to begin with, Aphrodite
was still there. I felt
stupid, can't speak Greek,
didn't know any of them. Then
she left, don't know
where (she said something
about the Tay). Then
we're alone. No, we don't
sleep, we drink tea.
Sappho, I say, you are
unignorable, how about
writing another ode
to an island, une ode d'île?
She stares at me
fragmentedly, hands me papers,
scrolls, a Rolex: time
for new texts, she says,
and there'll also be an ode
to an island. I'm perplexed.
Strap the watch around my
wrist, glimpse
the text, get a shock:
I can't read Greek,
Sappho! Her look, dejected
I had so much hope ...
In the yard Sappho
is irresolute, restless, and follows
Aphrodite through the courtyard door.
The Rolex, I call, but she
doesn't look back, and I,
I sit with my wristwatch,
text-less in the yard. I go
upstairs, lie down
to sleep, dream
I'm treading on broken shards

Translation by Anna Crowe