February 2, 2013

The joy of reading Joyce

Posted in History, Literature tagged , , , , , , , , , at 12:05 am by faraway67

Or: How I learned to drown in words

James Joyce By Alex Ehrenzweig (beinecke.library.yale.edu) via Wikimedia Commons

James Joyce by Alex Ehrenzweig (beinecke.library.yale.edu) via Wikimedia Commons

Today are the anniversaries of two important dates in Joyce-history: James Joyce‘s 121st birthday and the 91st anniversary of the publication of his most famous work, Ulysses. An important day for all lovers of Joyce – and those who don’t love him that much, who are, as it seems, legion. And I was one of them. In the beginning.

Cover of the 1st edition of Ulysses, 1922. Courtesy of WikiCommons

Cover of the 1st edition of Ulysses, 1922. Courtesy of WikiCommons

My first encounter with James Joyce happened to be when I was in my late teens. A friend of mine, a young priest, gave me his copy of Ulysses. He told me he loved it and I would, too. Now, James Joyce’s Ulysses is hardcore for an 18-year-old. And I hated this almost-1000-pages giant, printed on uncomfortably thin paper, at first sight. But I liked and respected my friend, and, what was more, I wanted him to respect me, too. So I took the challenge. I started to read the book. And I have to confess – I hated it at second sight as well! What on earth was this about – there were no sentences – there was no story, nothing was like I had been used to when reading novels. It felt as if somebody had abandoned me on a strange, hostile island. So I put the book in a far corner of my shelf. From time to time I started a weak-hearted attempt to read on, but never managed more than a few pages. But of course I wouldn’t admit that. When my friend asked me how far I had come and if I liked it – of course I smiled and told him that I loved it and it was very intriguing, that it was just a lot to read and would take me some more time. So it went on for almost a year – till my friend asked me to give his copy back – and invited me to an evening of discussing the book. How should I possibly do that, having not read it? There was only one solution – I had to read it – and I had to do it quickly.

“Does nobody understand?”

Last words of James Joyce on his deathbed, 1941

Well, everyone who ever tried to read Joyce knows there is no way to read him quickly. And I learned that, too. 1000 pages of twisted thoughts and twisted language – that is just insane. My usual coping strategies – speed reading, skimming the text or simply looking up the content in “Kindlers Literaturlexikon”, a famous German encyclopedia for literature, failed. Big time. So I sighed and began to read. But I couldn’t keep my thoughts on the text. I just couldn’t concentrate on it. My thoughts kept strolling around, playing with the words I read, going on a roller coaster trip.

And then I got it: You actually can’t read James Joyce. If you try it, with your analytical book critic’s mind, you will fail. James Joyce’s novels are not made for reading. They are made for drowning. Once I stopped analyzing what I read and began to just savour it, it suddenly began to make sense. The originality of approach to a topic, the interior monologues, allowing you to slip into another – even fictional – person’s mind and merging with them, the beauty of a strange grammar, strange new words – unfolded before my mind like a wonderful painting. A painting that you couldn’t cherish before, because you stood too close in front of it – but you see its geniality once you step back and casually let your eyes wander about it. That was when I began to love Joyce. The feeling of fascination and my admiration for his unusual writing skills deepened when I came across “Finnegans Wake”, my first Joyce-book I read in English without having read a German translation before. It is wonderful. The words sweep you from your feet. Puns, poetry, neologisms, entwined with rags of foreign languages – a challenge and a reward at the same time.

Reading Joyce is like jumping head over heels into a cool pool: At first the water is cold and makes you shiver, but give yourself a few minutes, and you will feel wonderful. Pure bliss. Sheer joy.

“There’ll be bluebells blowing in salty sepulchres the night she signs her final tear. Zee End. But that’s a world of ways away.”

(James Joyce, Finnegan’s Wake)


There’s plenty of material about James Joyce and his works out there. Here are a few links to start with:

Watch a  snippet of a footage showing the “real” James Joyce in Paris on Youtube:

Read or download “Ulysses” from Project Gutenberg, “Finnegans Wake” here, and read other works online from the Literature Network. Find a very different approach to “Ulysses” – through maps: “Mapping Bloomsday“. The Guardian provides some interesting original reviews of “Ulysses” from the archives. And there is even an animated cartoon version of this famous book. Listen to James Joyce’s own voice reading an excerpt of “Ulysses” here. Or watch a few passages from the film “Finnegans Wake”, along with additional links and a comment by my friend Matthias Rascher, on Open Culture’s website.

