Greek Lyric of the Archaic and Classical Periods From the Past to the Future of the Lyric Subject 9004424369, 9789004424364

Table of contents :
Contents
Greek Lyric of the Archaic and Classical Periods: From the Past to the Future of the Lyric Subject • David Fearn
Abstract
Keywords
1 Introduction
2 A Preliminary Case Study: Four Readings of Sappho
3 Sappho: Wider Ramifications
4 Alcaeus, Ibycus, and Anacreon: Sympotic Poetics, Politics, and Erotics
5 Stesichorus: Myth, Narrative, Ornamentation, Interpretability
6 Simonides: Tombs and Pictures
7 Bacchylides: Narrativity and Imagistic Depth
8 Pindar
9 Timotheus, the New Music, and Beyond: Sound Affects
References

Citation preview

Greek Lyric of the Archaic and Classical Periods

Classical Poetry Editor-in-Chief Scott McGill (Rice University) Associate Editors Jackie Murray (University of Kentucky) Sophia Papaioannou (University of Athens) Jonathan L. Ready (Indiana University) Catherine Ware (University College Cork)

volume 1.1

Volumes published in this Brill Research Perspective title are listed at brill.com/rpcp

Greek Lyric of the Archaic and Classical Periods From the Past to the Future of the Lyric Subject By

David Fearn

LEIDEN | BOSTON

This paperback book edition is simultaneously published as issue 1.1 (2020) of Classical Poetry, DOI:10.1163/25892649-12340001. The Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available online at http://catalog.loc.gov LC record available at http://lccn.loc.gov/2019955635

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. ISBN 978-90-04-42436-4 (paperback) ISBN 978-90-04-42437-1 (e-book) Copyright 2020 by David Fearn. Published by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi, Brill Sense, Hotei Publishing, mentis Verlag, Verlag Ferdinand Schöningh and Wilhelm Fink Verlag. Koninklijke Brill NV reserves the right to protect the publication against unauthorized use and to authorize dissemination by means of offprints, legitimate photocopies, microform editions, reprints, translations, and secondary information sources, such as abstracting and indexing services including databases. Requests for commercial re-use, use parts of the publication, and/or translations must be addressed to Koninklijke Brill NV. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Greek Lyric of the Archaic and Classical Periods: From the Past to the Future of the Lyric Subject 1 David Fearn Abstract 1 Keywords 1 1 Introduction 2 2 A Preliminary Case Study: Four Readings of Sappho 4 3 Sappho: Wider Ramifications 12 4 Alcaeus, Ibycus, and Anacreon: Sympotic Poetics, Politics, and Erotics 25 4.1 Alcaeus 25 4.2 Ibycus 28 4.3 Anacreon 35 5 Stesichorus: Myth, Narrative, Ornamentation, Interpretability 39 6 Simonides: Tombs and Pictures 54 7 Bacchylides: Narrativity and Imagistic Depth 62 8 Pindar 67 8.1 Pindar In and Out of Context: Contemporary Methodologies 67 8.2 Voices and Attitudes, Lyric Mystifications, or ‘Enchanted ethicality’ / ‘ghost channel:’ ‘Operationalizing’ Pindar 76 9 Timotheus, the New Music, and Beyond: Sound Affects 84 References 89

Classical Poetry 1 (2020) 1–113 brill.com/brp

Greek Lyric of the Archaic and Classical Periods From the Past to the Future of the Lyric Subject David Fearn

University of Warwick [email protected]

Abstract What is distinctive about Greek lyric poetry? How should we conceptualize it in relation to broader categories such as literature / song / music / rhetoric / history? What critical tools might we use to analyze it? How do we, should we, can we relate to its intensities of expression, its modes of address, its uses of myth and imagery, its attitudes to materiality, its sense of its own time, and its contextualizations? These are the questions that this discussion seeks to investigate, exploring and analysing a range of influential methodologies that have shaped the recent history of the field.

Keywords Greek lyric – poetry – Sappho – Pindar – historicism – affect – form – subjectivity – Greek literature – literary criticism – critical theory

© David Fearn, 2020 | doi:10.1163/25892649-12340001

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1 Introduction μνάσεσθαί τινα φα⟨ῖ⟩μι καὶ ἕτερον ἀμμέων someone will remember us I say even in another time

Sappho fr. 147; translation: Carson 2003

Greek lyric poetry created and continues to create an enthralling encounter.1 But what is it, and what do such encounters amount to? How to conceptualize it, through its abilities, claims, and roles, continues equally to challenge and puzzle. This discussion seeks to explore these puzzles and to analyze and characterize how we might critically engage with and theorize lyric’s distinctiveness in and out of contexts – as literary form, as a body of texts, as performance, as a set of voices, as emotional content – in ways that invite us to reflect on our own attitudes and, thus, the status of our classical disciplinarity. Study of Greek lyric poetry in recent years has been marked by a diverse range of responses to methodological development and a variety of speeds of absorption. There is some tension – creative tension – between traditional philology and a wide (and ever-increasing) range of methodological outlooks, which include comparativist dimensions. Scholarship has also – at least in the case of Sappho – reported and absorbed some important new discoveries. Specifically, scholars in some quarters are beginning now to develop a nuanced attitude to questions of contextualization and performance, and a more nuanced and theoretically informed attitude to questions of voice, which has significant implications for reception. At stake, in some ways, is the very applicability of ‘lyric’ as a term. This broad discussion will assess this dynamic range of interpretations. It begins with a deep-dive into a chronologically arranged survey of views on a fragment of Sappho and then moves on to consider poets in sequence, concluding with Pindar and Timotheus. Although the poets are presented and analyzed separately, the extent of methodological and theoretical reflection is a thread that connects all the sections together. Discussion circles back to the opening discussion of Sappho as the most obvious creative space for theorizing and reflecting upon the relation between Greek lyric pasts and futures. 1  Many thanks indeed to the editors and the reader for their numerous thoughtful suggestions and improvements; thanks also to Victoria Rimell and Alex Purves for their valuable comments and encouragements.

