of me

3

but, my friend, desire, the limb-loosener, takes me down

4

As a fig tree in rocky soil feeds many crows,

so amenable Pasiphile puts out for strangers.

5

like a Thracian or a Phrygian sucking his beer

through a straw, she was bent over and working hard

6

“. . . refraining altogether.

Dare a mutual . . .

But if you’re fully heated up from the heart down,

there’s someone at our place

who has a yen for you,

a lovely young thing. To me she looks

like your perfect ‘ten,’

and you can make her yours.”

So she said. And so I replied:

“Daughter of Amphimedo,

that fine and sober

lady now in the moldering earth’s embrace,

the pleasures love’s goddess gives

to us young men are many

besides the holy deed; one of these will do.

But such matters, at our leisure,

after darkness falls,

we two can talk over as the gods listen.

I’ll be good, just as you ask,

though mightily turned on.

But to slip under your fence up to the gate,

don’t deny me that, hon,

for I’ll walk on the grass

but not, I promise, into the garden. As for

Neoboule, some other guy can have her.

Hey, she’s overripe and twice your age,

and her girlhood flower’s bloom is long gone,

with any charm she might have had.

She can’t get no satisfaction,

that sex-mad female run amok.

Let her screw herself!

And God forbid

I have a wife like her, for my neighbors

to get a big laugh out of.

I’d much prefer you,

who are neither faithless nor two-faced,

while she’s so eager

to take on all comers.

I’m scared to death I’d get blind preemies

on her—if I come on too strong—

just like the proverb’s bitch.”

Enough said. I take the girl by the hand

and lay her down on a bed

of flowers, covering her

with my soft cloak, my arm beneath her neck.

That wide-eyed look of a fawn

I relieve her of kindly,

and gently take her breasts in hand,

moving her to show her sweet self,

her enchanting young flesh,

and feeling her up all over her lovely body,

I shot my white-hot wad

while petting her light brown hair.



SAPPHO

(fl. 600 b.c.)

1

gold-crowned Aphrodite, if only

this winning lot could fall to me

2

Love rattled my mind,

like a mountain wind rushing through oak trees.

3

For sure, sweet mother, I can weave my web no more,

overcome by slender Aphrodite with passion for a boy.

4

and again Love, the limb-loosener, excites me,

that sweet-then-bitter, invincible critter

5

Throned in brilliance, deathless Aphrodite,

wile-weaving child of Zeus, I beg you,

my queen, do not inflict me further

with heartache,

but come here, if ever before

you heard my voice from afar,

and, disposed to leave your father’s

golden house, came



with chariot yoked. And beautiful, swift

sparrows, wings awhir above the dark earth,

delivered you down from heaven

through midair

and quickly arrived. But you, O blessed one,

with a smile on your deathless face, asked me

so now what was the trouble and so now

why was I calling,

and what do I want more than anything

to befall my manic heart. So now whom

do I persuade to lead you back into her love?

Sappho, who’s done you wrong?

For if she runs away, soon she’ll give chase.

If she refuses gifts, then she’ll make them.

If she does not love, soon she’ll have to love,

even if unwilling.

Come to me again now, and release me

from bitter cares, and all that my heart longs

to fulfill, fulfill. And may you yourself

be my ally.



from

The Greek

Anthology





from

The Garland of Meleagros





ALKaIOS

(fl. 190 b.c.)

1

I hate Love. Why doesn’t his heaviness hunt

wild beasts instead of shooting at my heart?

What’s in it for a god to burn up a man?

Or what kind of trophy would my head make?

2

Your leg’s getting hairy, Nikandros. Watch your ass,

lest it do the same without your knowing.

Then you’ll see a scarcity of lovers. For now,

reflect upon youth irrevocable.

3

Zeus, under the steep hill of Olympia

crown Peithenor, Aphrodite’s second son.

I beg you, don’t turn eagle and carry him off

as cupbearer replacement for that Trojan boy.

If you hold dear any gift of mine from the Muses,

put me and this divine boy on the same wavelength.



ASKLEPIADES

(fl. 290 b.c.)

1

Didi waves her wand—and man—takes full command

of me, and I melt like wax just by taking her in.