In 1922, the famous playwright and avantgardist Djuna Barnes conducted an interview with James Joyce for Vanity Fair. It can be found here.

The New Yorker published an insightful article on Joyce’s special use of language: “Silence, exile, punning”.

You can also download a free podcast about Joyce’s Dublin on ITunes Open University. Or, if you happen to come to Dublin, take “A walk around James Joyce’s Dublin” and visit all the important places of his life and novels.

And if you are still not satisfied: These sites will provide plenty of additional information and links: The Modern Word, Keep on bloomin’ and The James Joyce Society and, last but not least, a wonderful collection of high-quality-articles on James Joyce from the University of Dublin.


February 27, 2012

“What immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry?”

Posted in Literature, Nature, Photography tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , at 3:15 pm by faraway67

The Tigress: Pictures of an arresting encounter that made me think

You cannot miss him. Whenever he appears, be it in a movie or a documentary, the music changes. It becomes compelling, a bit mysterious but mighty all the same. Perhaps there is a drum solo and then – silence. Only the sound of the wind and some moving leaves are left. Everything else makes room. The stage is set. Then he comes. The king. The king of the jungle. The great tiger.

Of all big cats, the tiger is the most fascinating. Neither the lion nor the leopard or any of the others combines strength, menace, beauty and grace in such perfection. It is not very astonishing that in Asian literature and history the tiger takes the place that the lion has in our western culture. He is the animal royal. But of all big cats, the tiger is also the most endangered. Or perhaps it is not “but”, perhaps it is “because”. Perhaps it is because the tiger is so impressive, so extraordinary that people make him subject to their hunt, not only in history, but still today.

What we see today is only a poor rest of the variety and amount of tigers we once knew. Only 7 %  of what once roamed most of Asia is left. Of the 9 subspecies of tigers three are already extinct, three are very close, and all are severely endangered.

If our attitude does not change soon, for our grandchildren tigers will be mentioned in the same breath as the mammoth and the dinosaur – only a relic of distant dreams.

On the other hand, there are signs of hope. People are becoming more aware of the treasures of our planet – and of what it means if we lose them. So, when some years ago in a broad survey “Animal Planet” asked about 50,000 people in many countries about their favorite animal, it was neither the intelligent and helpful dolphin nor the faithful dog that came on top. It was the tiger. No doubt, this animal – so far above us in terms of strength and dangerousness, but then so vulnerable as well –  has now become subject to our admiration and affection.

Some time ago I went on a field day with one of my classes. Like most children, my 5th graders are fascinated by animals and so we decided to visit a zoo nearby. I had taken my camera with me, and strolling through the zoo I encountered one of those impressive animals, an awesome tigress. She was majestic but also really amiable. Believe it or not: When I whispered “Can’t you please turn a bit so that I can get a better picture of you?” – she really did! Actually she acted quite like a model. So I was able to take some really nice shots which show her beauty and casual strength. You are invited to share them with me. Enjoy!

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“Few problems are less recognized, but more important than the accelerating disappearance of the earth’s biological resources. In pushing other species to extinction, humanity is busy sawing off the limb on which it is perched.”
(Paul Ehrlich)

Bonus: Read a comprehensive article on tigers on Wikipedia and savor a video featuring breathtaking pictures of camera-trapped tigers (H/T to my friend Matthias Rascher, who dug that up). Here is also a list of  important fictional tigers and, if you want to visit the most famous of all, Shere Khan of Kipling’s “The Jungle Book”, read it online or download it for free here. And at last William Blake’s superb poem “The Tyger”, from which I have taken my headline for this post, and with which I will close, written and illustrated by his own hand.

Original by William Blake, courtesy of WikiCommons

January 22, 2012

“We are such stuff as dreams are made on…”

Posted in Book Reviews, Literature tagged , , , , , , , at 2:55 pm by faraway67

On William Shakespeare’s “The Tempest”

"Miranda" by John William Waterhouse (1849-1917), courtesy of Wikipedia

I have read this piece several times by now, once during my school time, and then recently. After finishing it I sat down to write a review. But discussing it with a friend I recognized that this is not a piece to just read and review. So I read it again. And again. It got a real hold on me and I tried to get deeply into the stormy world of this play, allowed it to shake my mind all around and finally wrote down some impressions about it, a collection of rather random thoughts.

