Sing me Sappho's prosody, trochaic water,
Well of my soul, as sorrowing Demeter,
Stirred by Baubo's wild shape and bawdy laughter,
Came back to being.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
TROCHAIC WATER is a nice phrase. It makes me think of cadences in purling water. From tinkling water to WELL OF MY SOUL is also a nice leap, as if someone stirs deep within the well of listening. The raucous auditory antics of the plashing stream draw out a latent, wished-for presence.