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 git.io/fxhRP

NaNoLiPo Day 1:
gist.github.com/mdcclv/eb3f113

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

My favorite idea that I’ve heard come out of my mouth during 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.”

I was also brought to tears (literally, I sniffled in the locker room) by the moving banner that the British Library have put up in the foyer.

Broke: anxiety about things I can control

Woke: anxiety about things well outside my control

Bespoke: anxiety about ??? idk its just there

“Do you know what a cow does when he go to school?
Poop all over!
The poop’s going to smell like bubblegum”

Why can’t I find any pho places called Pho You Up

4-year old niephling tells me that kangaroos only have one foot.

Ten-year-old nibling has substantial environmental anxiety

There is one that is stored inside a Cure album that was playing when the memory happened. That one’s a nice memory!

Like, this very short bob thing e did in the eighties, kind of like a Bajoran/Ensign Ro bob, just a bit shorter, with that widows peak.

Working through some complex feelings about the Richard E Grant haircut tbh.

I didn’t realize this band was at the “whole audience sings along while the band tacet” level now!

There are memories I have buried in the core of the furnace which my heart is

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.

To rise to the occasion, though, can easily go awry,
if we do not keep sight of what we mean, and why.
Always there is a crueler thought:
always soft necks to tread on.
But we must take care that where we lead,
take care of where we follow,
so that we not build up our wit
by tearing down the vulnerable

Enfold the darkness: find the light within.
Seize the sharpness:
wield the blade to cut a common foe,
or turn it to a tool, plane the coarse board
of the conversation on which we walk together.
And all of that is well and good.

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.

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