I am a captive fan of Shakespeare, that is for sure, but this is not at all my favourite piece. I found it – despite recognizing the artful composition, it is Shakespeare after all – quite hard to get comfortable with and even more difficult to gain sympathy for the characters, especially for Prospero, the one everyone seems to like and admire quite much.

It is a play about nature versus nurture. But I do not think that that is the only important issue. It is also about morality, power (from the beginning to the end, you will find this motif in skillful variations), justice and the mingling (i.e. “marriage”) of different, contrasting sides.

Power is the one big issue in this play, I think. It is introduced in the very first scene, and woven through the whole play. It is shown in all its disgusting facets. And the play makes clear at some point that people who claim authority where they do not have natural or professional authority, support the evil and the danger (just look at that storm scene again. The courtiers are only obstacles in the way of the boatsmen!)

But of course there are many more scenes where it becomes prominent – every single scene with Prospero breathes the foul breath of power, manipulative and harsh. I would judge otherwise if it was a kind of natural authority. But Prospero has no such authority at all. It is magic that gives him his strength, not a power that lies within his soul.
And then the power over the beast, the power of “nurture” that makes that poor beast bow and wince, shown by the two men, Stephano and Trinculo, with their rotten minds. Disgusting.

I think that nature versus nurture is worked out in almost every possible variation – and not each one of them is a good one.
There is, on the one hand, of course, Caliban. He is described in a very negative way, we get to know that there was no posibility to get proper nurture into him (I would really like to know what kind of nurture Prospero tried to give him – and why!) and even what he finally takes (language) he uses for bad, to curse. But – is he really bad? Is he really a wild beast? I doubt it. Probably in spite of it all – think about it – he is a victim. So much longing for company and love. Not knowing how to get it. Poor beast. Yes, yes, I know that Miranda story. Caliban is no “good guy”, no “noble wild man”.  But who has ever shown him how being the good guy works? Not Prospero, his master, I am afraid. He wants to have Miranda, the beautiful one, the one who is exactly what he is not. I think he hurtfully sees that and that is what he longs for. He wants to have a family with her. Here the motive of “marriage” – of mingling two ends, the beauty and the beast, her softness and his crudity in possible children – comes in. The natural urge of a male, as well, I suppose. Can you judge him for that, or for the fact that he has never learned an appropriate way of love, that in his twisted existence even his expression of love is a deformed one? I will always try to understand the “Calibans”. Not to excuse what they do. Not to whitewash them, of course not!  But to understand. I cannot fight the urge to do so, to dive down into sick and evil minds and souls to look out for that last little spark of humanity that is left there. I just cannot believe that anybody can be a monster and nothing else, even if everybody calls them that.

On the other hand there is Prospero. I have never liked him. This character has always aroused harsh and strong feelings in me. Of course life has played a cruel game with him and probably there was a time when he was indeed an innocent, a wise man, totally lost in his thoughts and studies (and even then he did not look for insight and wisdom, but for magic!). But that was long ago. When we meet him in “The Tempest”, he has learned his lesson. He is arrogant. He is an abuser. He abuses and exploits everybody. No, he is not good. He abuses Caliban, who has longed for company so much, who offered him all his knowledge about the Island for just a little bit of sympathy. Did you notice how his behaviour against Caliban mirrors his own fate? He isn’t better than his brother – Antonio took away his home, his state, and he does the same to Caliban!  He abuses Ariel, the friendly spirit of the air. Is he so much better than Sycorax? She imprisoned Ariel in a tree, Prospero chains him to his will, to do cruel acts that contradict his kind soul, liberty always so near to him, and then again he is forced to do more and more awful things. Does Prospero not only free him so that he can serve again? What kind of freedom is it that he offers to Ariel? How “good” is Prospero’s deed of liberation really? And how much better than Sycorax is he when he threatens Ariel to condemn him to the same fate of being imprisoned in a tree only for complaining?  He also abuses the other spirits and goddesses, Ferdinand, and even Miranda, his own daughter. He has set his goals – and probably he has a right to plan on them. But the way he does it is cruel. And he does not even do it with his own knowledge, power or experiences, but with magic.