What do I care if she’s dark? So is charcoal.

When we fire it, it glows like a bed of roses.

2

Good lamp, three times before you Heraklea swore

to come and didn’t. Lamp, if you’re divine,

pay back that cheat. When she’s at home fooling around

with a friend, go out, leave them in the dark.

3

Snow, hail, darken, lighten, thunder, and shake,

shake out all your black clouds onto the ground!

Kill me and I’ll stop, let me live and I’ll

go through worse to make music at her door.

For the same god who masters me masters you Zeus,

who, turned to gold at his call, pierced the bronze chamber.

4

What good’s your long-preserved virginity?

In Hades, my girl, none do there embrace.

The joys of Love belong between the gates of life,

but we lie below, dear virgin, as dust and bone.



5

Stay up here

my wreaths

where I hang you

on the door,

don’t be eager

to shake your leaves,

for I’ve watered you

with my tears

(rainy-eyed lover).

But when the door opens

and you see him,

shower

his head

with my rain,

that at least

my beloved’s fair hair

may drink up my tears.

6

With her sweet, yearning face moist with desire,

lovely Nikarete appeared in her high window,

dear Goddess, and seeing Kleophon at her door,

with his dazzling sweet blue eyes, was blown away.

7

O queen of Paphos, once I played around

with the winning Hermione, whose belt,

many colored, gold lettered, read in its circuit,

“Love me and don’t be sad I’m another’s.”



8

Viperish Philainion has stung me.

No bite marks, but it hurts down to the fingertips.

Well, Loves, I’m a goner. Half-asleep I trod on

a whore—just a brush, I know, but it’s death.

9

Sweet in summer

to a thirsty man

is a drink of snow.

Sweet to sailors

after wintry weather

to feel spring’s Zephyr.

But sweeter’s still

the praise of Kypris

by two lovers

under a shared cloak.

10

Demetrios, go to the market and get three small herrings from Amyntos, ten smelts, and two dozen nice shrimp (he’ll count them out for you) and come right back home with them. And while you’re at it, get six rose wreaths from Thauborios—and, since it’s on your way, might as well drop in on Tryphera and invite her over.

11

A long winter night, the Pleiads are halfway up,

and I, soaking wet, keep showing up at her door,

smitten by desire for this cheat. This can’t be love,

Goddess, but some kind of flaming-arrow torture.

12

Goddess, to you Lysidike dedicated

her riding spur, golden goad of her gorgeous leg,

with which she worked out many horsies on their backs,

never reddening her own thighs, so lightly she rocked.

No spur needed for her to cross the finish line,

wherefore she hung her golden weapon on your gate.

13

Bitto and Nannion, the Samians, refuse to cruise

at Aphrodite’s place as she ordains,

but desert to other not so good practices.

Goddess, hate these renegades to your bed.

14

Not quite twenty-two and life’s a burden.

You Loves, what’s this mistreatment? Why burn me?

If something happens to me, what’ll you do?

Play dice as before, that’s what, you dummies!

15

Drink up, Asklepiades. Why the tears? What’s your problem? You’re not the only one the merciless Goddess has captured, not the only one for whom bitter Love tightens his bow and sharpens his arrows. Why lie in the dust when you’re still alive? Let’s have a drink of Bacchus, strong and neat. The light of day is but a finger long. Shall we just wait around to follow the lamp to bed? Let’s have a drink, sad lover. It won’t be long now, my black-and-blue friend, that we shall take the big sleep.

16

With wings on your back, bow and arrows in your hand,

you’ll be described as Aphrodite’s boy, not Love.

17

I’m just a little Love

far away from his mother,

still easy to catch,

but from Damis’ house

I don’t fly high or far.

With him I’m loving and loved,

without competition

or a care for the many,

but well-matched with one.

18

Wine always outs love.

Nick denied it

but his toasts

betrayed him.

For sure, he shed tears,

looked at the floor,

had that hangdog look,

and his wreath,

tied tight on his head,

wouldn’t stay in place.

19

Not yet big enough to carry a bow or to act tough,

my baby Love, gold tablet in hand, returns to Mama,

and reads with a lisp the recipes for love spells

that Philokrates put on Antigenes’ soul.

