i called someone at work whos name was Sappho-she probably didn't know who Sappho was-not some 'who am i what does it all mean' questioning- but SAPPHO. I can feel my heart lift at the thought, which shows how strange the things that excite me are, but it does make me dizzy with the thought of old poetry and all that comes with it. So gorgeously enriched-and I have to say enriched though it's long and sweet unbareable-enriched with history; with delving for some universty lecture written at high school standard, connotations that find me related, realised. It is in her writing, not that lesbian undertones, or the historical spectacle that captivates; that which surrounds each subtle phrase and circumstance, but the honest, timeless, way anyone is able to see themself in a poem. Even a poem written by a greek lesbian, thousands of years ago.