He really is disgusting in the way he treats everyone around. He decides on everything. Everything and everyone has to be subject to his will. There is no heart in him, only arrogance, arrogance…

I wondered about his own description of his life before being set in that little boat. Is it not partly his own responsibility that it came to this turn? It was he who neglected his duties for the sake of magic. And why is magic so important to him? Is it the pure innocent search for enlightenment? Or rather the wish to gain control, to manipulate? At least that is how he uses the powers he gains. It was his brother who had to do all the work for him!  And then he wonders why Antonio also wants to earn the fruits. Of course  Antonio is no good character either, we learn that from his own words, and from him tempting Sebastian to treat his brother like he treated his own. But after all, how can he be astonished that he  “grew a stranger” to his state? He made himself a stranger! Was the usurpation of his state probably a just punishment for the fact that he betrayed his people long before, when he set magic skill and his books (“volumes that I prize above me dukedom!”) higher than his own people, his duty?

I got sick and furious about Prospero stating that he did “no harm” to the people on the boat! Of course, no one was killed, injured. But what about the fear, the desperation? Is this no harm? What a raw, feelingless statement! Or how he acted against that poor, grief-shaken Ferdinand. Of course he did it on purpose, he wanted him to marry Miranda, but that doesn’t make it right to throw heartlessness against somebody who needs and deserves comfort.

Then there are also the other so-called “educated men” – selfish, dumb, corrupt, mean, even criminal. Where is the value of nurture if it is only used for power, greed and evil, for reaching their own goals, without any respect, responsibility and compassion?

So. What is it that Shakespeare prefers? Nature or nurture? I think neither of them. I rather think he wants to show that both of them are harsh and beastly if they don’t entwine. Nature alone is furious and raw, nurture alone is cynical, cruel and abusive. All in all I’d say that nurture in this play too often goes at the expense of feelings and compassion. No, nurture alone is obviously not good.

Only combined, nature tamed by nurture, nurture enchanted, filled with feelings by nature, do they work out well and build real humanity. They need each other desperately. If they stay alone, they become monstrous.

I like Ferdinand. I like Miranda. These two show how things really work. They are willing to make sacrifices. Of course they are the “good ones”. Too good, actually. But they are willing to serve. They show compassion, love, dedication and a big deal of humility (though at some points Miranda seemed so much influenced by her father that she acted quite like him! A daddy’s girl indeed!).

And I like that unimportant, but in so many ways brave little Gonzalo. He is my favourite among all of the characters in that play. I like his way to combine heart and brain. His gentleness and thoughtfulness. He is just wonderful. How he thinks of those beloved books. How he tries to comfort. To remind us of human values. He is just great. So warm are my feelings for him. The others try to make a fool out of him – but they never will be able to, because he is absolutely pure.

The theme of marriage seemed also important to me, and it was stressed a lot. Beginning with the wedding of Ferdinand’s sister – a marriage between Europe and Africa, as it were, very cool. And ending with the wedding of Ferdinand and Miranda that led to the great solution, the end of tensity, and made a “happy ending” possible. And so many scenes in between, where different ends want to meet. Mingling, combining, becoming one out of two for the sake of being better, being more perfect. This was an idea I could embrace and I liked that very much.

And then of course there is the colonization theme. I wondered if it was intended by Shakespeare to bring it up. Probably what seems so obvious to us so that “The Tempest” is even banned from some libraries in the US is a rather “modern” interpretation. I am not aware that it was a big issue in Shakespearean times, though Gonzalo’s speech in Act 2 may suggest this.

Anyway, I was impressed by the power of words, of course…and I was thrilled by the deep ambiguity of many sentences. I was also enchanted with the mythological variations in the play, especially with the links of characters to the Elements, with Ariel representing both Air and Fire, Caliban the Earth, and, IMHO, the compassionate Miranda the Water (the three “children” of the magician representing the whole magic realm, as it were. I liked that. VERY COOL:-) I really found it a text to think about, and it is undoubtingly a great play. I do not have to like it, do I? I am allowed to dislike it and still admire Shakespeare’s work.