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I move from issues of orientation and definition to much wider questions about the nature of criticism on this immensely rich, diverse material.2 An opening may be provided by Martin West’s basic definition, offered to orient readers of the Oxford World’s Classics translation of Greek Lyric (including archaic and classical elegiac and iambic poets but not Pindar, Bacchylides, or Timotheus): ‘Greek lyric poetry’ is a conventional catch-all term covering more or less all the Greek poetry of the centuries down to 350 BC apart from epic, didactic, and other verse composed in hexameters, and drama.3 West goes on to limit his material to lyric poetry up to around 450 BC. This is a rather arbitrary periodization not necessitated or informed by any of the material. In fact, it becomes evident that prejudice shapes West’s approach: I have taken 450 BC as the notional limiting date because the poetry of the succeeding period is somewhat different in character, more selfconscious, less spontaneous in feeling and expression; there are no very major figures among its poets.4 For those working today on Greek lyric, these statements will probably seem both to neglect a number of pertinent interpretative issues and to be deliberately provocative. The question of the subjectivity, spontaneity, and emotional intensity of earlier Greek lyric poetry has been very much at issue in a range of important contributions in recent years. In addition, the significance and complexity of the so-called New Music of the later fifth century, at which West surreptitiously takes aim here, has been the subject of a range of important contributions, especially but not exclusively focused on Timotheus. 2  Discussion is necessarily selective, in coverage and in focus. I have not included detailed discussion of Alcman, though see n. 51. I have not discussed early Greek elegy and iambus (see most recently the edited collection of Carey and Swift 2016 and the new edition of Archilochus by Swift 2019), but I have included a final section looking briefly at Timotheus and the New Music (though with more of a focus on methodological matters arising than a full treatment). I do not cover textual criticism, prosody and metrics (see Battezzato 2009), or papyrological discussions except where they have a broader bearing on questions and methods of literary interpretation, my principal focus throughout. For collected surveys of scholarship see Gerber 1989 and 1990, and 1993 and 1994; Neumann-Hartmann 2010. For companion volumes, see esp. Budelmann 2009b; Swift forthcoming. 3  West 1994, vii. 4  West 1994, ix.

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West takes for granted complex issues of scholarly attitude and the nature of aesthetic response. A very different view is provided by a recent comparativist articulation, which seeks to orient readers toward features that Greek lyric poetry is deemed to share with a range of other classical and non-classical lyric texts: This project originated in my fascination with lyrics’ strange way of addressing time, winds, urns, trees, or the dead and asking them to do something or to stop doing what they are doing. From the Greeks to the moderns, poets call on a universe they hope will prove responsive, and their demands often prove seductive. What is at issue here? What do such strange ways of speaking tell us about the investments and ambitions of lyric poetry and how we should approach it? So the comparativist literary theorist Jonathan Culler in the opening sentence of the preface to his 2015 book Theory of the Lyric.5 Culler uses practical criticism to strive to tease out stylistic features that encapsulate lyric’s distinctive ways of thinking about time, subjectivity, and lyric’s sense of itself as a special kind of event. This is not the usual way that classicists have approached Greek lyric poetry in the last few decades, especially since they have tended to shy away from undertaking comparativist explorations. Nevertheless, the present discussion will explore this suggestive opportunity as part of its broader aim: to shed light on the diversity of approaches that have been used and on the challenges, benefits, and consequences of thinking as widely as possible with these spellbinding texts and fragments. 2

A Preliminary Case Study: Four Readings of Sappho

We may begin to see this diversity, and the stakes involved, through a preliminary view of how four significant scholars of Greek lyric across the decades have thought about Sappho, perhaps the most arresting of the poets under discussion here.6 I present a text and translation of Sappho fragment 94, followed by four critical responses in chronological order, from the early 1960s to 2018. 5  Culler 2015, vii. 6  For the question of Sappho’s date, and assumed contemporaneity with Alcaeus, see most recently the brief discussion of Budelmann 2018b, 113.

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Greek Lyric of the Archaic and Classical Periods

τεθνάκην δ’ ἀδόλως θέλω· ἄ με ψισδομένα κατελίμπανεν πόλλα καὶ τόδ’ ἔειπέ�[̣ μοι “ὤιμ’ ὠς δεῖνα πεπ[όνθ]αμεν, Ψάπφ’, ἦ μάν σ’ ἀέκοισ’ ἀπυλιμπάνω.”

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τὰν δ’ ἔγω τάδ’ ἀμειβόμαν· “χαίροισ’ ἔρχεο κἄμεθεν μέμναισ’, οἶσθα γὰρ ὤς σε πεδήπομεν· αἰ δὲ μή, ἀλλά σ’ ἔγω θέλω ὄμναισαι [   ̣   ̣   ̣ ]̣ [̣  ̣  ̣ ]̣  ̣ α̣ ι 10  ̣ [̣  ]καὶ κάλ’ ἐπάσχομεν· πό�̣[λλοις γὰρ στεφάν]οις ἴων καὶ βρ[όδων κρο]κ̣ ίων τ’ ὔμοι κα  ̣ [̣  ] πὰρ ἔμοι περεθήκαο, καὶ πό�̣[λλαις ὐπα]θύμιδας πλέκ[ταις ἀμφ’ ἀ]πάλαι δέραι ἀνθέων ἔ�[̣ βαλες] πεποημέναις καὶ πο̣λ̣λ̣ω̣ι ̣[ ] ̣ μύρωι βρενθείωι. [ ]ρ̣υ[  ̣ ]̣ ν ἐξαλείψαο κα̣[ὶ βασ]ι ̣ληίωι,

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καὶ στρώμν[αν ἐ]πὶ μολθάκαν ἀπάλαν πα  ̣ [ ]  ̣  ̣ ω̣ ν ἐξίης πόθο̣[ν] ν̣ ίδων, κωὔτε τις[οὔ]τ̣ε̣ τι ἶρον οὐδυ[ ] 25 ἔπλετ’ ὄππ̣ [οθεν ἄμ]μες ἀπέσκομεν οὐκ ἄλσος  ̣ [χ]ό�ρ̣ ος ]ψοφος ]  ̣  ̣ ο̣ ιδιαι

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I simply want to be dead. Weeping she left me with many tears and said this: Oh how badly things have turned out for us. Sappho, I swear, against my will I leave you. And I answered her: Rejoice, go and remember me. For you know how we cherished you. But if not, I want to remind you ]and beautiful times we had. For many crowns of violets and roses ]at my side you put on and many woven garlands made of flowers around your soft throat. And with sweet oil costly you anointed yourself and on a soft bed delicate you would let loose your longing and neither any[  ]nor any holy place nor was there from which you were absent no grove[  ]no dance ]no sound [7 7  Greek text: Voigt; Translation: Carson 2003.