20

Loves, what little is left of my soul, leave it alone, such as it is, and give it a rest for god’s sake. Or else stop shooting me with arrows but hit me with thunderstrikes, yes, reduce me utterly to ashes and cinder. Yes, yes, hit me, Loves, for worn out as I am by my troubles, I’d like to have just this one wish from you.



DIOSKORIDES

(late third, early second centuries b.c.)

1

Dear Adonis

winning Aristonoe

wounded me

when she tore

at her breasts

by your bier.

If she’ll do me

the same honor

when I die

take me along

—no excuses—

as a shipmate

on your voyage.

2

When moved to make love to your pregnant wife,

never bed her down face to face. For then

you’ll be riding a big wave, a bit frustrated

trying to row her, being tossed and rolled yourself.

Instead, turn her over and make merry

with her rosy butt, instructing her in boy love.

3

After having laid rosy-assed Doris,

I felt immortal amidst green pastures.



For, having wrapped those gorgeous legs around my waist,

she methodically finished off Love’s long course,

fixing me with those glassy eyes, which she fluttered

like leaves caught in a breeze, as she thrust back and forth,

till we both came mightily together,

and Doris just lay there, spent and slack-limbed.

4

They drive me crazy, those rose-red bubbling lips, the doors to that heavenly-tasting mouth that melts my soul, and eyes that flash beneath thick eyebrows, the nets and snares of my innermost man, and those juicy breasts, perfectly formed and matched, utterly charming and better than any flower. But why preach to the choir? The reeds of Midas bear witness to the fate of babblers.

5

If little Demophilos kisses his lovers

when he’s fully matured as he kisses me now

as a child, O Aphrodite, his mother’s door

shall simply never have a moment’s peace at night.

6

Love, bane of men, molded Sosarchos’ ass

soft as marrow just for the fun of it,

to annoy Zeus now, because those two thighs

have so much more honey than Ganymede’s.

7

When you look at Hermogenes, that vulture-boy, be sure you have plenty of cash in hand, and maybe you’ll fulfill your heart’s desire and wipe that scowl off his face. But cast your hooked line into the harbor without bait and you’ll pull nothing but water. Remember, expensive fuck-boys know neither shame nor pity.

8

I now call to witness

the very powers of friendship

by which he first swore,

that honey-faced Athenaios.



HEDYLOS

(fl. 280 b.c.)

1

Wine and wily “Cheers” and Nick’s

sweet lovin’ put Aggie straight to sleep;

her maidenly passion’s spoils lie still be-

fore Love’s Goddess, all of them wet with her scent,

her sandals and the soft top that fits round her titties,

sole witnesses to how she slept as he tore off a piece.

2

Bacchus and Aphrodite, limb-looseners both,

have just had a daughter, limb-loosener gout.



KALLIMACHOS

(310–ca. 240 b.c.)

1

I loathe the serial poem, rejoice not

in a road that many people travel,

and hate a beloved who’s made the rounds.

No fountain drinks, things public disgust me.

But you, Lysanias, I thought fair, I thought fine.

No sooner said than Echo replies, “But not mine.”

2

Kleon of Thessaly, you poor, poor, thing!

By the dazzling sun, I didn’t know you.

Where’ve you been, pathetic bag of hair and bones?

Have you caught my luck, been hit hard by heaven?

Now I get it. Euxitheos took off with you.

When you came here, you just ate him up with both eyes.

3

But half my soul still breathes, the other half

off with Love or Death, don’t know, but it’s gone.

With one of the boys again? I often said,

“Don’t take him in, young men, that runaway.”

Look for it at . . . for someplace around there

that lovelorn condemned thing is hanging out.

4

Your hunter in the hills, Epikydes, tracks every hare

and the slot of every hind through frost and snow.

Show him a wounded beast, and he won’t take it.

That’s my way of loving: to pursue my quarry

as it runs away, and to fly right by

whatever lies in my path for the taking.