“Sometimes a thousand twangling instruments
Will him about mine ears; and sometime voices,
That if I then had waked after long sleep,
Will make me sleep again, and then in dreaming
The clouds methought would open and show riches
Ready to drop upon me, that when I waked
I cried to dream again.”
– William Shakespeare, The Tempest, 3.2

Bonus: Read the whole play and a profound introduction to it or listen to a (shortened) audio rendition. Here is also an overview of which books and films reference to “The Tempest”. At last watch a glimpse of the 2010 movie “The Tempest” featuring a brilliant Helen Mirren as “Prospera”:

January 20, 2012

A house of books

Posted in Literature tagged , , at 12:12 pm by faraway67

Or Why one book at a time is not enough for me…

That's what my nightstand usually looks like.

Imagine yourself living in a gorgeous house. Many rooms can be found there, and each of them is different. A kitchen, bedrooms, bathrooms, a living room, a dining room, several salons, all in different colours and styles. Tell me – which of you would use only one room a day, looking around until you have seen each and every detail in the room? Nobody would, certainly. Of course you would start your day getting up in your bedroom, then take a refreshing shower in the bathroom. You would go down to the kitchen for breakfast. Presumably if you had the time you would perhaps spend an hour in one of the salons, maybe the red one, snuggled up into that comfortable big leather armchair, reading a book, before going on to your den to write some letters. Around noon there would be a quick lunch – there is that nice little green salon on the first floor, perfectly fitting for this purpose. In the afternoon, you could sit down in the library, and maybe there would be a bit of time to spend in the music salon playing the piano before meeting up with a dear friend for dinner, which would of course be taken in the festive atmosphere of the dining room. Afterwards you would go over to the big living room to share some quality time talking there. And when he/she had finally gone, it would probably be time to go to bed in your bedroom again. Now, how does that sound to you?

I do not know exactly how many books I own. Must be about 10.000 volumes. I am a bookaholic, I confess. (Friends call me even “addicted to books”, and I am afraid they might be right. It has never been a good idea to let me go into a bookstore – I do not think I have ever come out without buying anything;-)

For me, my library is like the most beautiful house and my books are the rooms in it. There are many, many rooms to explore and I feel comfortable in all of them. But I do not feel comfortable spending my whole time reading only one at a time. I want to open all the doors. I want to inhale all the smells. See all the colours. Hear all the voices. So my nightstand, the desk in my den, even the sofa in the living room are always covered with books. And I can tell you –my family and friends often tell me off because of that! But then, some time ago, I listened to a brilliant interview on NPR dealing with exactly that question, and I thought – YES! Finally somebody seemed to understand me! Julia Keller, Chicago Tribune cultural critic, talked about her approach to books, and how she reads several books at one time. I agree with her on literally everything. It is not a question of being easily bored as you could assume, neither of not being able to concentrate on a single one. It is a question of wanting more.  One book is just not enough. I want to keep my thoughts open and my horizons wide. Certainly none of you is occupied with only one issue, one thought, for days and days? So, why should I force my brain to do exactly that the moment I take up a book?

A typical reading scenario.

But what is a house, even the most beautiful one, if you are alone in it?  Of course you can admire the architecture and enjoy the interior. Still the rooms will not come alive until you share them with others. For me it is the same with books. I have experienced that all the more since I have started reading a lot of English books and found a friend to share with. Certainly I enjoy reading on my own, savouring the beauty of words, structure and thoughts. But it is so much more fun to talk and think, to be questioned and re-think, to digest your thoughts into words – you get so  much more challenged and everything gets brighter and deeper.

Ever since I started this blog, I wanted to share my thoughts about literature with you. 2012 seems the year to begin with. So stay tuned and get to know my books – the ones I love, the ones that touched me, the ones that challenged me.

But beware: I will not write classical reviews. You can find them by the dozen on amazon.com or goodreads.com. What I really want to share with you are my thoughts and feelings about what I have read. The things that impressed me, irritated me, upset me. And I would love you to share with me as well!

“To read is to fly: it is to soar to a point of vantage which gives a view over wide terrains of history, human variety, ideas, shared experience and the fruits of many inquiries.”
A.C. Grayling

October 4, 2011

“You came and I was crazy for you…”

Posted in History, Literature tagged , , , , , , , at 3:08 pm by faraway67

On poetry, love in the antiquities and the art of translation

John William Godward: In the days of Sappho, courtesy of Wikipedia Commons

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful island in the Mediterranean Sea. And on this Island, there lived a gifted woman. Her name was Sappho, and her talent was so extraordinary that people called her “the 10th muse”.

