The poetess compares an unreachable apple to some other item: probably a bride.
One cannot miss sweetbitter irony that the source poem itself is lost, unknown.
It is fair to argue against fetishizing the fragmentariness of Sappho's corpus.
A poet who survives only from her quotations in other works: as lost as can be
This is why 105a is the perfect Sappho fragment: on the unreachable remembered
We can glimpse the redness of the fruit, but we will never taste its sweetness https://git.io/fxhRP
It is quite fun to write in words that have one beat each: day two of #NaNoLiPo is done https://gist.github.com/mdcclv/21774c890b3eaad380c2860dbccc1f43
Sappho 105a, without that 5th glyph:
As a crisp fruit grows a blush on its skin on a high branch —
(a jonagold or a cripps pink, a gala or a fuji)
high up, its blush shows its syrupy maturation —
but high on that high branch, all farmhands
(or possibly autumnal-Saturday tourists) forgot it.
Actually: it’s not that anybody could miss its sugary blush.
But nobody could climb so high as to grasp it
📖 Morning Briefing 📖 Show more
Reminder that you can spice up your November by writing a formally-constrained text every day! You can find the rules and constraints here: https://github.com/ojahnn/NaNoLiPo2018
You're also welcome to be picky and only try some of them, in case you can't/don't want to commit to a full month of oulipoticity!
My favorite idea that I’ve heard come out of my mouth during #xoxofest so far: “language is a complex symbolic system that has been developed by humanity for hundreds of thousands of years. Computation is a very crude symbolic system that humans have been trying to write in the sand for a few decades. Computational linguistics is an attempt to use a very coarse symbolic system to analyze a very refined one.”
Last year I drove across the country and I was listening to a call-in interview show about books on a public radio station in Missouri or Kansas or something. They were talking about a 19th-century English author, and somebody called in and said this reminded them of Chaucer and then they started reciting the prologue to the Canterbury Tales, they got as far as "That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke." without being stopped.
That's the kind of energy I'm always afraid of exhibiting.
For those who cultivate a verbal wit
(and I admit myself to be one such)
it is the mark of gameliness to see and raise:
when someone else attempts to take the conversation
to a place that is sharper, or darker, or grasps another thread—
we recognize the made attempt, and meet it in a way
that shows that we can see their point, yet still see more.
Lexicographus quondam et futurista.
I don't usually wear that kind of hat: it was cold that day.
Cathexis, limerence, mamihlapinatapai
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