Sappho and Freddy Mercury

There is a part of me that would like to chuck all of the following into the nearest bin, along with all of my romantic ideals, aka illusions, and perhaps take a thunderbolt from Aphrodite's kinsman and hurl it down onto the heads of all of those who have deceived me, insulted my intelligence and humilitated me since my mother died.  Most of these individuals are people I should have been able to trust and certainly once were loved by me.  To know first of all that some one closely related by blood asked me for my medical records, not because of any concern for my good health and survival, but to see what the chances would be of me dying of cancer so I would be out of the picture still is difficult to process.

The general consensus appears to have been that having once been (for a brief time) a bit of a wild child, I never grew into adulthood, never actually became an individual who was eligible for anything good in life.  

Aside:  Never, never judge an individual by his or her childhood or even adolescence.  People who do not have parental or social guidance especially can spiral down quickly.  If you are a neglectful or irresponsible parent and your child does need help, emotional support or guidance and you fail to give it, count yourself lucky indeed if that child does not commit suicide.  It amazes me how any one can be egocentric where parenthood is concerned.  There are parents who look at a child and simply see a reflection of themselves, and where reality differs, they round off the edges and blur the outline.  They see what they want to see.  The child is an extension of their egos, and anything that goes wrong is shoved beneath a psychic carpet to rot.

That happened to me.  I actually nearly died because no one listened to me when I complained about severe pain and when it dragged on and on without any resolution, I did become desperate and despairing.  I was barely 21 years old, and I saw no future because I knew something was terribly wrong and no one was addressing it with any sort of logic.  Small towns, however prosperous and sophisticated they may appear, are still small towns, and the networks of gossips include members of the medical profession, sad to say.  I think society has changed a little in this respect and being young does not mean that your voice cannot be heard now.  In those days, however, it did, especially when a parent and other self-appointed experts spoke more loudly.  

All of this ended only when I moved out of the geographical area, and instantly went to a good gynecologist who hurried me onto an operating table and whisked out my very dangerous ovary.  That close call redefined my psyche.  I lost any faith in the future.  I saw how easily a disease or illness or even an act of violence could terminate any life plan.  And I admit that after that, I became very insouciant where planning of any sort of financial security or programme for old age was concerned.  I honestly never believed I would survive long enough to reap any rewards, so I lived for the day basically.  I did not squander my life, but when I had a job, I never put money aside for my old age.  I admit that freely, and I have spoken to my daughter many times of my foolishness.  There is an expression a very dear friend of mine used to use:  'We are cut from the same cloth, you and I', he often would tell me.  The fact that he was one of the most brilliant, well read individuals I ever knew made that declaration a positive one.  I would not have wished to have been a literary or theatre critic as he was, and I knew in my heart of hearts he always envied writers of fiction and wished he could have had what he perceived as the 'courage' to create fiction, but all of that aside, being cut from the same cloth as John Gross would be a source of pride.

The only reason to mention this expression is to say that my daughter is NOT cut from the same cloth where money and planning are concerned.  She is a very responsible and forward-looking individual, some one who never tried to borrow money off her family, who never abused the love of family members for her own gain, some one who really is a bit of a role model for me in many ways.  In point of fact, she may not be a role model, but what she is for me is my compass that constantly points to the honest and decent option in any situation.  Going back to the start of all of this, I tried NOT to shape my child into a duplicate of myself.  It is natural in a way to want our children to find joy in the aspects of life that give us joy, but I really really tried to allow her to become whatever she wished.

Whatever influence my mother had on her unfortunately never resulted in any validation for my daughter, and that breaks my heart a little.  My grandfather was an artist, and in our family, artists were placed as being closer to God than any mere ordinary creature.  He was not successful in making a name for himself.  He had little success in supporting a family of seven children.  It was my grandmother who held down two jobs to do that, working as both a teacher and as a nurse... but it is my grandfather who is the subject of ancestor worship.

Of the seven children, my mother was the first to have a child, and I was that child.  Indeed, my grandfather's mother (my great grandmother) was the epitome of a social snob and declared that it was indecent to have seven children, especially if one could not support them financially.  She therefore recognised only the eldest two, according to my mother.  My mother happened to be the second child.   (My mother told me this again and again, and yet just now, I realised that my great-grandmother had THREE children, not two.  So was this simply another false fact in the Book of M to lend her greater stature or legitimacy or something?). It is a true fact, however, that I really was the only grandchild to have known my great grandmother, simply because I was the first one in my generation to have been produced. Once upon a time, there was a photograph (black and white no doubt with those wonderful deckled edges that photographs and fine writing paper used to have) of me as an infant seated upon her very prim and proper lap.

