Songs of Bilitis by Astyages
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Chapter 3:
EPIGRAMS IN THE ISLE OF CYPRUS
PHILODEMUS.
99 – HYMN TO ASTARTE
Unmarriageable mother, incorruptible, creatress,
first-born, self-begotten,
self-conceived, issue of yourself alone and
who rejoices in yourself, Astarte!
Oh, perpetually fertile, oh virgin and
nourisher of all, chaste and lascivious, pure and
joyful, ineffable, nocturnal, sweet,
breather of fire, foam of the sea!
You who secretly dispenses her grace, you
who unite, you who love, you who seized by a
furious desire, multiplies the races of savage
beasts, and conjoins the sexes in the forest,
Oh, irresistible Astarte, hear me, take me,
possess me, Oh Moon! And thirteen times, each
year, tear from my entrails the libation
of my blood!
100 – HYMN TO NIGHT
The black masses of the trees don’t move
any more than the mountains. The stars
fill an immense sky. A warm breeze
like a human breath caresses my eyes
and my cheeks
Oh Night which brings forth the Gods! How
sweet you are on my lips! How warm you are
in my hair! How you enter into me
this evening, and how I feel impregnated by
your Spring!
The flowers which will blossom will all
come from me. The wind which sighs is my
breath. The perfume which passes is my desire.
all the stars are in my eyes.
Your voice, is it the noise of the sea, is it
the silence of the plain? Your voice, I do not
understand it, but it throws me head over
heels and my tears wash my two hands.
101 – THE MAENADS
Across the forests which dominate the sea,
the Maenads rushed. Maskhale with
the passionate breasts, howling, brandishing the
Phallus, which was of sycamore wood and
daubed with vermillion.
All, under the [?bassaris’] and the crowns
of vine-branches, ran and shouted and leaped,
the rattles [lit: ‘crotales’ = rattlesnakes?] clapped in their hands, and
the drumsticks? [?thyrses?] were bursting the skins
on the resounding drums.
Moistened hair, agile legs, breasts
reddened and disordered, sweating cheeks, foam
on their lips, Oh Dionysos, they offer
in return the ardour which you throw into them!
And the wind from the sea climbs back up to the sky
twisting the sandy hair of Heliokomis into it,
like the furious flames on a torch
of white wax.
102 – THE SEA OF KYPRIS
On the highest promontory I
lay in front. The sea was black as
a field of violets. The Milky Way
spurted [ruisselait] from the great divine breast.
A thousand Maenads around me slept in
the plucked flowers. And it is here that
the sun is born in the eastern waters.
Transferred from the same flood and the same shore
one day appeared the white body
of Aphrodite… Suddenly I hid my
eyes in my hands.
Because I saw, trembling on the water a thousand
little lips of light: pure sex or the
smile of Kypris Philommeides.
103 – THE PRIESTESSES OF ASTARTE
The priestesses of Astarte made love at
the rising of the moon; then they rose again and
bathed in a vast, silver-edged basin.
With their curved fingers, they combed
their hair, and their hands tinted with
purple, tangled by their black rings,
seeming like branches of coral in a
sombre and flooding sea.
They never pluck their hair, so that the
triangle of the goddess marks their bellies
as a temple; but they tint themselves[?se teignent?] with
paintbrushes and profoundly perfume themselves.
The priestesses of Astarte make love at
the setting of the moon; then in a
carpeted room where burns a bright golden lamp, they
sleep at random.
104 – THE MYSTERIES
In the thrice mysterious enclosure, where
men never penetrate, we feasted,
Astarte of the Night, Mother of the World,
Fountain of the life of the Gods!
I shall reveal something to you, but no
more than is permitted. Around the Phallus
Crown, a hundred and twenty women swayed [‘se balancaient’
and shouted. The initiates were in men’s clothes;
The others in split tunics.
The vapours of the perfumes, the smoke from the
torches, floated between us like
clouds. I shall cry smokey tears.
Everyone, at the feet of the Borbeia,
threw ourselves onto our backs.
Finally, when the religious Act was consummated,
and when, into the Unique Triangle we had
plunged the purple phallus, then the mystery
began, but I can tell you no more about it.
105 — THE EGYPTIAN COURTESANS
I went with Plango to the house of the Egyptian
courtesans, at the top of the old town.
There were earthen amphorae, plates of
copper and yellow straw mats where they
squatted effortlessly.
