Various Translations of Sappho's phainetai moi

φαίνεταί μοι κῆνος ἴσος θέοισιν
ἔμμεν' ὤνηρ, ὄττις ἐνάντιός τοι
ἰσδάνει καὶ πλάσιον ἆδυ φονεί-
σας ὐπακούει

καὶ γελαίσας ἰμέροεν, τό μ' ἦ μὰν
καρδίαν ἐν στήθεσιν ἐπτόαισεν·
ὠς γὰρ ἔς σ' ἴδω βρόχε', ὤς με φώναί-
σ' οὐδ' ἒν ἔτ' εἴκει,

ἀλλά κὰμ μὲν γλῶσσα <μ'> †ἔαγε†, λέπτον
δ' αὔτικα χρῷ πῦρ ὐπαδεδρόμηκεν,
ὀππάτεσσι δ' οὐδ' ἒν ὄρημμ', ἐπιρρόμ-
βεισι δ' ἄκουαι,

κὰδ' δέ ἴδρως κακχέεται, τρόμος δὲ
παῖσαν ἄγρει, χλωροτέρα δὲ ποίας
ἔμμι, τεθνάκην δ' ὀλίγω 'πιδεύης
φαίνομ' ἔμ' αὔτᾳ.

ἀλλὰ τὰν τόλματον, ἐπεὶ †καὶ πένητα†[

He seems to me equal to the gods that man
whoever he is who opposite you
sits and listens close
     to your sweet speaking

and lovely laughing — oh it
puts the heart in my chest on wings
for when I look at you, even a moment, no speaking
     is left in me

no: tongue breaks and thin
fire is racing under skin
and in eyes no sight and drumming
     fills ears

and cold sweat holds me and shaking
grips me all, greener than grass
I am and dead — or almost
     I seem to me.

But all is to be dared, because even a person of poverty . . .

Anne Carson

That man is peer of the gods, who
face to face sits listening
to your sweet speech and lovely
     laughter.

It is this that rouses a tumult
in my breast. At mere sight of you
my voice falters, my tongue
     is broken.

Straightway, a delicate fire runs in
my limbs; my eyes
are blinded and my ears
     thunder.

Sweat pours out: a trembling hunts
me down. I grow
paler than grass and lack little
     of dying.

William Carlos Williams

Like the very gods in my sight is he who
sits where he can look in your eyes, who listens
close to you, to hear the soft voice, its sweetness
     murmur in love and

laughter, all for him. But it breaks my spirit;
underneath my breast all the heart is shaken.
Let me only glance where you are, the voice dies,
     I can say nothing,

but my lips are stricken to silence, under-
neath my skin the tenuous flame suffuses;
nothing shows in front of my eyes, my ears are
     muted in thunder.

And the sweat breaks running upon me, fever
shakes my body, paler I turn than grass is;
I can feel that I have been changed, I feel that
     death has come near me.

Richmond Lattimore

He’ll hie me, par is he? the God divide her,
he’ll hie, see fastest, superior deity,
quiz — sitting adverse identity — mate, in-
     spect it and audit —
you’ll care ridden then, misery hold omens,
air rip the senses from me; now you smile to
me — Lesbia’s aspect — no life is to spare me
     [voice hoarse in a throat]
linked tongue set torpid, tenuous support a-
flame a day mown down, sound tone sopped up in its
tinkling, in ears hearing, twin eyes tug under
     luminous — a night.

Translated by Louis & Celia Zukovsky (1961)
(The bizarre style stems from the translators’ attempt to echo the sound of Catullus’s Latin.
The first line, for example, reads: “Ille mi par esse deo videtur.”)