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First, let us examine the reading of Maurice Bowra from the second revised edition of his Greek Lyric Poetry from 1961: Despite all the gaps and the uncertainties this gives a picture of Sappho’s life with a favourite girl. Such were the delights which they shared – the wearing of flowers as garlands or necklaces, the use of rich scent, visits to shrines and temples, no doubt because ceremonies were held in them. That this life was entirely satisfying and happy seems clear enough. Even in 21–33 the soft beds seem to indicate no more than that the girl was so absorbed by her activities that she put away all longing for other girls who did not share them. If we had the full works of Sappho, they would surely contain many references to this kind of existence. In the grief of separation Sappho sees the past with the clarity of vivid recollection and almost lives it again. The catalogue of happy occasions might in less skilful hands have become trivial, but Sappho skims lightly through them and evokes their happiness. The simplicity of her manner has some of the qualities of the conversation which she claims to record, and it is hard not to believe that some such conversation took place, and that its substance was not entirely different from this record of it.8 Here, second, is the view of Bruno Gentili (following on from a discussion of fragment 96), taken from his well-known book from the 1980s: The structure of the other memory ode (fr. 94 V) is simpler. First there is the evocation of the sorrowful parting of the friend, then that of the “beautiful things enjoyed together,” which introduces one immediately into the active life of the community. The memory fixes lovingly on the wreaths of roses and violets, and garlands of flowers, the hair soft with unguents, and the actual physical joys of love (v. 21ff. “on the soft couches you satisfied the strong pangs of desire …”). Here, too, are the usual flowers of Aphrodite and finally, though the last two strophes, are, unfortunately, only partly understandable, sacred rites and sacred spots – the holy grove, to be exact (v. 27) … In their repetition of identical motifs these structures seem to correspond to ritual formulae operating within a system in which the sources of the poet’s inspiration – the crises and separations of love, the floral landscapes, the visions of divinity – are privileged religious experiences bringing closer communion with the god. In this context the role played by the standard theme of memory is a determining one. Memory is not 8  Bowra 1961, 191–192.

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simply, as in Homer, a means of evoking emotions and sensations: it reactualizes shared experiences in paradigmatic fashion and offers the assurance that the life lived together exists as an absolute reality beyond time and space.9 Third, the reading of Page DuBois from 1995: This is a poem peculiarly concerned with relations of persons, not just the recollection of persons now absent, as are many of Sappho’s poems, but especially here with questions of grammatical persons, and with the changing lines and boundaries between “I” and others. It seems to me that this poem begins with the “I,” moving to an “I-you” dialogue, employs a shifting form of “we” that accommodates first Sappho and her lover, then Sappho and other women. This “we” then partakes of pleasures, becomes embodied, allows room for explication of the pleasures of the “you,” and is returned to and finally defined as a “we” through negation, in absentia, through the irrecoverability of past shared experience. The question of reading thus becomes: who is the “we” of this poem? I mean this not in the sense of the old questions concerning Sappho’s actual environment, the debate about her circle of women, her possible status as a schoolmistress, as a mistress of the muses for young girls. I mean this question in a strictly formal sense. What is the intersubjectivity being posited here? Who speaks? To whom? What is the status of layers of persons here, the voices in the poem, the poet behind them, the audience to whom they are addressed?10 Finally, the view of Sappho offered by Mark Payne from 2018 (in the wider context of a discussion of Pindaric ethics and aesthetics): Every great lyric poet has such signature ethical gestures. In the work of Sappho, for example, a basic scenario is the memory of pleasure, with the flower as its essentially evanescent marker. Departing lovers remind each other of the garlands they wore when they lay down together on soft beds (violets, roses, crocuses: fr. 94); the comparison of an absent lover to the moon among stars turns the mind to moonlight on the sea and on 9   Gentili 1988, 83–84, emphasis in original. 10  DuBois 1995, 137. On Sappho as schoolmistress see Parker 1993; for the comparativist reflection on Sappho’s reception in Victorian England as relevant here, see Prins 1999. See most recently DuBois 2015, chapter 2. Canonical earlier discussions include Burnett 1983, 209–228: ‘Circle.’

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fields of flowers, then to dew on the garden plants (roses, chervil, clover: fr. 96). Reflective lingering over the claim that human presence leaves no trace on the natural world is a source of consolation. Cultivating the feeling that one is not at home in the world in the way that flowers and grass are at home in it is a way of coping with the loss of those features of one’s lived experience that make the world feel like home. Local details, carefully observed, block the longing for transcendence: what appears in Sappho’s poetry is not a fictional mise-en-scène, but the real earth on which we find ourselves in pain and which we can never feel the same as, but which we cannot stop wanting to be one with when we grieve.11 When these readings are set out sequentially in this way, it becomes immediately apparent how different they are. This demonstrates primarily the fundamental richness of the poetic resource that is Sapphic lyric and shows the huge range of responses possible. We will investigate in later sections the extent to which such readings emblematize cardinal aspects of the methodological approaches taken to Greek lyric over recent decades, and the stakes involved. First, though, let us set the scene by delving into these readings individually. Bowra’s interpretation – a response conditioned by an attempt to reconstruct an original occasion behind the poem – might appear naively sentimental and biographical; yet it is also heir to a long-standing tradition according to which lyric had been considered ‘utterance overheard,’ going back at least as far as John Stuart Mill.12 It represents something of a last gasp – at least in the mainstream of large-scale monographs – of an aestheticized historicist and biographical response that flourished earlier in the criticism of Greek lyric poetry, from nineteenth-century German scholarship, culminating in books such as Wilamowitz’ Sappho und Simonides and Pindaros from the earlier twentieth century, to Denys Page’s Sappho and Alcaeus.13 Yet it is important to note 11  Payne 2018, 263. 12  Cf. discussion in Jackson and Prins 2014a, 3–4; Culler 2015, ch. 5, esp. 186–188. 13  Wilamowitz 1913: itself in its day a heady mix of sensitivity to ‘the heights of feeling’ and attention to technical matters of Lesbian dialect, for which cf. Shorey 1913; Wilamowitz 1922; Page 1955. The natural successor to this brand of scholarship – perhaps with more of an emphasis on technical and textual-critical matters, though not without biographical and aestheticizing interests – is Martin West, across a range of articles including West 1970 and West 2011. For more detail on the history of scholarship on Greek lyric in the early years of the twentieth century cf. Young 1970, further discussion of which in Heath 1986 (specifically on Pindar but with broader consequences); for Sappho, see Greene 1996a, noting the shift from biographical to feminist approaches; the volume as a whole (Green 1996b) itself offers a mixture of feminist and communitarian / anthropological reconstructions / readings. For a brilliant critique of Wilamowitz’ interest in Pindaric prosopography as much as if not more than poetics, see Segal 1998a, xii.