Their bedrooms were silent, without
angles and without corners, so that the
successive couches of blue limestone were blunt at the
cornices and rounded at the foot of the walls
They held themselves immobile, their hands
placed on their knees. When they offer us
porridge, they murmured, “Happiness.”
And when we thanked them, they said,
“Thanks to you.”
They understood Greek but pretended to
speak it badly so they could laugh at us in their own
language; but, tooth for tooth, we
spoke Lydian and they were suddenly worried.
106 — I SING MY FLESH AND MY LIFE
I shall certainly not sing of famous
lovers. If they are no more, why should
we speak of them? Am I not similar to them?
Do I too not have much to dream about myself?
I shall forget you, Pasiphae, even though your passion
was extreme. I shall not hire you, Syrinx
nor you, Byblis, nor you, by the goddess, of
all choices, Helen of the white arms!
If anyone suffered, I felt nothing but their
pain. If anyone loved, I loved more.
I sing of my flesh and my life, and not of
the sterile shades of interred lovers.
Lie there, oh my body, according to your voluptuous
mission! Savour the daily delights
and the passions with no tomorrow.
Do not leave with even one delight unknown to regret
at the day of your death.
107 — PERFUME
I shall perfume my skin all over to attract
lovers. On my beautiful legs, in
a basin of silver, I shall pour oil [?’nard’?] of
Tarsus and [?metopion?] from Egypt.
Under my arms, crispy [?crepue?] mint; on
my eyelashes and on my eyes, some [?margolaine?]
from Kos. Slave, let down my hair and
fill it with the smoke from the incense.
Here is [?l’oinanthe’] from the mountains of Kypris; I
let it trickle down between my breasts; the pink liqueur
which comes from Pharsalis [?Phaselis?] embalms my
neck and my cheeks.
And now, spread over my loins the
irresistible [?bakkaris?]. It is well, for
a courtesan, to know the perfumes of
Lydia and the customs of the Peloponnese.
108 – CONVERSATION
“Hello.” — “Hello also.” – “You’re in
A hurry.” – “Perhaps less than you
think.” – “You are a pretty girl.” – “Perhaps
more than you believe.”
– “What is your charming name?” — “I will not
tell you that so quickly.” – “You have someone this
evening?” – “Always the one who loves me.” – “And
How do you love him?” – “As he wishes.”
“Let’s sup together.” – “If you want.
But what will you give me?” — “This here.” – “Five drachmas?
That’s for my slave. And for me?”
“Say yourself.” – “A hundred.”
“Where do you live?” – “In this blue
house.” – “What time shall I send someone
to look for you?” – “Right away, if you like.”
– “Right away.” – “Go in front.”
109 — THE TORN DRESS
“Hey! By the two goddesses, who was
the insolent one who has put her foot on my
dress?” – “It was a lover.” – “It was an idiot.”
“I was clumsy, forgive me.”
“Imbecile! My yellow dress is all
torn at the back, and if I walk down
the street like that, they’ll take me for a
poor girl who serves the contrary Kypris.”
“Will you not stop?” — “I believe that he’s
Talking to me again!” – “Will you leave me thus
angry?… You don’t answer?” — “Alas!
I dare speak no more.”
“I really must go home
to change my dress.” – “And can I not follow
you?” – “Who is your father?” — “He’s the
rich armourer, Nikias.” – “You have beautiful
eyes, I’ll forgive you.”
110 – THE JEWELS
A diadem of gold [?ajoure?] crowns my narrow
white forehead. Five little chains of gold, which
surround my cheeks and my chin,
are suspended from my hair by two large
clips.
On my arms which Iris would envy, thirteen
silver bracelets are attached. How heavy
they are! But they are weapons; and I know
an enemy who has suffered by them.
I am truly all covered in gold. My
breasts are cuirasses with two pectorals of gold.
The images of the gods are not as rich as I am.
And I wear on my thick dress a girdle
spangled with silver. There you can read this verse:
“Love me eternally; but do not be
Dismayed if I deceive you three times a day.”
111 – THE INDIFFERENT ONE
Since he came into my bedroom, what
was he like (is that important?): “See,”
I said to the slave, “What a handsome man! And
that a courtesan is happy!”
I declare, Adonis, Ares or Herakles
according to his face, or the Old Man of the Sea,
if his hair was pale silver. And
then, what disdain for the levity of youth!