This great grandmother never liked the fact that her son had declared himself an artist.  Art was something one did as a genteel hobby, but was far too bohemian to be embraced as a career.  Her other son became a Minister and a missionary minister to boot, but that is one of the traditional callings.  Ideally, the eldest son would have farmed the land, but they lost all of their land in a period of great economic depression.  My mother would tell me of the land they once held that had become valuable decades later in the very heart of various cities.  I am not certain what happened to the original farm.  She never spoke of that.

These ramblings are not for public consumption at this point in time.  I am simply trying to kickstart my writing again.  The past year and nine months have been the worst in my life.  It is ironic that I recognised this would be the case in a rather prophetic manner.  I anticipated my mother's demise as ushering in the absolute nadir of my existence, and it did.  I was diagnosed with Stage 3 breast cancer a few months before my mother died, and that was very horrible, and terrifying and painful and everything else.  The thought of BECOMING my mother physically after watching her degenerate after her breast cancer from a slender beautiful young woman to some one who was overweight and misshapen with an arm swollen to twice its size by lymphedema was a constant source of fear once I reached adulthood.  One has fears like this, but I have to admit, I never really thought it would come to pass... and then it did.  I lost the same breast she lost.  It was both better and worse for me, because I am left-handed and it was my left breast and the lymph nodes in my left arm that were taken.  She was right-handed, so her primary arm was not affected.

Undying Aphrodite of the shimmering throne/chair, daughter of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I beg you not to overpower/subdue/bring low my heart/soul with anguish and distress, dear Lady/Mistress.  Come here if ever before you heard my voice from afar, and hearken/pay attention to me, leaving the golden house of your father above,  the noble sparrows  beneath the yoke, to quickly lead or bring down to the dark earth.  Close and compact, feathers and wings moving fast descending through the middle of the heavens in a whorl or spin.  Arrive suddenly/with speed, blessed fortunate one with your smiling face aid ask:  for what again do you suffer, do you call me yet again, do you want exceedingly, yet again ask why do you suffer with your frenzied raving spirit/mind/heart?  who do you want me to persuade (ask the divinity  Πείθω) yet again into your love or affection?  Who wrongs you, Sappho?  For even if she flies, she soon shall follow and if she rejects gifts, shall lead/carry/bring them soon in return, and if she does not love, shall love soon, however unwilling.  I pray you now to break me free/loose me from thought/care/anxiety, and accomplish my desire.. and be my ally.  

Let us discuss Aphrodite specifically in the context of Sappho.

First of all, Aphrodite is not the patroness of marriage in the traditional sense.  She is the power of lust and illicit love.  She herself has been made victim to this power.

She was born near Cyprus (in other words, native to Sappho's land) from the severed genitals of Uranus, a sky god.  When Chronos castrated his father Ouranos with his sickle (a curved tool/weapon that symbolises the crescent moon, and thus Chronos, god of time, is associated with the cycles of that heavenly body), and threw the genitals into the sea, Aphrodite (foam born) emerged from the foam.  This is the version of her birth that is given by Hesiod.  In other versions, she is perceived as the result of the union of Zeus with Dione (a Titan).   In the latter, then, she would be, as the Orphics used to declaim:  'I am a child of Earth (mud) and starry heaven, but my nature is of heaven alone.'  Despite everything you say, there are associations with the ancient Cybele and the mystery religions where it is only through castration that a god emerges. 

She probably was the heir to the traditions of Inanna/Ishtar and the Phoenicians who called her Astarte.  Nonetheless, as that is not relevant to you, her name associations of 'Aphrodite Pontia' (of the deep seas) and 'Aphrodite Euploia (of the fair voyage), and her name Cypris ('of Cyprus') all surround her like the sparrows in the Ode.

Whether the word conjures sparrows or winged phalli or simply a torrent of words, it is part of this supplication or invocation to the great goddess.

