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lyrics

Not honey, 

not the plunder of the bee 

from meadow or sand-flower 

or mountain bush;

from winter-flower or shoot 

born of the later heat: 

not honey, not the sweet 

stain on the lips and teeth: 

not honey, not the deep 

plunge of soft belly 

and the clinging of the gold-edged 
pollen-dusted feet;

not so–

though rapture blind my eyes, 

and hunger crisp 

dark and inert my mouth,

not honey, not the south, 

not the tall stalk 

of red twin-lilies, 
nor light branch of fruit tree 

caught in flexible light branch;
not honey, not the south; 

ah flower of purple iris,

flower of white, 

or of the iris, withering the grass–

for fleck of the sun’s fire, 

gathers such heat and power,

that shadow-print is light, 

cast through the petals 

of the yellow iris flower;
not iris–old desire–old passion– 

old forgetfulness–old pain–

not this, nor any flower, 

but if you turn again,

seek strength of arm and throat,

touch as the god; 

neglect the lyre-note; 

knowing that you shall feel, 

about the frame,

no trembling of the string

but heat, more passionate 

of bone and the white shell 

and fiery tempered steel.

credits

from Sappho .​.​. Five Poems by H​.​D. (2019), released July 25, 2019

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Thomas Oboe Lee Cambridge, Massachusetts

Thomas Oboe Lee was born in China in 1945. He lived in São Paulo, Brazil, for six years before coming to the United States in 1966. After graduating from the University of Pittsburgh, he studied composition at the New England Conservatory and Harvard University. He has been a member of the music faculty at Boston College since 1990. ... more

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