“Ah!” said I, “if I had not to pay my
florist tomorrow and my goldsmith,
How I would like to say to you: I don’t want your
gold! I am your passionate servant!”
Then, when he had closed his arms once more
around my shoulders, I see a boatman from the port
pass like a divine image on the starry heavens
through my transparent eyelids.
112 – PURE WATER OF THE POND
“Pure water of the pond, immobile mirror, tell me
about my beauty. – Oh, Bilitis, or whoever you are,
Tethys perhaps or Amphitrite, you are beautiful,
know it.
“Your face inclines under your thick hair,
swollen with flowers and perfume.
Your soft eyelids open to pain and
your flanks are weary from the movements of
love.
“Your body is tired from gravity and your breasts
carry the delicate marks of fingernails and the
blue bruises of love-making [baiser]. Your arms are
reddened by embraces. Each line of your
skin was made by love.
Clear water of the pond, your coolness is restful.
Receive me, who am tired indeed. Bring
the paint for my cheeks, and the sweat of my
belly and the memory of night.”
113 – THE NOCTURNAL FEAST (not translated)
114 – SENSUAL PLEASURE [VOLUPTE]
On a white terrace, the night
leaves us swooning among the roses. The
hot sweat cooled like tears from our
armpits across our breasts. An overwhelming
sensual pleasure turns our inverted heads purple.
Four captive doves, bathed in
four perfumes, flew over us
in silence. From their wings, droplets
of scent were sprinkled
over the naked women,
I was soaked in the essence of Irises.
Oh weariness! I was resting my cheek on the
belly of a young girl who enveloped herself
in the coolness of my humid hair. The scent
of her saffron-coloured skin intoxicated my open
mouth. She closed her thigh on my neck.
I slept, but an exhausting dream woke me:
[?l’iynx’] bird of nocturnal desires, was singing
madly from afar. I coughed with a shudder.
A languid arm, like a flower, rises
bit by bit towards the moon, in the air.
115 – THE HOSTELRY
Hostel-keeper, there are four of us. Give us
a bedroom with two beds. It is too late
now to go home to the town and the
rain has ruined the road.
Bring a basket of figs, some cheese
and some black wine; but first remove my sandals
and wash my feet, because the dirt tickles my feet.
You will carry into my bedroom two basins
of water, a full lamp, a krater
and some calices [?kylix’?]. You will shake out the covers
and beat the cushions.
See that the beds are of good maple and
that the planks are mute! Tomorrow
you will not wake us.
116 – DOMESTICITY
Four slaves keep my house: two
robust Thracians at my door, a Sicilian in
my kitchen and a docile and mute Phrygian
for the service of my bed.
The two Thracians are beautiful men.
They have sticks in their hands to chase away the
poor lovers and a hammer to nail
to the wall the crowns they send me.
The Sicilian is a rare cook; I paid
him a dozen minas. No-one else knows
how he prepares fried croquettes and
cakes and corn-poppies.
The Phrygian bathes me, does my coiffure and
plucks my hair. She sleeps in the morning in my bedroom
And for three nights, each month, she
takes my place beside my lovers.
117 – THE TRIUMPH OF BILITIS
The procession carried me in
triumph, me, Bilitis, completely naked on a
shell-shaped chariot [‘char en coquille’] where slaves, during
the night had stripped the petals [‘effeuilles’] from ten thousand roses.
I was lying down, my hands under my neck,
my feet alone were clothed in gold, and my
body softly stretched, on the bed some of
my warm hair tangles in fresh petals.
A dozen children, with their winged shoulders,
served me as a goddess; some holding
a parasol, the others soaking me with
perfumes, or burning incense at the prow [?proue’?]
And around me I heard noised the intense murmur
of the throng, while the breath of
desire floated over my nudity, in the
blue mist of the aromatics.
118 – TO HER BREASTS
Flowers in flesh, oh my breasts! How
rich and voluptuous you are! My breasts in my
hands, how soft you are with such
a mellow warmth and such young perfumes!
Of old, you were ice-cold like the chest
off a statue and hard as insensible
marble. Since you have given way I
cherish you no more, you who were loved.
Your shape, smooth and swollen is the honour of
my brown torso. Well and good that I imprison you
under a net of gold, well and good that I
deliver you completely naked, you precede me
with your splendour.
So be happy this night. If my fingers
Bring forth caresses, you alone will know
Until tomorrow morning; because this night,
Bilitis has paid Bilitis.
