Somnium Sapphicum

Ella Hochstadt Visitatur A Visione Ignis

[Editor’s note: this is a brand-new poem in Latin hexameters. A translation is found below, but we encourage you all to savor the Latin!]

Invisebamur visu modo granditer ignis

cum tam palpebrae fessae mihi tempore factae

ut cupido claudi visae sint numine quodam.

crura premebant lecto mihi fortiter illi

sicut divi ipsi presserunt firmiter ossa. 5

tam mea nubila mens subito sic tam abdita fumo

ut fortasse dei miscerent ingenia illi.

tandem Somnus me vicit non invalidam altus.

et visum illo me non esse in tempore lecto

sed subito Phoebi sita culmine nescia celso. 10

illene Apollo qui me huc misit duriter atrox,

et qui succurrit Somno ut me ceperit ipsam?

utebaturne in me hoc arcu aut carmine Phoebus?

certe carmen erat quod musica fortior armis.

mox verti caput et conspexi flumina clara. 15

tam rivus fluxit numerose dulceque montis

spectare ut possem modo rivum et conspicuum amnem.

ales cantabat sic tam pulchre ut modo versum

auguris audire hunc possem, cui carmina semper.

fragravit blandus mi hyacinthus tam acriter omnis 20

olfacere ut possem modo sertam caeruleam illam.

tam transfixa ut non vidissem graminis aestum,

audirem venti non vocem praevalidum acris

indicium olfacerem non perspicuum hospitis intrans.

exspectata hospes cum ventus finditur una, 25

gramen partit se mutatque et turbidus aer.

mons totus subito quatiebat fortiter altus,

et tandem stupor est ruptus mihi duriter amplus.

suspexi caelum et conspexi territa magnam

huc accedentem me stellam lentius altam. 30

dum accedebat me, fiebat clarior igne

e cui mortiferis radiis mea lumina averti.

marcescebat lux et visus fortior ustus

fiebat mihi iam. cum oculus mihi panderet ille

praeclusus primum rursum, vidi attonita ergo 35

me non iam solam Phoebi illo gramine canto.

stabam cum domina candenti culmine quasso.

flos pulcherrimus est mi visa ex omnibus umbris

his hyacinthis hic ad montem purior altum.

non similis florum, stetit illic fortiter ultro. 40

luxit tamquam si decorata sit ignibus ardens.

spectavi et stupui: vox nulla ex venerat ore

nuper diviso mi, non sententia venit

in stupefactum mi hunc animum, nunc utile verbum

nullum oppressae mi veniebat, venerit ullum 45

non. tandem venit dominae sententia certe:

vox ex ore suo veniebat desubito acris.

dulcior et magis haec numerosa flumine multo.

sed quoque fortior haec quam ventus durior asper.

“Sappho sum,” dixit. mihi factus hic halitus haesus 50

gutture mi, tamen at mussavi mitior illa:

“misitne huc Phoebus te?” dixi et pectore crebro

mi saliebat cor multum et mi corpora visa

sunt, nescivi quam, nunc nullis ossibus uti.

“plane accivi ipsam me,” risu rettulit acri. 55

non intellexi. de ope iam optavi omnia tantum

scire ut dedidici terrorem tempore raptim: 

non ab se missus. cur tu te mittere, Sappho,

sic poteras?” tunc mox me aspexit lumine laeto 60

in flagrantibus his oculis et me inscia sensi

subridere ipsam. nunc nictu leniter, “illae,”

inquit, “non partem tenuerunt invalidae umbrae

in Musarum ullam sacrarum floribus harum,

errantesque feri. sic palluit inritus omnis. 65

autem ego hic dulces teneo illas praevalidas has

dotes.” sic dixit stupuique ad tam omnia mira

quae mihi cantavit: non misit victima certe

mi, nullusque deus misit plane insuper ipsi.

“cur surrexisti iam pridem mortua tantum 70

ut possis ad me venisse huc?” nubila densa

mi mens optavit multum cognoscere. Sappho

fatur, “credo in te mi animam nunc vivere rursus.”

os iterum mihi iam stupefactum panderat amens:

“hoc non possibile est. non verum!” territa valde 75

vox mea dixit. “cur?” respondit callida Sappho.

dixi: “poetria tu clarissima. dum interea ipsa

non sum. porro vos scripsistis carmina vestra

feminae amanti immo. modo nullo clarius ipsa

sum similis vestri,” dixi quia debilis olim. 80

iam timui ne urat violenter femina tam ira

ut detestetur me. risit molliter autem

quaesivitque haec sic: “scribis cui carmina vestra?”