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Bowra’s feel for pleasure as projected by Sappho’s poetry: how alluring it seems, on its own terms. However impressionistic this reading is, Bowra emphasizes the extent to which lyric is about experience, aesthetics, and enjoyment, issues which are often occluded in more recent scholarship focused on issues relating to historical context, socio-political and religious structures, and performance. This has re-emerged recently as an issue to take seriously for a basic attunement to how readers are affected by Greek lyric form and content.14 Gentili’s reading is very different – so different, in fact, that one might be forgiven for thinking that it is an interpretation of a different poem or poet entirely. The emphasis here is on an anthropologically structuralist, ritualist, and communitarian reading of Sapphic poetics. A sense emerges that a distinctively ‘privileged’ space for religious experience is on offer through Sapphic memorialization: lyric, for Gentili, offers an exemplary projection of communitarian religious experience. While Bowra is responsive to the absences and gaps in our knowledge about the circumstances behind the poem, Gentili writes with certainty about broader anthropological structures that, for him, govern interpretation – structures of reality that appear to exist ‘beyond time and space.’15 Gentili – correctly, I think – takes especially seriously the way 14  See discussion in Budelmann and Phillips 2018a, 1–2; Johnston 2019, 357: ‘By reading poems functionally, as primarily intended to perform socio-political roles, scholars have neglected aspects that were once considered central to lyric (and which still are, surely, among the main attractions of this poetry for people outside academia): pleasure, subjectivity, experience, imagination’; cf. the important perspective of Burt 2016, 439–440. Contrast somewhat differently the approach to Pindar outlined by Spelman 2018, 9–11, esp. 10–11, reliant upon a relatively narrow – though fairly typical – definition of ‘form’: ‘The long history of modern Pindaric scholarship may be broadly characterized in large part as an ongoing conversation between formalists and contextualists; a study of Pindar’s formal rhetoric within the broad historical context of archaic literary culture might be able to escape this dichotomy and move in new directions. Rather than trying to get at fine-grained context behind Pindar’s rhetoric, I often take the surface-level meaning of that rhetoric as evidence for the contours of a historical literary culture in which his odes participated. I am trying to reconcile and bring into dialogue historical and literary perspectives in one particular way.’ 15  The further consequences of this view include the possibility of rejecting the idea of Sappho as a real poet figure at all in favour of consideration of Sappho as a poetic function, a stock persona through which broader communal / anthropological structures of archaic Greece can be discerned: cf. Lardinois 1994. The persona theory of Greek lyric expression has a long and well-established history, though it has now come under some sustained critique across various publications in the late 2010s associated with Culler 2015: see esp. Budelmann and Phillips 2018a, 15–16; on Pindar in particular, Fearn 2017, 112 with n. 59, citing Lefkowitz 1963, 1991, 1995; Carey 1989; Goldhill 1991, 144–145; Morgan 1993; D’Alessio 1994; Schmid 1998; Kurke 2005; Currie 2013. The discussions of Payne 2006 and 2007 represent early explorations of some of the issues and problems here from a new and distinctive perspective, though they have only begun to be absorbed into the

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Sappho’s poetry projects a special kind of experience as exemplary beyond the particulars of individual times and spaces. It is not quite clear, however, if this reading has the critical resources at its fingertips to best explain and explore the ramifications of this observation. DuBois’ interpretation is different again. Like Gentili’s, it is theoretical and conceptual, but in a very different way. DuBois focuses on Sappho’s attention to pronouns and their use as signifiers for, or as placeholders for, ideas about communication between individuals. Attention to communication allows DuBois then to raise broader questions about how lyric itself communicates to its audiences and readers across time, including to ourselves.16 DuBois appears much more attuned than either Bowra or Gentili to how the specific literary qualities of this text generate questions about meaning and interpretation and, thus, get at the business of what it is to be a lyric reader. This is notably at odds with how Gentili uses a communitarian anthropological model to grant a kind of access to a historical social experience ulterior to the poetry. Payne, finally, takes Dubois’ insight into lyric communication in Sappho a stage further by considering directly the connection between imagery, temporality (how Sappho’s poetry generates a sense of the importance of thinking about the conceptualization of time and one’s place in it), and ethics,17 as a direct response to the specifics of Sapphic poetic creativity. Payne fundamentally rejects the quest for any real, original occasion behind Sappho’s poetry as a false hermeneutic limitation and, indeed, rejects the very idea that Sappho’s poetry is interested in creating fictional worlds.18 In the process, he comes close field relatively recently. The view of Lattmann (2017, 124) that ‘there is no Pindar in Pindar’ represents the latest extreme formulation of a long-standing position for Pindar. Some anthropologically inspired classicists have tended to view with suspicion the idea of an author / poetic identity partly because it appears, it is thought, to apply an anachronistic Romantic poetic model to the ancient material that it cannot bear. However, as Payne and others have shown recently, this both presupposes without argument the appropriateness of the assumptions inherent in the classicists’ paradigm and misunderstands the critical-theoretical importance of Romanticism as a base-line for modern approaches to lyric poetics including classicists’ own. 16  On Sapphic ‘intersubjectivity,’ also Greene 1994; further, Whitmarsh 2018, esp. 143–144. 17  ‘Ethics’ following Alain Badiou in relation to the event in terms of the affective experience of reading lyric: Payne 2018, 268 with Badiou 2001, 48–52 and 2013, 112; cf. Badiou 2013, 154: ‘Being faithful to the event, which is the means by which we become a subject of truth, isn’t always easy. Sooner or later, there will be political obstacles, domestic scenes or an indifference to the other, artistic discouragement, or scientific impasses. Yet, the affects of enthusiasm, happiness, pleasure and joy will enable me to overcome these difficulties – on condition that I continue to pursue the course of fidelity and incorporation. This is what ethics is.’ (Emphasis in original.) 18  This is not to deny that Greek lyric involves itself frequently in fictionalization (see e.g. Budelmann 2018b, 16) but to assert fiction as a starting point is, as Payne reveals, to avoid