119 – FREEDOM (not translated)
120 – MYDZOURIS
Mydzouris, you dirty little thing, don’t cry.
you are my friend. If these women insult you
any more, It is me who will answer them. Come
into my arms, and dry your eyes.
Yes, I know that you are a horrible child
and that your mother taught you early to
prove your courage. But you are young
and that is why you cannot do anything which
is not charming.
The mouth of a girl of fifteen years stays
pure in spite of everything. The lips of a grey-haired
woman, even a virgin, are degraded; because
the only opprobrium is to grow old and we
are withered with wrinkles.
Mydzouris, I love your frank eyes, your
lewd and impudent name, your laughing voice and
your light body. Come to my house, you will
be my helper, and when we go out together,
the women will say, “Hello.”
121 – THE BATH
Child, guard the door well and don’t let in
the passers-by, because me and six girls
with beautiful arms are bathing secretly
in the warm water of the pond.
We only want to laugh and swim. Leave
the lovers in the street. We shall soak
our legs in the water and, sitting on the
marble rim, we shall play knucklebones.
We shall play with the ball. Don’t let
the lovers in; our hair is
too moist; our throats have goose-pimples [la chair de poule]
and the tips of our fingers are wrinkled.
Besides, they shall repent, the ones
who would surprise us naked! Bilitis isn’t
Athena, but she only shows herself during her own
hours and chastises too-ardent eyes.
122 – TO THE GOD OF THE WOODS
O Venerable Priapos, god of the woods which I
made to put my official seal in the marble of the rim of my
baths, it is not without reason, guardian of
orchards, that you watch over the courtesans here.
God, we have not bought you by
sacrificing our virginities to you. No-one can give you
what they no longer have, and the zealots [zelatrices] of Pallas
do not run the streets of Amathonte.
No. You would otherwise watch over the canopies [chevelures = ‘hairstyles’]
of the trees, over the well-watered flowers,
over the heavy and flavoursome fruit. That is
why we have chosen you.
Today, watch over our blonde heads, the
open poppies of our lips and the violets
of our eyes. Watch over the hard fruits of our
breasts and give us lovers who resemble yourself.
123 – THE RATTLESNAKE DANCER
[LA DANSEUSE AU CROTALES]
You attach to your light hands your resounding
rattlesnakes, Myrrhinidion my darling, and to
pained nakedness out of your dress, you stretch your
nervous limbs. How pretty you are, with your arms in the air,
your arched loins and your red breasts!
You begin: your feet posed one in front of
the other, hesitate, and slide softly.
Your body bends like a sash [un echarpe], you
caress your shivering skin, and voluptuousness
inundates your long, swooning eyes.
Suddenly, you clap your rattlesnakes! Draw yourself up
on your tip-toes [pieds dresses], shake your loins,
throw your legs about and let your hands full of
mischief [fracas] call all the desires in a troop
around your spinning body!
We applauded with great shouts; well and good as,
Smiling over your shoulder, you stir up a
Shuddering of your convulsive and muscular buttocks;
Well and good that you undulate nearly outstretched, to
The rhythm of your memories.
124 – THE FLUTE PLAYER
Melixo, with your clenched legs, your inclined body,
your arms in front, you slide your double
flute lightly between your lips, moistened with wine,
and you play over the couch where Teleas
embraces me still.
Aren’t I imprudent? I who hire
an equally young girl to distract my
laborious hours… I who show her thus
naked to the curious looks of my lovers, am
I not inconsiderate?
No, Melixo, little musician, you are an
honest friend. Yesterday you did not refuse
to exchange your flute for another when I
was despairing of accomplishing an amour full of
difficulties. But you are sure.
Because I know very well what you are thinking. You
are waiting for the end of this excessive night which
excites you cruelly in vain, and for the first light of
morning, when you will run down the street with your only
friend, Psyllos, towards your own battered little mattress.
125 — THE WARM GIRDLE
“You think that you don’t love me any more, Teleas, and
for a month you have spent your nights at the table,
as if the fruits, wines and honeys
could make you forget my mouth. You
think that you don’t love me any more, poor fool!”
Saying that, I undid my girdle and
rolled its moistness around his head.
It was quite warm still from the heat
of my belly; the perfume of my skin came out
of it’s fine threads.