5

If I came to you in fun on purpose, Archinos, then a thousand apologies, but if I’m here strictly because I couldn’t help myself, consider the urgency of it. Strong wine and Love compelled me. One pulled me while the other took away my sobriety. But when I came, I didn’t howl about who I was or whose, but kissed the doorpost. If that’s a sin, then I’m a sinner.

6

I swear it by the gods, there is

fire hidden under these embers.

I can’t trust myself. Don’t hold me.

Still waters can gnaw away at a wall.

I fear, my friend, lest the silent

creeper chase me back into love.

7

Menippos, I know that I’m not wealthy,

but, for god’s sake, please stop telling me so.

To hear incessant bitter words pains me.

Yes, dear, this is your most unlovely side.

8

On the twentieth of last month, I said,

“I’ll get you, Menekrates, no escape.”

Today, the tenth, the ox accepts the yoke

in just twenty days. Good for Hermes! Good for me!

9

What an excellent charm for the lovelorn Polyphemos found! You can bet he wasn’t completely unschooled, that Cyclops. The Muses make Love very thin, Philip, and learning is a kind of panacea for every ill. And I think hunger has one good to set against its evils, the radical excision of the boy-love disease. I certainly have my reasons for telling Love, “Your wings are being clipped, little guy. I’m not in the least afraid of you.” For I have at home both of the charms that will treat this grave wound.

10

If handsome, dark Theokritos hate me, hate him

back times four, but if he love me, love him.

For surely, divine Zeus, by fair-haired Ganymede,

you were in love once, too. That’s enough said.

11

We hadn’t noticed our guest is wounded.

You saw, though, how stressed out his breathing was

when he took his third drink. And how the roses

shed their petals and fell from his wreath to the ground.

He’s on fire. By god, I’m not just guessing,

but being a thief myself, I read the clues.

12

Kallignotos swore to Ionis that no man

or other woman would be dearer to him.

He swore, but it’s true what they say about lovers’

oaths, that they never get past the gods’ ears.

Now he’s on fire for some boy and the poor girl,

like a ghost town, gets no account or word.

13

May such a sleep be yours, Konopion,

as that you make me take by your cold doors.

May such a sleep as that your lover sleeps

be yours, bitch. You’ve not a dream of pity.

Neighbors show pity, but you, not a dream.

May white hair remind you of this—and soon!



MELEAGROS

(ca. 140–ca. 70 b.c.)

1

Sacred Night and Lamp, you and you alone we chose,

both of us, to be the confidants of our oaths.

He pledged his affection and I never to leave,

to which you bore common witness. But now, alas,

he maintains these oaths were made in running water,

and you, Lamp, see him snugly in another’s arms.

2

Flee! My soul warns me against Heliodora’s love,

for it knows all about past jealousies and tears.

It’s an order, but I’ve no strength, and my soul still

loves the girl even as it keeps on warning me.

3

Just keep burning my scorched soul, nasty Love,

she’ll fly away. She has wings, too, you know.

4

Timarion, your kiss is glue, your eyes are flames.

If you look at me, I’m burnt, kiss me and I’m stuck.

5

Fill my cup and just keep saying, “Heliodora’s.”

Say it again, mingling the wine with that sweet name.

Let me wear that wreath, though last night’s, drenched with her scent,

to remember her by. And now look at that rose,

the one friendly to Love, how it’s covered with tears

because she’s elsewhere, not here in my arms.

6

How sweet the music

you make on the lyre

Arcadian Pan would know—

yes, Pan knows,

you have the right touch,

Zenophila.

So how do I escape you?

The Loves have me

surrounded

and don’t give me a chance to

catch my breath,

for Beauty, or the Muse

or one of the Graces

throws this desire my way—

what can I say?

I’m just burning up.

7

By God, I’d rather hear Heliodora whisper

sweet nothings in my ear than Apollo’s harp.

8

The flowers in the wreath that crowns Heliodora

are fading, but she outshines that wreath and crowns it.

9

Now the white violet blooms,

the rain-loving narcissus blooms,

the lilies of the hilly fields bloom,

and now love’s darling, the flower

of all spring’s flowers, sweet rose of Persuasion,

Zenophila, blooms.

So why do you laugh so vainly,

meadows, over your lustrous tresses?

This girl is better than any garland.

