Anactoria

I Anactoria dp350

when the herds are running the ground thrumming
sunlight scaling every beam of dust like a horde
on the move your finest poems are for me
that’s what I love best

when the sun strikes your coat roan with heat
we all stand dazzled by your beauty
and none of us will ever abandon you
you the brightest of us all

when the summer grass grows pale
and the longing strikes up again
I think of you standing always knowing
which way to go

your doubts are few your face dewy
in the morning light and your eyes
brown soft but your glance as sharp
as thorns

so Sappho let me follow you on this track
into that thicket by the river
let us stand flank by flank our love
our armour

Bittersweet

The cow in this carved rock at Mahabalipuram is so happy and sweet that I felt she needed a poem. Madhukara is a honey maker, a bee. So she brings sweetness to the world. But with a sting. Like the bittersweet taste of love that Sappho writes about.



I Madhukara dp349

has the bee stung your lip?
where love stings there the hurt lies

let the dance take me in its swarm
rise like the sun in spring
the vines embrace me
flowers nod a jig in the breeze

on your body lines of ash
like the pattern of the dance
a dalliance of girls swaying

somewhere beneath the horizon
comes the sounds of a raga
each pada of the song
in the rhythm of the herd
hear the beat of the hooves

the dancers approach
a cloud of bodies
raising gusts of wind
cow dust is on your coat
cow dust in my breath

I am the rasa
I am the lover in the dance
my footsteps in yours
touching like wind breath

the dancer bristles
grass trembles on the river’s edge

Gongyla

I Gongyla dp348

when winter ices my coat
when it strikes
the heart
whatever can you do–

she has made it public
her longing for me
she wants me to sing
my heart pain

she says Aphrodite
is hard hearted
her love searing

but all I want
is want

Atthis

Atthis dp321

Atthis is in the temple
they have painted her limbs
her forehead is floral

she likes this temple
on a hilltop where she watches
as dawn scrambles into day

at dusk she faces the other direction
when day lowers itself into night
this is the best season

the dewy grass is lush
buttercups are plentiful
the air cool and clear

since she became a temple cow
life has been easier
each day sixteen girls

clamour around her in the meadow
they fuss over her
stroke and brush her flanks

but she misses her friend
the ever-shrewd and delightful
milky-faced Sappho–they were separated

one day for no reason
and the stories that go around
about Sappho are unbelievable

Sappho thrived in the herd
she loved to lead them
lowing her musical tunes

and soon the young heifers
were prancing along behind
moaning and shaking their heads in time

plucking at tree branches as they went–
but she is gone
and these girls are her solace