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to rejecting historicist interpretation – although in fact he creatively avoids this.19 Instead, Payne reminds us how lyric poetry’s imagistic expressions of time, space, and loss are fundamentally ours too, as we perform or read, and as we find in Sapphic lyric, with its complex memorializations and evocations of nature, consolation against the sense of loss that it often thematizes (as here in the opening lines of fragment 94). In this sense Payne’s interpretation is similar to Gentili’s interest in how lyric, in his view, ‘reactualizes shared experience in paradigmatic fashion.’ Yet the emphasis is very different, and Payne is able to explore, in a way that Gentili’s reading could only gesture toward, how such ‘reactualization’ occurs, by adopting what is at bottom a heuristic and inductive position, rather than a hermeneutic or diagnostic one. Sappho’s language of loss and separation resonates for us because it engages with our expressions, our emotions, our time, and our space and generates its meanings and significance within, by setting them off against, an ethical landscape. This way of reading Sappho has the distinct virtue of making the poems ours, articulating our continued attachment to Sapphic form and content, in ways that the readings of scholars such as Gentili cannot quite manage because of the prioritization of historicism. The role of an author as a creative presence in lyric texts that helps to shape and promote our own subjectivities as readers, listeners, and performers of these works is again finding its way back into scholarship.20 But the tensions between the kinds of approaches represented in the 2018 Textual Events volume21 – where Payne’s reading of Sappho appears – and the diagnostic anthropological approaches represented by Gentili and others are yet to be fully resolved, and it is not clear that they will be, or even ought to be. 3

Sappho: Wider Ramifications

I turn again to Sappho to explore further some of the basic parameters of scholarship. This will be a necessarily swift synthesis. But central to it will be a focus on how a sense of Sappho’s ubiquity can help us to orient ourselves more tackling the complexities of lyric voicing and subjective affordances that engender the notion in the first place, especially given the extent to which lyric, beyond any other poetic form, exerts the heaviest pressure on the relation between poetic form and content. Compare, relatedly, Culler 2015, 131 on the complexity of the relation between lyric and the performative. 19  Most directly from the outset in his utter rejection of the constraints imposed on poetic interpretation by the ‘anthropological paradigm’: Payne 2018, 257, discussed in detail later in §8.1 on Pindar. Cf. Culler 2015, esp. 109–125 for lyric presence as epideictic (emotionally demonstrative) rather than straightforwardly fictional or representational. 20  In particular Budelmann 2018a, esp. 244–253. 21  Budelmann and Phillips 2018b.

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insistently to Greek lyric’s attunement to temporalities: the ways in which lyric affordances focus minds on presences and absences, distance and immediacy, loss and desire, memorialization, memory, death, and transcendence.22 The question of time is now recognized as a fundamental factor in lyric communication,23 and Sappho is its paradigmatic representative. The most challenging aspect of Sappho’s exemplarity is the systematically tantalizing nature of presence. While this question has been fruitfully explored across a range of critical approaches, the truth is that, however much, as we read, we feel or imagine Sappho as a coherent being / emotional unity / creative spirit, the poetry at every turn reminds us that this is a construct, and that we are doing the constructing as we negotiate the poetry for ourselves and give it voice (or imagine ourselves doing so) in our reading and experience of it. There are factors here of both a more general and more specific nature. One of the most insistently significant details in Greek lyric communication is its language of temporality: the oscillation or tension in lyric between temporal presence and specificity, and absence and generality or repetition. This has been brought out in various ways in the scholarship. Tim Whitmarsh, for instance, focuses on the presence of the mythological figure of Helen in Sappho’s poetry in these terms. Helen is ‘iconic,’ says Whitmarsh, in the sense that Sappho’s poetry is ‘grounded in a particular time, place and configuration of individuals, but [speaks] a wider truth, that can be grasped at the level of the general.’24 This kind of oscillation between general and particular is at issue in the wider use of mythological paradeigmata in Sappho:25 with Helen elsewhere, for instance,26 as well as in the recently unearthed and discussed ‘Tithonus Poem,’ fr. 58b, where exemplificatory mythmaking has a different and complex consolatory power.27

22  ‘Affordances’: an application from affect-theory to articulate a sense in which meaning in texts is ‘coconstituted by texts and readers’: most accessibly discussed at Felski 2015, 164; ultimately, Sedgwick 2003, esp. 13–14. 23  Especially from the comparativist perspective: Culler 2015, esp. chapter 5, ‘Lyric Address’; Michael 2017; on Pindar, see the different approaches taken by Fearn 2017, esp. chapter 3 on Pythian 1 – for whom temporality is an exploration of lyric’s (dis)orientation vis à vis both context and history – and Spelman 2018 – for whom Pindaric temporality is a modality of literary history. 24  Whitmarsh 2018, 145 discussing Helen in Sappho fr. 16. 25  And exemplarity more generally: Goldhill 2017a, building on Goldhill 1992. 26  See Segal 1998b, esp. 77–78; Budelmann 2018b, 127–128, according to whom Helen in fr. 16 corresponds to the speaker in the opening and closing stanzas and, in retrospect, to Anactoria. 27  For readings of which, see articles in Greene and Skinner 2009 and DuBois 2011; commentary and discussion by Budelmann 2018b, 146–152.