10

Who introduced loquacious Zenophila to me?

Who brought me one of the Graces as my mistress?

That man did a gracious thing, giving me that gift,

even adding a Grace—no mean gratuity.

11

Love customized her fingernails with his sly art,

so Heliodora’s scratchies go straight to the heart.

12

You shrill-singing mosquitoes, ruthless human bloodsuckers, winged predacious children of the night, I beg you to allow Zenophila a bit of peaceful sleep and feed instead on me. But what’s the use in asking? Even relentless beasties like you can enjoy warming up on her tender flesh. But I give you fair warning, nasty little things, don’t make so bold, or be prepared to meet the might of jealous hands.

13

Fly on a mission for me, mosquito,

light on the rim of Zenophila’s ear,

whisper, “He lies awake and waits, while, sleepy-head,

you forget who loves you.” Buzz, bizz, music-bug fly.

But speak low, don’t wake up her bedmate

and make trouble for her with a jealous rival.

If you bring me the girl, mosquito, I’ll hood you

with the lion’s skin and put a club in your hand.

14

Love-loving Asklepias, brightly blue-eyed

as a summer sea, lures all onto her Love Boat.

15

Fair-cheeks Demo, someone makes naked merry

with your body, while inside me my heart groans.

If your lover’s a Sabbath keeper, no big deal.

Love’s still hot, even on chilly Sabbaths.

16

Flower-fed bee

why forsake the buds of spring

and land upon

Heliodora’s skin?

Do you mean to say

she has both sweets

and Love’s sting,

hard to take

and even bitter to the heart?

Yup, I think that’s

what you’re saying.

Beat it, make your philerotic beeline

back to your flowers.

This is old hat.

17

Dawn, love’s enemy, why do you lag round the world

while another warms up beneath Demo’s mantle?

But when I embraced my slender love, how quickly

you came and shed on me your Schadenfreude light.



18

I know your oath’s worthless, the way your locks,

soaked with perfume, betray your wantonness.

From how your eyes, heavy with sleeplessness,

and the wreath’s red ring around your head betray you.

Your curls hang loose and wild, just now mussed up,

and you’re staggering around from the wine.

Get away, everybody’s gal, the lyre calls you

to carousal and the clatter of castanets.

19

Have you seen this child? Love, savage Love, disappeared recently, or possibly took off from his bed on his own. The boy can be identified by his sweet tears and his nonstop babbling. He’s swift and fearless, laughs with a sneer, has wings on his back, over which he’s slung a quiver. Father unknown, as neither Sky, nor Earth, nor Sea will admit to having begotten the impudent imp. He’s universally hated. Love should be considered armed and dangerous to all hearts. But wait, there he is, near his nest! Did you think you could elude me, little archer, by hiding in Zenophila’s eyes?

20

Is it so strange

that homicidal Love

should shoot

fire-breathing arrows

and laugh bitterly

with cruel looks?

After all, isn’t Ares

his mother’s lover

and Hephaistos

her lord in marriage,

the sword and forge having equal shares of her?

And his mother’s mother—

the Sea, doesn’t she

howl wildly

as she’s whipped by the winds?

His father’s nameless

and lacks a pedigree.

Thus, he settles

for Hephaistos’ blaze,

the anger of the waves

and Ares’

blood-stained shafts.

21

I know. You didn’t con me. Swearing by the gods now? I’m on to you. I get it. Stop this continuous swearing. I know all about it. That’s how it was, lying girl? Alone, again? You sleep alone? Oh, the nerve! She still keeps saying it—alone! What about that stud about town, Kleon? And if not him, then—what good are threats? Just get out of my bed quick, animal! But hold it. This is exactly what you want. To see him! Oh, no, you’ll stay put, my prisoner.

22

Stars, and Moon who lights the way for lovers,

and Night, and my little lyre for street party times,

shall I see this wanton one, wide awake

in her bed and crying out loud at her lamp?

Or is she with company? Then I’ll hang

as petitions my tearstained garlands on her door,

inscribed thus: “Goddess, to you does Meleagros,

your initiate, offer these spoils of love.”

23

If you could see Kallistion naked, stranger,

you’d suggest we switch the “th” in thighs to an “s.”

