Sappho, "Standing by my bed" (tr. Mary Barnard)

"Standing by my bed // In gold sandals / Dawn that very / moment awoke me." This fragment gives a hint of eros. Or maybe not. Maybe there was a lover, a night, and now someone illumined by the morning light. They stand tall, as if they were a god. You can't help but awaken.

Standing by my bed
Sappho (tr. Mary Barnard)

Standing by my bed

In gold sandals
Dawn that very
moment awoke me

Painted this way, we stand in the affirmative. The affirmative illustrated, say, by the assumed optimism of the Ancient Greeks. Nietzsche sketches and questions it simultaneously in one of his prefatory notes to The Birth of Tragedy. His words: "Greeks and the music of tragedy? Greeks and the art form of pessimism? The best turned out, most beautiful, most envied type of humanity to date, those most apt to seduce us to life, the Greeks – how now?"

The few fragments of Sappho we encountered do not have a hint of tragedy. They invite us to proclaim to everyone that we can make our friends happy. Or to reduce haters to silliness. They rely on conjuring sweetness and light; as Nietzsche says, they "seduce us to life." What if, for this fragment, we step away from the affirmative? Indulge the negative space of an otherwise empty room?

There is no beloved in the room from the night before. Only the sun's light, which has warmed it just enough to wake a lonely soul. A golden shine rests on a spot on the floor. How is Dawn here with their sandals? If you picture a lover, standing tall beside the bed, does that do justice to the gentle light gradually filling the room? I don't feel it does. What is in focus, I submit, is a redirection of eros. The room is empty and filled with possibilities. This is godly but lonely; no other person is present, otherwise Dawn could not be there.

We journey from the cloying to the bittersweet. What possibilities exist for those who wake up alone? As it turns out, centuries worth. Emily Dickinson's famous last stanza of "I dwell in Possibility" fits perfectly with Sappho's lyric:

Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –

I should say that I am certain if Emily Dickinson were alive today, she would be an extremely horny Tumblr power user. So she would be partial to poetizing an actual person standing by Sappho's bed, dripping with hotness and hallowed by sunlight. But her declaration about "Visitors" and an "Occupation" reinforce another set of ideas. "Visitors" are merely the fairest. They merit no other words, as if they simply are not there. What Dickinson does in her dwelling is make a gesture. I envision her making some weird, circular, meditative one, like she were in front of candles and praying. She is so goth she has rediscovered medieval mysticism. My interpretation is not entirely worthless: whatever the ritual, it gathers Paradise. Why would possibility be any less than prayer?

However, the simplicity of arms spread wide also suggests an embrace. It is corny, as no one is there but the reader. Eros is looking for signs of who could be there. A lover is fantastic in more than one sense: they can obscure one's vision. To appreciate the morning light, you must wake up to the day.