SAPPHO by LUSH (2019)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The poetry of Sappho, a poet from ancient Greece whose works exists only in fragments, is very beautiful.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You may forget but

 

 

 

 

Let me tell you

that someone in

some future time

will think of us

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That was different

 

 

 

 

My girlhood then

was in full bloom

and you —

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Do you remember

 

 

 

 

How a golden

broom grows on

the sea beaches

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You remind me

 

 

 

Of a very gentle

little girl I once

watched picking flowers

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When they were tired

 

 

 

 

 

Night rained her

thick dark sleep

upon their eyes

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Standing by my bed

 

 

 

 

 

In gold sandals

Dawn that very

moment awoke me

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Although they are

 

 

Only breath, words

which I command

are immortal

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I don’t know. There is a timeless quality, a space I can inhabit, within Sappho’s poetry. A simplicity within her words.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As a boy  I would play Satie’s Gnossiennes on the piano, or Debussy’s Canope, and sink into the replete, sun-cypressed groves of my young imagination of what I thought constituted ancient Greece (when we went to Crete as a seventeen year old I almost died with pleasure………….the cicadas, the eucalyptus trees giving off cool scent in the burning afternoon sun; Prince’s Lovesexy blasting out into the blue; Eurythmics’ Savage). In converse: the cold, beautiful, silence inside of Keats’ Grecian Urn ( a space to rest, peacefully, forever). At university, when it all got too much, I would sometimes escape to the Classics Museum, no connection to my own studies – but a place which nobody seemed to ever go to (it was always empty); replicas of ancient Greek and Roman sculpture in alabaster, surrounding me, eyeless.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

*

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The Uffizi Museum in Florence is a place that overwhelms the senses. So much beauty. In excess. It can make you almost sick. And all the people (oh to be there right now, now that it is closed, to have that space all to yourself………………) A cruel thing to say, possibly  – my heart  goes out to Italy at this terrible moment, truly – but there are works of art in that place so exquisite,  that they can be appreciated only when solitary.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sappho,  by Lush, a new perfume which debuted at The Perfume Library in Florence last November  – it will come to Tokyo in June  – is, I think,  probably my favourite of the new collection.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The first time I smelled this obviously happy perfume,  all I could smell on the back of my hands was lilies. Lilies breathing in the sunshine, uninhibited. Salty, extreme salicylates of jasmine  ( shadowy and medicinal,  paracetamol,  almost neo-Je Reviens ) ;  aldehydic, with reams of a soaring, solar ylang ylang, and a darker, gorsish undertone underneath (as it turns out, a quite original accord of orris root tinted with a dirt of coffee absolute);  the whole a  little rough, for sure, but for me also strangely ecstacizing with its smooth, and savoury,  vanilla dry down               –       and most definitely a perfume of love.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We shall enjoy it

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

As for him who finds

fault, may silliness

and sorrow take him!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

That afternoon

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Girls ripe to marry

wove the flower-

heads into necklaces

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

In the spring twilight

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The full moon is shining :

Girls take their places

as though around an altar

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Awed by her splendor

 

 

 

 

 

 

Stars near the lovely

moon cover their own

bright faces

when she

is roundest and lights

earth with her silver

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

If you will come

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I shall put out

new pillows for

you to rest on