“ulli homini nondum. scripsi adhuc carmina nulla,”

voce susurravi parva, dum sum intuita herbam. 85

“o! nondum prudens et clara poetria tu ipsa

quod tu scripsisti non umquam carmina certe.

cum studeas cupide scribendo, tu maxima forsan.”

verba transibant Sapphus velociter ampla

per mentem mihi sed percepi lentius illa. 90

cum non respondi, dixit, “cui scripseris, Ella?”

“certe si carmen scripsissem, fervida valde

scripsissem cordi domini ipsi. femina sisto.

nonne ego debebam virum amare et quaerere?” quaeso.

Sappho narravit, “Veneris tu mancipium ipsa 95

insidias acres texentis. scribere debes

vere carmina tu cuicumque haec indicat esse

te dilecturam quam et, di, non cui iudicat esse

te dilecturam hic vulgus.” sic fortiter orat.

os patefeci mi, sed verba haud reppereram ulla. 100

os occlusi mi. Sapphus verba augurium ipsa

verum, non vana et mentis sententia falsae.

sensi. finita est postremo ab principe pausa

“ecce: necesse est ut quaeras quas diligis unas.

non facile est semper: nonnumquam extranea sola 105

in terra patris videaris. sauciet ille

te labor, assimilis saevi ignis, pectore fervens,

saepe autem vita haec lucebit clarior ipsa

quam ardens Sol noster. nunc scribe et de ignibus illis

et lucentibus his de horis in versibus, Ella.” 110

sic Sappho docuit. tunc illo tempore iam ipso

quam penitus scivi vatem ipsam dicere verum!

adhuc nunc metuens sed me spectaverat ipsa

spe tali haec ut non ego possem opponere magnae.

inquit, “consentis mecumne scribere certe 115

te debere et te debere scribere vere?”

annui caute at dubitans nihil nunc.

“tradam alumnae mi tibi huic rosarum

partem enim Musarum hodie meam ipsam.”

accipiam nunc. 120

 

English Translation

 

lately we were visited sublimely by a vision 1

at that moment when my eyelids became so tired

that they seemed to be closed by some eager divinity.

they were pressing my legs so powerfully to that bed of mine

as if the gods themselves pressed upon my bones steadfastly. 5

my mind was suddenly so cloudy, so suppressed by smoke in this way

that perhaps those gods were mixing my disposition.

at last, deep Sleep conquered not weak me.

and it seemed that I was not in my bed at that moment,

but suddenly, unaware, I was placed on the lofty summit of Apollo. 10

was it that cruel Apollo who harshly sent me here,

and who helped Sleep so that He could capture me myself?

was Apollo using his bow or his song against me?

certainly it was his song because music is stronger than weapons.

soon I turned my head and beheld illustrious rivers. 15

the stream of the mountain flowed so rhythmically and sweetly

that I was able to watch only the stream and the striking rapid water.

a bird was singing so beautifully in this way that I was able to hear only

this verse of the augur, of that being to which there is always song.

each hyacinth smelled so fiercely alluring to me 20

that I was able to smell only that blue garland.

I was so transfixed that I hadn’t seen the movement of the grass,

I wasn’t hearing the prevailing voice of the sharp wind.

I wasn’t smelling the clear mark of a visitor entering.

when a visitor is awaited, the wind divides at once, 25

the grass splits apart, and even the murky air changes itself.

suddenly the whole tall mountain began to shake powerfully,

and at last my magnificent trance was broken roughly.

I looked up at the sky and, frightened, I saw

a great lofty star approaching me rather slowly. 30

while it was approaching me, it was becoming brighter than fire,

from the death-bearing rays of which I avert my eyes.

now the light was becoming weak, and my sight, having been burnt,

was already becoming stronger. when that eye of mine, having been closed

was first opening again, stunned, I consequently saw 35

that I was no longer alone on that recited grass of Apollo.

I was standing with a dazzling mistress on a shaken summit.

she clearly seemed to me to be purer, the most beautiful flower out of all

these ghost hyacinths here by the lofty mountain.

unlike the flowers, she stood in that place powerfully of her own accord. 40

the woman glistened as if she, ablaze, had been adorned with fires.

but the flowers were ice cold with respect to both appearance and great strength.