24

Well, by Timo’s cutely curled

love-loving ringlets

and by Demo’s

sleep-depriving fragrant skin,

by that lovely Trojan foreplay

and by my wakeful lamp,

ever watchful

of the excitements of my carousals,

I swear to you, Love,

I’ve not much breath

left on my lips,

which, if you want that too

just say the word

and I’ll spit it out.

25

Timo, the hull of your racer can’t hold up against the rowing of Aphrodite’s oarsmen anymore, but your upper back is bowed like a lowered yardarm, and your gray forestays are slack, and your hanging breasts flap like tattered sails in the wind, and your ship’s belly is wrinkled by the splashing waves, and below she’s waterlogged, flooded with seawater, and her joints are creaky. Pity the poor bastard who, still alive, must set sail on Lake Acheron on this gray old bag of a galley.

26

My heart’s not into boy mania, Loves.

Can mounting a man be fun without give-and-take?

Love’s hand in hand, and my lovely wife waits for me.

Forget about males and those holds they put on you.

27

I pray to you, Love,

to revere my Muse,

my intercessor,

and to put to sleep

my sleepless passion

for Heliodora.

I’ll swear by your bow

that’s trained on me alone

and won’t stop pouring

winged shots at me.

Even if you kill me,

I’ll leave letters

to give me voice:

“See, stranger,

Love’s bloodied work!”

28

When Herakleitos was himself, he was a beauty.

Prime time past, his hide-bound behind blocks all mounters.

Seeing this, friend, don’t be so disdainful.

Even on a rump, Nemesis can spring.

29

Thero’s no longer fair in my book, and the once hot

Apollodotos’s a burnt-up stick of wood.

I like loving women. Let goat-jumping herders

have their fill of these hairy-holed fairies.

30

Still a baby in his mother’s lap, Love shot craps

in the morning and, wagering my soul, lost it.

31

When I see Thero, I see everything,

but everything and no Thero, nothing.

32

Praxiteles, that sculptor of old, could transform stone into a fine, if lifeless, statue, a mute imitation of beauty. Our own Praxiteles today practices magical animation and has molded the perfectly unscrupulous Love in my heart. They are the same in name only, for his works are better, since he doesn’t transform slabs of stone but the spirit of the mind. May he graciously shape the very type of me in such a way as to have a temple of Love imprinted in my soul.

33

Myiskos, I’d stand up even to Zeus if I thought

he wanted to snatch you from me to pour his nectar.

Indeed, he often told me himself, “Why worry?

Nothing to be jealous about. I’ve learned compassion.”

So he says, but should I even hear a fly buzz,

I’d fear that all his talk had proved to be a lie.

34

Self-deceiving

lovesick boy-love

bitter honey-

lipped burn victims,

pour cold water

ice-cold water

over my heart.

For I have seen

D i o n y s o s.

My fellow slaves,

don’t let this fire

run to my guts.

35

I tried to run from Love, but he lit up

a torch from the ashes and found me hiding.

Didn’t bend his bow, but between his fingertips

pinched a bit of fire and, unseen, flicked it at me.

Now I’m engulfed by flames. O Phanion,

you little spark, you’ve set my heart ablaze.

36

“The die is cast. Light the torch. I’m on my way.”

“Well, looky here. Such daring. And all wined up!”

“You should care? I’m taking the party to her. Hear!”

“Where are you off to, my good mind?”

“Does love have to give reasons? Light up. Now!”

“What about your old studies in logic?”

“Good-bye to study hall wisdom. I know one thing:

Love cleaned out even the above-it-all mind of Zeus.”

37

Didn’t I cry out to you, my soul?

Didn’t I give warning?

“O my lovesick,

you’ll be taken,

sure as Aphrodite rules,

for you’ll keep flying

right into her trap.”

Well, didn’t I?

And you’re caught.

So why fight it?

Love himself has tied your wings

and set you on the fire

and sprinkles your face

with fragrance

when you faint,

and when you thirst

gives you hot tears to drink.

38

In a summertime thirst, I kissed a tender boy,

and said, after I’d satisfied that parching thirst,

“Is this not Ganymede’s libation to your lips,

Father Zeus, when you drink up his kiss of nectar?”