Now to the affairs of the Goddess.  Married (against her will in some cases) to Hephaistos, the greatest smith in all of the worlds and a cripple to boot, but having affairs with Ares, Hermes and Dionysus himself, there is of course the famous tale of how Hephaistos created a golden net and trapped the goddess in the act of intercourse with Ares.

The result of her union with Adonis or Dionysus was Priapus.  Priapus of course is the most potent tiller of soil, the very power of fertility with his enormous phallus and association with gardening.  Here again though I see the association with older cults.

Other children of Aphrodite allegedly include Eros, Harmonia, and the mortals Aeneas and Eryx.

She is linked to the term 'mixis' which means 'mingling' and has obvious associations, but associated both with peace and with strife, as Freya herself in later times.

Described by Hesiod as 'quick of glance', 'foam-born', 'smile-loving', 'golden Aphrodite', and by Homer as 'smiling' and 'golden'.  So Sappho's description of Aphrodite responding with a smile is very classical.

I am going to take the bull by the horns here, because her association with my beloved Adonis is very clear.  She fell in love with the beautiful boy, locked him in a chest, and delivered him to the care of Persephone.  The lady of Hades then fell in love with him of course, and would not return the precious cargo to Aphrodite.  Zeus intervened and made the usual dictate where these consorts or lovers of the Great Goddess are concerned: Adonis, as a god of vegetation should spend four months in the Underworld, four months with Aphrodite, and four months of blessed solitude each year.  Thus we have here again the fate of Dumuzi who was punished by Inanna for not having mourned her disappearance into the Land of the Great Below to confront her dark sister, Ereshkigal, but simply held orgies and sat upon HER throne in the Land of the Surface, by taking her place seasonally in the Underworld to perform the role of Ereshkigal's dead consort each year for a season.

So, against YOUR desires,  let us explore the conception and life of Adonis. 

He has many different tales, because his cult obviously was adopted by the Greeks.  For the Greeks:  it all began when his grandmother Cenchreis, boasted that her own daughter Myrrha was more beautiful than the goddess Aphrodite.  This sort of boasting always leads to disaster.  The goddess punished her by causing the girl to fall in love with her own father.  In some versions, the father was Theias, king of Syria, but in others, he was Cinyras, king of Cyprus.  he was the son of an incestuous union between Theias, a king of Syria and Myrrha  or Smyrna, his own daughter.  She is defamed by the accusation that it was she, the child, who 'tricked' her father into having sex with her.  This sort of trickery definitely is one of the powers of Aphrodite incidentally.  The child of this union was Adonis.  The father was so disgusted by the event that he wanted to murder his own daughter, but she pled for her life and was transformed into the Myrrh Tree.  Myrrh incidentally is the symbol of death and is used even now in incense and in embalmings.  Adonis was spirited away by the smitten Aphrodite, hidden in a chest, became the object of a jealous dispute between Aphrodite and Persephone, and Zeus pronounced his doom.  He actually was killed by a boar, either an accident or agent of a jealous god/goddess, Artemis or Ares.   Aphrodite then transformed him into a violet flower.  They still hold the annual rites of mourning for Adonis in some parts of the Arab world as well as Iran under other names, but originally it was a festival known as the Adonis.  It involves the planting and nurturing of fast-growing grass that then is pulled out by its roots and thrown into moving water (usually a river).  In Lebanon, the river actually turns purple during a season and this was considered the result of casting the dead god into the water.

Symbols of Aphrodite include a band or girdle she wears across her chest (an ancient me that holds her powers of desire and seduction), a sceptre (another ancient me), a dove or other bird, including the goose, a wreath of myrtle, a looking glass (mirror), and often she actually rides a swan or goose.

I think the following about yoking the chariot is significant.  She is obliged to leave her father's house, and perform an act that gives her one of her powers.  The yoking of the chariot and invocation to the sparrow or sparrow to carry the chariot down to earth is not accidental.

She cannot perform this task from her comfortable throne or chair.  Moreover, she cannot fly down from heaven to earth.  She needs the sparrows and the chariot and the descent is quite dramatic and powerful.  As I wrote previously, it is like a tornado with a specific destination, arriving suddenly to Sappho.