No, actually I don’t want to tell you a fairy tale ;-). The idea for this blog post came to me in a more modern way: A friend of mine posted a tweet on Twitter, featuring a poem by Anne Carson. I liked it, and was reminded that I had already heard about her. Scouring my library, I quickly found what I was looking for: A little book, containing her translations of Sappho’s poems.

I reread them. Well, to be honest, I didn’t simply read them, I savoured them, drowned in the delight of Sappho’s wonderful, colorful words. And while doing that, I came to three conclusions:

The first one was not very astonishing. I already knew Sappho’s poetry, and I’ve always loved it. The words drop of her lips like honey…full of exquisite sweetness. And herself – what a stunning biography for a woman in those times, more than 2500 years ago (read more about her life here).

I was touched all the more by my second conclusion. All my life, through all my history studies, this was what I had been taught, what I believed and also taught my own students: That people in ancient times didn’t feel like we do. That it was not possible for them, living in times of plagues and early deaths, to invest as much feeling into other persons as we do today, or else they would have gone mad over the loss of one beloved after the other. That love, that deep, intimate feeling we know between men and women was an invention of the 19th century, of no use in earlier times. That there were totally different reasons that held relationships together: Caring for family and offspring, conserving land, creating power bonds between families or simply struggling for survival. If there were tender feelings between two people…nice. But it had been my firm conviction that this was not an important – or even necessary – foundation of marriage or a relationship.

And then I read Sappho’s words – in a powerful translation – and it hit me like a bullet. What she describes in her unique, artful words – is nothing less than love. The deep, intimate love we know today. Exactly the love I know. And I wondered, how I – and all my teachers before me – could have been so mistaken.

It occured to me that the reason for it probably wasn’t really “far away”. I, and all my teachers before me, used translations of ancient texts that were made mainly in the 19th or early 20th century. And even more recent translations took these as a role model for their choice of words. The language that had been used there was simply not our language. So the words about emotions, love and sexuality came out strangely cool and flat. Not at all the way we would talk about feelings so deep and profound.

That led me to my third conclusion: The importance of a contemporary translation of classic texts, and, in the same breath, how wonderful Anne Carson’s translation in “If not, Winter” is. Anne Carson, a classical scholar and poet herself, has managed beyond awesomeness to put Sappho’s words, written 2500 years ago, into a language that speaks to us. And even more: Though Sappho wrote dozens and dozens of poems in her lifetime, merely three have survived as a whole! All the others are fragments, sometimes only a few words or even letters. A challenge for every translator – and still, Anne Carson managed to create sense beyond sense in her translation…even the fragments talk to us and give us a vivid impression of what they may have sounded like once they had dropped from mellifluous Sappho’s lips.

Just listen to her:

“He seems to me equal to gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
to your sweet speaking.”
(p. 63, from poem 31, one of the rare almost complete ones.)

“You came and I was crazy for you and cooled my mind that burned with longing.”
(p. 101, fragment 48)

“I am aware…of evildoing…other…minds…blessed ones….”
(p. 9, fragment 3)

Or this one:

“….beautiful he…stirs up still things….exhaustion the mind…..settles down…but come O beloveds….for day is near“.
(p.87, fragment 43)

Or even this, only a few words left, and yet so sad and beautiful:

“……rumor…..hair…..at the same time…..man…..anxiety…..ground……daring.”
(p. 169, fragments 87 a-c)

Who could say this is flat? Who could say this is old-fashioned and lacks emotion?

Reading these texts I saw it crystal clear: People in ancient times weren’t that different from us. Of course I was right, as were my teachers: People in ancient times had a hard life indeed. It was dangerous then to invest feelings and emotions. Death came cruelly and unexpectedly. It was a craze to waste feelings when you knew there would be nothing but loss and pain. But still: People were born and died, they laughed and cried, loved and hated…just like we do. They were the same as we are. They were no different. That’s what Sappho and Anne Carson taught me. I bow in awe, humility and admiration.

“I don’t know what to do. Two states of mind in me.” (p. 51, fragment 51)

Read much more about Sappho (Essays, texts in Greek and English, and lots of links) here.

Listen to how Sappho’s poems, actually songs, may have sounded like in ancient times:

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