Get drunk my boy, don't weep, you're
not the only prisoner
of love. Plenty of people
are stuck all over with the
barbed arrows of lust. Don't
grovel. You're still alive.
Drink your liquor straight. Drink. Time
is wasting. We may not be
here at bedtime. Drink. Soon
enough and long enough,
you'll find time for sleeping.
-----------------------------
It is sweet in summer to slake
your thirst with snow, and the spring breeze
is sweet to the sailors after
the stormy winter, but sweetest
of all when one blanket hides two
lovers at the worship of Kypris.
-----------------------------
Lysidike dedicates
to you, Kypris, her jockey's
spur, the golden prickle she
wore on her beautiful leg.
Upside down, she broke many
horses, yet her own bottom
was never reddened, she had
such a skillful seat that she
always came first in the race.
Now she hangs her weapon in
the midst of your golden gate.
-----------------------------
Playing once with facile
Hermoine, I found she wore
a flower embroidered girdle
and on it, in letters of gold,
"Love me, and never mind
if others had me before you."
translated from the Greek by Kenneth Rexroth
6.18.2010
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