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Greek lyric, and Sappho in particular, frequently projects a fundamental ambivalence about the temporality of its own assertions, drawing us in to a very specific place or moment in time while pushing us away in an endless game of trans-temporal deferral. The deliciousness of this kind of temporal game is constitutive of lyric’s thematization of (frequently erotic – especially in Sappho) desire. Sappho affords us pleasure as we consume the free-play of the interrelation between the materialization of form and the imagistic nature of lyric content that is constitutive of our experience and thus of the construction of lyric subjectivity. Nowhere is this more clearly articulated than in lyric’s use of the Greek word δηὖτε, which, virtually untranslatable as it is, means something like ‘now again’ or ‘here again.’ Its significance for the poetics of Greek erotic lyric was brilliantly articulated in 1986 by the classicist and poet – and of course translator of Sappho – Anne Carson: The lover in Greek poetry views with singular candor and a degree of irony his own subjection to time. He sees himself pinned in an impossible double bind, victim of novelty and of recurrence at once. There is one very clear sign, throughout the Greek lyric poets, that these authors were concerned with the perversities of time … The particle dê marks a lively perception in the present moment: ‘Look at that now!’ The adverb aute peers past the present moment to a pattern of repeated actions stretching behind it: ‘Not for the first time!’ Dê places you in time and emphasizes that placement: now. Aute intercepts ‘now’ and binds it into a history of ‘thens.’28 The irony and candour that Carson picks up on here are written across the formal features of the poetics of erotic lyric: both a formal instantiation of a sense of desire in the (a) moment and a formal instantiation of the recognition of its deferral, repeatability, and reapplicability. This one word δηὖτε, frequent in Sappho and other early lyric poets of desire (in particular Anacreon), reveals a temporal self-consciousness: about time as sequence, an idea of an experience as a snippet in time, and ultimately an attunement to the cultural processes of emotional exemplification and 28   Carson 1986, 118–119. Cf. further Mace 1993; Culler 2015, 10–14 discussing Sappho fragment 1, where δηὖτε is repeated a total of three times (lines 15, 16, and 18) in its first appearance in Sappho; more widely, LeVen 2018, 225–232, looking at twenty-two uses across twenty fragments of Alcman, Sappho, Ibycus and Anacreon, most of which relate to Eros: in addition to Sappho fr. 1, Alcman fr. 59, Ibycus fr. 287, Sappho frr. 22, 93, 99 col. 1, 127, 130, Anacreon frr. 349, 356 a and b, 358, 371, 376, 394b, 400, 401, 412, 413, 428.

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subjectivity. Here in Sappho we have a sense that poetry can articulate, and perpetuate, ideas of personal experience to be revivified and culturally internalized and can shape perceptions, emotions, and identities. To some, the experience through Sappho of time as process has come to be exemplary for classical scholarship’s senses of itself. Page DuBois, in her 1995 book, uses Sapphic temporality as a conceit with which to offer a view of the shifting nature of history itself, as occasioned by thoughts on the transmission of Sappho fragment 2 from archaic Lesbos through to us. For DuBois, ‘the transmission of Sappho’s texts reveals the heterogeneous, layered, uneven processes of history.’29 Viewing Sappho as exemplary for historical consciousness – an issue for Greek lyric more generally to which I return in §8.2 with Pindar – takes us a long way indeed from those earlier views on Sappho discussed in the previous section. Indeed, the complexities of Sapphic self-conscious temporality exert significant pressure on the views of scholars for whom Sappho grants access to ritual or performance beyond the fabric of the poetics. As Jonathan Culler observes in his reading of Sappho fragment 1, This poem is not the product of a ritual occasion (though it alludes to such rituals of invocation). The double consciousness, the intricate-mindedness that inserts in the prayer to the goddess the amused chiding by that goddess is a great strength of the poem, and it illustrates that the institution of lyric composition already, in Sappho’s day, allows a highly complex composition … Whether we call it music, suggestiveness, or haunting, the interior distance achieved by lyric is an opening onto a dynamic mental space whose power has often been felt, even if it is rarely formulated.30 Later, Culler states more generally: If we think of the time of enunciation, of the lyric attempt to be itself an event rather than the representation of an event, this changes the perspective on the lyric present, as well as much else. Lyrics have a variety of strategies for framing fictional elements – fictional speakers and represented events – and bringing them into the lyric present, which is a present of enunciation. Ever since Pindar and doubtless before, lyrics have been constructed for reperformance, with an iterable now: not timeless but a moment of time that is repeated every time the poem is read, and 29  DuBois 1995, 27–28. 30  Culler 2015, 14.

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the English simple present only intensifies that underlying possibility of lyric.31 The place within these iterations at which scholars of Greek lyric wish to locate themselves provides an index of their attitudes to lyric as either or both expansively literary or/and bound to the ritualistic reflexes of a community (or indeed ‘song culture’)32 of a more delimited place or set of contexts. Given the still relatively limited amount of Sappho we have to work with, this is in some ways reasonable enough. Increasingly at issue, however, are the limitations of sets of historicist determinations when too heavily applied, especially given the wider theoretical critiques leveled both within literary criticism and in critical theory more broadly – again, a topic to which we will return. Something of an intermediate position is taken by Giambattista D’Alessio. He concludes: In the case of Sappho, the options have been polarized between two extremes (not always represented by different scholars): Sappho the chorus-leader, fully immersed in the ritual life of her community, and/ or the inward-looking author, producing poems meant for written dissemination. We should allow for the possibility that many, if not perhaps most, of Sappho’s poems were intended to be performed outside the ritual performance proper, on which their words provided a very much needed (and obviously valued) commentary and interpretation. It was, it would seem, not their embeddedness within a ritually formalized communicative occasion, but their ability to look at this occasion from the margins, also providing models of response, that guaranteed their diffusion and survival beyond their original context.33 Impressive as this discussion is, it still puts overwhelming pressure on the notion of ‘ritual performance proper’ as a prior category, along with the language of ritual ‘embeddedness.’ Classicists have exerted large amounts of theoretical energy in developing a more nuanced and capacious notion of ritual that exposes to critique the idea that it can be usefully either hived off or writ large as a holistic or totalizing singularity, even as that idea has been visible in some 31  Culler 2015, 294–295. 32  So Herington 1985, the canonical treatment. For broader discussion of the costs and benefits of ‘song’ as a category here, see Budelmann and Phillips 2018a, 2–6. Cf. §8.1 for discussion of ‘literature’ as a category. See now also Uhlig 2019 for a different vision of song culture in a paired study of Pindar and Aeschylus. 33  D’Alessio 2018, 62, emphasis in original.