He breathed deeply, with closed eyes,
then I felt that he would come back to me and I
even saw very clearly his desires reawaken
such that he could not hide them at all; but as a ruse,
I still resisted.
No, my friend. This evening, Lysippus owns me.
Farewell!” And I joined those who were escaping [‘j’ajoutai en m’enfuyant’]:
“Oh gourmand
Of fruits and vegetables! The little garden of
Bilitis has only one fig, but it is good.”
126 – A HAPPY HUSBAND
I envy you, Agorakrites, having a wife
as zealous as yourself. She looks after the
stable herself, and in the morning, instead of making
love, she gives the beasts something to drink.
You rejoice. What of the others, you say, who
dream only of voluptuous bottoms, sitting up all
night and sleeping during the day, and demanding
in adultery a criminal satiety.
Yes; your wife works in the stable. They even
say that she has a thousand tendernesses for the
youngest of your donkeys. Ah! Ha! It is a beautiful
animal! It has a black tuft over its eyes.
They say that she plays between its hooves, under
its sweet grey belly… But those who
say that are slanderers. If your donkey
pleases her, Agorakrites, it is undoubtedly
because its looks remind her of yours.
127 – TO A WANDERER
The love of women is the most beautiful of
all those that mortals have tried, and you
should think thus, Kleon, if you had a truly
voluptuous soul; but you dream only of vanities.
You waste your nights cherishing the boys [?ephebes?]
who misjudge us. Look at them!
How ugly they are! Compare their round heads
with our immense hairstyles; search for
our white breasts on their chests.
Beside their narrow flanks, consider
our luxuriant hips, large beds hollowed
out for love. Finally, say which human lips,
apart from those which they would like to have,
elaborate the voluptuous.
You are ill, oh Kleon, but a woman
can cure you. Go to the house of young Satyra,
the daughter of my neighbour Gorgo. Her crupper [sa croupe]
is a rose in the sun, and she would not refuse you
the pleasure that she herself favours.
128 – THERAPY
Oh, Asklepios, be propitious for me, Oh god of
divine health, the day of eternal black night
menaces my withered eyes; because the
poison of my beauty, one day served as a
remedy. [lit: ‘… a servi de remede’?]
They sent word [mandee en costume] with me in costume into the bedroom
of a young man the women would have nothing to do with.
Bursting underwear [‘des calecons creves’] clung to my
thighs, and my breasts were flashing [jaillissaient] naked
from a brassiere of gold.
I danced according to the rite of the sound of the rattlesnakes, [crotales]
the twelve desires of Aphrodite. And here it was that
love entered into him suddenly, and on his
virginal bed I started the whole dance once more.
“You know how to make love yourself”, he said, “yet you
are not moved. What must I do to
make you love me?” I looked at him from
further away than his eyes and I told him, slowly:
“Imagine you are a woman.”
129 – THE COMMAND
“Old woman, listen to me. I’m giving a banquet in
three days. I need some entertainment.
You will rent me all your girls. How many
do you have and what can they do?”
“I have seven. Three dance the Kordax
with the harp and the phallus. Nephele of the
smooth armpits will mimic the love of
doves between her rose-coloured breasts.
A singer in an embroidered peplos (?) will sing
songs from Rhodes, accompanied by
two fluteplayers[?’auletrides?] who will have garlands
of myrtle rolled at their brown legs.”
“That’s good. Have them freshly plucked,
washed and perfumed from head to
toe. Give them other games if they ask.
Go and give the orders. Farewell.”
130 – THE FACE OF PASIPHAE
In a debauch which two young people and some
courtesans were having at my house, where love
flowed like wine, Damalis, to celebrate
her name, danced ‘The Face of Pasiphae’
She had had made in Kition two masks
of a cow and a bull, for she and
Kharmantides. She wore terrible horns,
and a real tail in her leather pants [calecon de cuir]
The other women guided by me, holding
flowers and torches, we turned on
ourselves with shouts, and we caressed
Damalis with the tips of our dangling hair.
Their bellowing and our songs and the wild
dances lasted longer than the night. The
empty bedroom is still warm. I look at
my reddened hands and the [?’canthares’?] of Khios
where swam some roses. [‘… et les canthares de Khios ou nagent des roses.”?]
Tagged: astarte, Bilitis, bilitis in cyprus, cyprus, epigrams in the isle of cyprus, Isle of Cyprus, Songs of Bilitis Image may be NSFW.
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