9¤ρµα ατος Ð chariot. Ùπασδεύξαισα aor.part. nom.sg.fem. of Ùπο-ζεύγν¯υµι yoke under, put under the yoke. καλός ή όν good, noble; beautiful. «γον = Ãγον 3.pl.impf. of ¥γω lead, carry, bring. 10çκύς ε‹α çκύ quick, swift. στρουθός Ð sparrow. περί is also used in Aeolic for Øπέρ above. γ©ς = γÁς gen.sg. γή ¹ earth. µέλας µέλαινα µέλαν black, dark. 11πυκνός ή όν close, thick, compact; fast, strong; πυκνά adv. δ¯ινέω whorl, spin; Aeolic δίννηµι; δίννεντες pres.part. nom.pl.masc. πτερόν τό feather; in pl. wings. çράνω = οÙρανοà, gen.sg. of οÙρανός Ð heaven. α„θήρ έρος Ð ether, heaven; air. 12διά through. µεσ(σ)ός ή όν (in the) middle.

Furthermore, she may have a smiling face, but Aphrodite has a dark history, as dark as that of Demeter and quite similar.  Adonis, whom she loved, was held captive in a chest.  Persephone and Aphrodite become rivals for his love.  Zeus dictates the old solution of dividing the year into seasons for him to go to one and the other and then have a few months alone.  (The chest is similar to Plutarch's telling of the myth of Osiris.  According to Plutarch, it is a sort of Cinderella glass slipper tale.  Set creates a glorious chest and offers it as a gift to the one who fits inside it.  Only Osiris fits in the chest.  Set locks it and throws it into the river.  It floats to Byblos where it lands, and a tree grows round it.  Isis searches the world for him and in some versions, actually became a nurse to the queen's child.  She liberates the chest or coffin and carries it back to Egypt.  Set cuts him into pieces and all the pieces are thrown randomly hither and thither.  The penis is eaten by a fish.  Isis must make a new one through magic so she can become pregnant by her dead husband in order to bring forth Horus.)

Undying Aphrodite of the shimmering throne/chair, daughter of Zeus, weaver of wiles, I beg you not to overpower/subdue/bring low my heart/soul with anguish and distress, dear Lady/Mistress.  Come here if ever before you heard my voice from afar, and hearken/pay attention to me, leaving the golden house of your father above,  the noble sparrows  beneath the yoke, to quickly lead or bring down to the dark earth.  Close and compact, feathers and wings moving fast descending through the middle of the heavens in a whorl or spin.  Arrive suddenly/with speed, blessed fortunate one with your smiling face aid ask:  for what again do you suffer, do you call me yet again, do you want exceedingly, yet again ask why do you suffer with your frenzied raving spirit/mind/heart?  who do you want me to persuade (ask the divinity  Πείθω) yet again into your love or affection?  Who wrongs you, Sappho?  For even if she flies, she soon shall follow and if she rejects gifts, shall lead/carry/bring them soon in return, and if she does not love, shall love soon, however unwilling.  I pray you now to break me free/loose me from thought/care/anxiety, and accomplish my desire.. and be my ally.

Sappho was a poet but she was first and foremost during HER life, a performer.  Thus, every piece that now is read originally was performed by her for an audience.  She sang, evidently, and although many people have attempted to perform her work, too much information is missing to make any of this more than wishful fantasy.  Nonetheless, I believe it is vital to identify the audience.

They would be very familiar with the Goddess Aphrodite, and she would be a day-to-day part of their ordinary lives.  There would be temples where sacrifices would occur after doves or birds or whatever was being offered were purchased in a market or whatever.  It does not matter whether Sappho was religious or not.  Aphrodite would be woven into the tapestry of her life and the lives of her audience in the same way going to Mass, having a cross in the house, and other old Catholic traditions would be part and parcel of the life of any Italian during the Middle Ages or until people actually were able to rebel against the Church.  

Apart from this, an Invocation to the Goddess at the beginning of any performance would be an auspicious act, like making the sign of a Cross.  'Bless and smile upon this little song of mine'

So she sets the stage:  The first part identifies the Goddess, and probably would have been accompanied by some action on the part of dancers or musicians.  No one really knows, but it is not impossible that props would be involved as well. 

Next, there is actual drama in the form of the descent of Aphrodite, the swirling or thick spin of the sparrows, the movement of the chariot.  Whether this was accomplished simply by a drum beating out an increasingly fast rhythm in conjunction with the poetry or whether it was accompanied by dance or whatever... we do not know, but I feel that this drama is an essential part of the Ode.  it is not static.  It is not simply a recitation of Aphrodite's aspects and powers.  It brings her down to the audience with words and associated actions (even if only in the mind of the audience).