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recent strands of historicism within Classics.34 As I myself have elsewhere argued in the case of Pindar, part of the point of Sappho seems to be that the communicative complexities of her lyric poetics allow us to explore the very question of the extent to which there ever was an originary experience – ritual or otherwise – that the poetry can be read as accessing and out of which the poetry projects itself to us.35 This is the basis of our enjoyment and continuing fascination with what the experience of ancient Greek lyric amounts to, part of lyric’s constant game of mystification.36 Indeed, as DuBois goes on to point out in her 1995 book: I would characterize my experience of reading Sappho’s fragments as marked by what the Greeks called pothos … often translated as ‘yearning,’ or ‘longing,’ or ‘regret.’ … Sappho’s poems often evoke pothos, a yearning for someone absent, for a lost time, a lost pleasure, and her poems re-create, in a longing mode, that time, that person, those pleasures, but always at a distance, framed by the poet’s voice in the present of the poem, recalling, recollecting. For me, this relationship connects not only with the pleasures of reading her poems, but also with my experience of Sappho as the absent one, the poet we can never know, and of my encounter with all the Greeks, with this period of history now long gone, accessible only through fragmentary texts, as objects of yearning or longing that will never be satisfied … The study of Sappho implicates me not only in reading her poems; it is also exemplary of a certain relationship

34  Indeed, the term ‘singularity’ might be used to invoke a perspective very different from canonical historicist treatments of religion in archaic and classical Greek literature. If, following e.g. Leitao 2004, ‘ritual’ and ‘literature’ are categories not in fact at all easy to disassociate, then ritual might represent a ‘singularity’ in a markedly literary-theoretical sense, according to which it ‘consistently exceeds the limits of rational accounting’ (Attridge 2004, 4); something that, while produced by culture, is not contained by it. Cf. Phillips 2016, 31–32 (on Pindar and with Derrida 1992): ‘Of particular importance here is a recognition of texts’ capacity to project the readers and readings suitable to them in unique ways.’ Singularity on these terms captures neatly an important aspect of lyric’s uniqueness as exemplified in the present discussion by Sappho. 35  Cf. Fearn 2017, 124–125 on Pind. Nem. 8, with Connolly 2004. See further e.g. Beard 2007 discussing methodological approaches to the Roman triumph. For the complexities of anthropological theorization of sacred space, cf. Straughn 2013. 36  This is thus a very different attitude to the relation between form, content, and context than has been generally considered within the majority of work on Greek lyric: compare and contrast Spelman 2018, 9–11 on the relation between historicist and new-critical/ philological trends.

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to the past, of an altogether insatiable historical longing to know other times, other places.37 Such self-consciousness concerning the study of antiquity through the involving nature of the source material has come to be particularly influential in contemporary work theorizing the classical. In tension with this kind of expansiveness, however, recent work on Sappho has also been characterized by a different expansion through the fortuitous and fruitful continuing availability – by whatever means, rather murky as they sometimes are – of papyrus publications offering up new poetic material for scholarly analysis. This is nowhere truer than in the cases of the ‘New Sappho’ and ‘The Newest Sappho.’ These new fragments – as always seems to be the way – provoke more questions than they answer. In the so-called ‘Brothers Poem,’ from ‘The Newest Sappho,’ Sappho appears to some to provide clearer evidence for a long-suspected originary sympotic poetics. If the text is altered slightly, the poem’s addressee becomes the absent hetaira Doricha of Naucratis, on whom Sappho’s brother Charaxos spent a good deal of money (cf. Sappho fr. 202; Athenaeus 13.598b–c), and whom Sappho attacked elsewhere in fragment 15.38 Leaving the text as transmitted, meanwhile, makes Larichos (another of Sappho’s brothers according to the previously transmitted doxography) the addressee, according to Eva Stehle. The poem thus becomes a paradigmatic projection of sibling attitudes and more formal relations.39 Where Ewen Bowie reads through the fictionality of Sappho’s settings into a male sympotic space and thus directly against the grain of much of the history of Sapphic interpretation across recent decades, Stehle opens Sappho’s voices out into wider territory. On Stehle’s reading, whatever the original settings of Sappho’s songs were seems to matter rather less. As Dimitrios Yatromanolakis in particular has shown,40 the early history of the reception and transmission of Sappho – in poetry and visual art alike – is a challenging affair, with a rich diversity of evidence from which no clear picture seems to emerge. In light of the recent evidence it seems best to offer up a Sappho as capacious as possible, as open to new opportunities and vistas as possible. This would seem to me to be preferable over and against those readings that insistently wish to pull Sappho back to the details of pre-determined ulterior performance scenarios or ritual specifications. 37  DuBois 1995, 29–30. 38  Thus Bowie 2016. 39  So Stehle 2016. 40  Yatromanolakis 2007; cf. Hadjimichael 2019, 191.