For now that I’ve kissed our most beautiful young man,

Antiochos, I’ve tasted the soul’s sweet honey.



39

Kidnapped!

Who would do such violence?

Who’d start a war with Love himself?

The torches, quick!

Wait, footsteps?

Heliodora!

Hop back home into my breast,

heart!

40

The skipper’s Aphrodite,

Love mans the tiller,

handling the end of my soul’s rudder,

and passion’s heavy gale tosses me up

into a sea of boys

of every stripe

as I swim off the coast

of Fire Island.

41

How sweet it is to mix wine with the bee’s liquor,

and sweet to love a boy when one is lovely, too,

the way Alex is in love with soft-haired Kleon.

Such a couple’s a blend of Kypris’ deathless mead.

42

Aphrodite sets the fires for women,

but her boy, Love, takes good care of the men.

So where do I go? With Mom? Or the brat?

I’ll bet even she admits, “The pushy kid wins.”



NOSSIS

(early third century b.c.)

Nothing is sweeter than love, all of life’s blessings

come in second. I have even spat out honey.

I, Nossis, say this, but one Kypris has not kissed

will not ever know what roses her flowers are.

(or)

Is anything sweeter than love?

None of life’s blessings

can beat it.

I’ll even spit honey out of my mouth.

I, Nossis, say this,

but someone Kypris has never kissed

cannot begin to know

the flowering of the rose.



PLATO

(ca. 427–347 b.c.)

1

Nine muses, you say? Look again:

Sappho the Lesbian makes it ten!

2

When I kissed Agathon, my soul rose to my lips,

in hopes, poor thing, of making the great leap across.

3

I’m the apple pitched at you by a would-be lover.

Nod yes, Xanthippe—you and I, we’re on the wane.

4

To Aphrodite, I, whose proud beauty

made a mockery of Greece, I, Laïs,

who had young lovers flocking to my door,

offer my mirror, since I cannot bear

the sight of me as I am,

the loss of me as I was.



POSEIDIPPOS

(fl. 280 b.c.)

1

Shower us, Attic jug, let Bacchus wet us down.

Yes, shower us and refresh our drinking party.

Quiet, Zeno, learned swan, and Kleanthes’ Muse,

the only singing here’s of sweet-then-bitter Love.

2

You can’t fool me, Philainis, with crocodile tears.

I know, you love me more than anybody else—

as long as you are lying beside me.

But beside someone else—you’d tell the same story.

3

Sure, sure, shoot me, Loves.

I’ll be your target.

Spare me not, silly boys.

If you defeat me

you’ll become famous

among immortals

as first-rate archers

and as the masters

of a mighty quiver.

4

Well-armed, I’ll fight you and not give up, Love,

though I’m only human. So back away.

If you come upon me drunk, take me prisoner,

but as long as I’m sober, Reason stands by me.

5

Goddess, who haunts Kypros and Kythera,

Miletos, and Syria’s hoofbeat-thundered fair plain,

come, please come kindly to Kallistion, who

never shut her door in a lover’s face.

6

If Pythias has someone with her, so long;

if in bed alone, let me in for a bit, by God.

Then say that drunk I passed thieves to come,

possessed by bold Love as my guide.

7

Tears and parties, why do you drop me before my feet

can cool off onto another of Kypris’ beds of hot coals?

I’ll never stop loving and my lack of discernment

keeps bringing me new hurt from Aphrodite.

Media reviews

Advance praise for Acts of Love

“Thanks to George Economou’s fearless acts of translation, the veils of euphemism and politeness have been lifted from the erotic and amatory poems of ancient Greece, and we can now behold their unabashed original faces. It is thrilling to see poems over two thousand years old come alive again in the stark idioms of contemporary America.”
–Billy Collins

“A memorable and unfalteringly modern rendition of ancient Greek lyrics. These poems, treasures in their original language, achieve new vitality in Economou’s beautifully attuned English. In sum, this is a wonderful volume.”
–Allen Mandelbaum, classics professor, Wake Forest University, translator of The Divine Comedy, The Odyssey, and The Aeneid