I watched her and was stupefied: No voice had come

recently from my parted mouth, not a thought came

into this stunned mind of mine, no useful word 45

was coming now, not any will have come here for overwhelmed me.

but at last, a thought surely came to the mistress:

a piercing voice was coming from her mouth unexpectedly.

it was much sweeter and much more rhythmic than the stream,

but it was also stronger than the rather hard, harsh wind. 50

“I am Sappho,” she said. my breath became stuck

in my throat, but nevertheless, I, rather meek, whispered those words:

“Did Apollo send you here?” I uttered and my heart was frequently

bouncing a lot in my chest and my legs

now seemed, I didn’t know how, to be boneless all at once. 55

“clearly I summoned myself.” she responded with a shrewd smile.

I did not understand. I now so wanted to know everything about her power

that I hastily unlearned my fear at that time:

“every dead person about whom I’ve read was sent by divine command,

not sent by themself. why could you summon yourself 60

in this way, Sappho?” then presently, she glanced at me with a delighted glimmer

shining in these fiery eyes and, not knowing, I felt that

I, myself, was smiling. now, with a wink, she said gently,

“those feeble shades had no share

in the flowers of these sacred Muses, 65

those wild roamers. each void man faded thus.

but I myself have those powerful, sweet

gifts.” she said thus and I marvelled so much at all these astonishing things

which she sang to me: a sacrifice certainly didn’t summon her for me,

and clearly, no god overhead summoned her for himself. 70

“why did you, dead for a long time, rise only

so that you would be able to come here to me?” my cloudy, crowded

mind greatly wanted to know. Sappho

said, “I believe that my soul now lives again in you.”

my frantic, astounded mouth had already opened again: 75

“this is not possible. it’s not true!” my terrified

voice said vehemently. “why?” shrewd Sappho responded.

“you are a brilliant, rather skilled poetess. Meanwhile, I

myself am not. besides, you indeed wrote your poems

for female lovers. quite clearly I myself am like you 80

in no way at all,” I said because I was weak at that time.

now I was afraid that the woman would burn violently with such anger

that she would curse me, but on the contrary, she laughed gently

and inquired thus: “for whom do you write your poems?”

“no one yet. I haven’t written any poems yet,” 85

I muttered with a small voice while I looked at the grass.

“oh! not yet are you yourself a skilled and brilliant poet

certainly because you have never written poems.

when you eagerly apply yourself to writing, perhaps you will be the greatest.”

Sappho’s magnificent words were passing quickly 90

through my mind, but I understood them rather slowly.

when I didn’t respond, she said to me, “for whom would you have written, Ella?”

“surely if I had written a poem, burning intensely,

I would have written to the heart of a man itself. I present myself as a woman.

was I not supposed to love and desire a man?” I asked urgently. 95

Sappho explained, “you yourself are a slave of Venus,

who weaves sharp wiles. you truly ought to write

poems for whomever she decides that

you will love and, god, not for the one whom these common

people decide that you will love.” she requests forcefully in this way. 100

I opened my mouth, but I had found no words.

I closed my mouth. Sappho’s words themselves were a true

omen, and not the empty opinion of a deceptive mind.

I felt it. at last the pause was ended by the conductor:

“look: it is necessary that you seek the ones whom you love. 105

it is not always easy: sometimes you may seem to be

a lonely foreigner in the land of your father. that task

may hurt you, like a cruel fire, boiling in your breast

but often this life will shine, itself brighter

than our flaming Sun. write now both about those fires 110

and about these shining hours in your verses, Ella.”

thus Sappho taught. then already at that very moment

how deeply I knew that Sappho herself was telling the truth!

I was still now afraid, but she herself had watched me

with such hope that I could not oppose Sappho. 115

she said, “do you agree with me that you certainly ought

to write and that you ought to write truthfully?”

I nodded carefully but not doubting. “therefore

I shall indeed pass my own share of the Muses’

roses to you, this pupil of mine, today.” 120

I shall accept it now.

 

 

 

Ella Hochstadt is a senior in high school, soon to graduate from Riverdale Country School and start the next leg of her Classics journey. For the time being, though, she lives in New York City with her parents and dog Oreo. When she’s not composing Latin poetry in dactylic hexameter, she enjoys acting in school plays, tutoring, and writing and producing short films. She’s the leader of Riverdale’s film club, and a member of the Classics Club.