Now we come to the gist of the Ode.  It becomes very personal.  It is a dialogue between Sappho and Aphrodite ostensibly, but in fact a vehicle through which she can express the whole business of love, of desire and torment, of the nature of seduction.  Sappho demands reciprocity of affection.  She enlists the very power of the Goddess Aphrodite to persuade this mortal to respond to her, even if unwilling, to 'bring gifts'.  I think this refers to love and sex, not actual items like flowers or fine cloth or whatever lovers gave to one another.  What is interesting here, however, is that she is not asking for happiness or joy.  She is asking to be freed from her torment and anxiety.  She needs the object of her desire to submit to her, and the implication for me is that, once this is accomplished, she will move on to some one or some other desire.

I do not know what more you expect from me, to be honest.  Again, one cannot ignore the audience.  She is singing in order to involve them in her own feelings, her torment, her quest for conquest/love/lust.  There is an undertone in the entire Ode, despite the 'smiling face' reference to Aphrodite, that Sappho never will achieve any real enduring happiness.  Her quest is ongoing and infinite.  'Once again', 'again' and so on.  Her definition of passion is ephemeral in nature, much like that of the Goddess herself, who fell in love more than once.  She does not ask that Aphrodite give her the love of some one who will be devoted to her for the rest of her life, with whom she can share love on a stable basis.  She is the female equivalent of a rake, a Don Giovanni.  If she had a Leporello, he probably could have counted her conquests.  

The life of Don Giovanni held no enduring happiness or joy.  He had courage, and he had the overwhelming need to conquer women, one by one, but he did not have any emotional attachment really to any of them.  I see very much the same in Sappho. This, however, is a fundamental theme in music and poetry through the ages.  Most poems and songs do not speak of a placid, joyful existence shared with another.  They speak of torment and longing, the desire to seduce the object of desire.  What happens afterwards often is irrelevant.  It is the thrill of the chase, and the excited, enhanced emotional rollercoaster associated with 'falling in love' and trying to achieve that moment of union that would constitute victory.

The next part of this essay is to compare Sappho with Freddy Mercury from Queen.  This would be anathema to any classicist, but I find it an interesting comparison, especially with respect to 'Somebody to Love'.

Here are the Lyrics:

Can anybody find me somebody to love?

Ooh, each morning I get up I die a little
Can barely stand on my feet
(Take a look at yourself in the mirror and cry)
Take a look in the mirror and cry
Lord what you're doing to me (Yeah, yeah)
I have spent all my years in believing you
But I just can't get no relief, Lord

Then the Chorus: 

Somebody 
Ooh, somebody 
Can anybody find me somebody to love?
Yeah

I work hard (He works hard) every day of my life
I work 'til I ache my bones
At the end (At the end of the day)
I take home my hard-earned pay all on my own (Goes home, goes home on his own)
I get down (Down) on my knees (Knees)
And I start to pray (Praise the Lord)
'Til the tears run down from my eyes, Lord

Chorus once again, then:

(He works hard) everyday (Everyday)
I tryand I try and I try
But everybody wants to put me down
They say I'm goin' crazy
They say I got a lot of water in my brain
No, I got no common sense
(He's got) I got nobody left to believe
No, no, no, no

Chorus again, then: 

Got no feel, I got no rhythm
I just keep losing my beat (You just keep losing and losing)
I'm okay, I'm alright (He's alright, he's alright)
I ain't gonna face no defeat (Yeah, yeah)
I just gotta get out of this prison cell
(One day) Someday I'm gonna be free, Lord

Find me somebody to love (repeatedly, now)
Somebody (Somebody)
Somebody (Somebody)
Somebody (Find me)
(Somebody find me somebody to love)
Can anybody find me
Somebody to
Love?

Sappho cares nothing about the identity of the object of desire.  She is consumed by the pursuit.  Freddy has lost the motivation, the faith in the pursuit itself.  Sappho asks Aphrodite, goddess of love and passion, to bring her the object of her desire.  Freddy asks 'any one' to bring him some one he can love.  

So is it the thrill of the chase?  Is it the very interaction with Love and Life itself?  Do we die when we no longer care?  When we no longer can summon the energy to look for love?  To have faith?  In some one, in something?