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Other recent work on Sappho’s fragments stresses their sonorous musicality and their insistent affectivity. The latter is shown clearly in the quotation from Mark Payne briefly analyzed in section 1. The former is best exemplified by the work of Sean Gurd. For Gurd, Sappho fragment 2 – and in particular its evocation of some kind of watered, cultivated space in lines 5–6 with ἐν δ’ ὔδωρ ψῦχρον κελάδει δι’ ὔσδων | μαλίνων (‘and in it cold water makes a clear sound through apple branches’) – opens up a space for thinking about not only the relation between textuality, song, music, and sound but also the relation between nature, culture, and artistry. Accordingly, Sappho’s song is a moment of verbal and musical calm wrested from the noisome wilderness of everyday speech, not unlike the grove of Aphrodite it describes. But … although it is cool and green and set out of the sun, the grove of Aphrodite is not a natural space … The symbol of [the water’s] wild primacy is its sound, which summons the audible much as a garden summons a stream and a love song summons desire. The description of babbling water in the fifth line thus brings the poem’s subject into intimate contact with its status as auditory art.41 Gurd also sees Sappho 31’s shattering communicational complexity as ‘symptomatic of an ongoing process of chaotic inwardness.’ He does so through his sensitivity to the sonority, and indeed resonant repetitions, at the level of the line and in the poem’s auditory effect. Focusing on how ἐπιρρόμ- | βεισι δ’ ἄκουαι, ‘my ears rumble’ (lines 11–12) works in response to φώναισ’, ‘[I have no] voice’ (line 7), which in turn responds to ἆδυ φωνείσας … καὶ γελαίσας ἰμέροεν, ‘you speaking sweetly … and laughing lovely’ (lines 3–5), Gurd asserts: ‘The climactic position of the auditory pathology at the final line of the third stanza draws attention to the fact that this inward humming is an intensification or amplification of the sound of “you” laughing in the first stanza. Sappho is configuring erotic agony as a cataclysmic resonance circuit.’42 This finds a new space for the multi-temporal complexity of Sapphic communication in both the resonant sound and the repeating literary texture of Sapphic lyric that already configures that resonance. The variety of critical responses to Sappho is further revealed in the scholarship on fragment 96. Again, the distance between the positions of Bruno Gentili and Mark Payne adds methodological clarity in certain significant respects. On the moonlit landscape that the poem evokes, Gentili is of the view 41  Gurd 2016, 14–15. 42  Gurd 2016, 20.

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that the poem leads us to a very specific setting for a supposed thiasos, as identified in, for instance, Sappho fragment 2. Note especially the following: ‘The moon simile, which at the start seemed almost symbolic, dissolves into the contemplation of a real moonlit landscape in which are discerned, alongside the chervil and clover, the roses that customarily grow in the gardens of Aphrodite … The flowers are not decorative elements here. They belong, rather, to a precise spot …’43 Other readings, culminating in that of Mark Payne, emphasize the decorative nature of the imagery as foundationally orienting audiences not to a specific setting but rather to a mood and a poetic mode: in this case, one of contemplation of loss and of poetry as a consolatory resource. A way into Payne’s reading is provided by Colin Macleod’s brilliant note on Sappho’s use of the Homeric epithet ‘rosy-fingered’ (fr. 96 line 8) not of the sunlight of dawn, as in Homer, but of the moon: ‘… [T]he moon takes on the Homeric epithet for dawn …; it has the quality of sunrise only because the sun is not there.’44 Literary history and intertextuality directly feed into affectivity. When Payne argues that flowers are Sappho’s signature ‘ethical gesture,’ it is the trans-temporally projected beauty of flowers that provides the consolation by making the world, so impressively evoked by Sappho’s imagery, so alluring: ‘Cultivating the feeling that one is not at home in the world in the way that flowers and grass are at home in it is a way of coping with the loss of those features of one’s lived experience that make the world feel like home.’45 When Payne writes of ‘the real earth on which we find ourselves in pain,’ this is very far indeed from the ‘real moonlit landscape’ of Gentili’s reading. For Payne, the earth is real because it is fundamentally ours and part of our experience, even as we are reminded by Sappho how distant from its concerns our own lives are. For Gentili, the moonlit landscape is real because it is not ours: it is historically real, remote, ancient, ritualized,46 but somehow accessible to us nevertheless – in a way that Gentili does not, and perhaps cannot, explain. Recent trends in critical theory, privileging affectivity of form (form in a more capacious sense47) over appeals to context, render Payne’s reading arguably more comprehensible both to lay readers and comparativists, if not to 43  Gentili 1988, 83. 44  Macleod 1974, 220. 45  Payne 2018, 263. 46  And, by extension, for Lardinois 1996, 162–163, also choral, though no evidence in the poem cogently speaks in favour of this assumption. 47  Not simply ‘structure’ to be analyzed using the familiar tools at the disposal of classical philology: cf. Spelman 2018, 10–11 cited above, n. 14. Also ‘ “event” in the sense that this selfcompletion is perpetually in motion, realized as it is only in the act of reading’: Eagleton 2012, 201, cited at Budelmann and Phillips 2018a, 9.

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committed historicists. As Rita Felski has shown, the contextualist and historicist approach has its consequences: The difficulty of context, I propose, lies not just in its traditional bias toward historical origins, but also in the tacit beliefs about agency, causality, and control that steer acts of contextualization, in cultural studies as elsewhere. Context is often wielded in punitive fashion to deprive the artwork of agency, to evacuate it of influence or impact, rendering it a puny, enfeebled, impoverished thing. We inflate context, in short, in order to deflate text; while newly magnified social conditions dispose and determine, the artwork flickers and grows dim. Why are the producers or recipients of culture afforded such exceptional powers and the individual text afforded little or none?48 This bears interesting comparison with the move familiar from deconstruction, according to which the notion of context is marked by exorbitance: Contextualist readings or historical interpretations generally rely on supposedly simple and unambiguous texts to determine the meanings of passages in more complex and evasive texts. We have already noted Derrida’s insistence on the unsaturability of context and the concomitant possibility of extending context in ways that allow further complexities of the text one is studying to emerge. One could, therefore, identify deconstruction with the twin principles of the contextual determination of meaning and the infinite extendability of context.49 The problem with Sappho is that there really is no stable original text against which to set the complexities of Sapphic discourse or, alternatively, that certain aspects of Sapphic texts have to be read as stable in order for their remaining complexities to be controlled. Methodologically influential here has been, once again, Bruno Gentili, who assumed wide female cultural and cultic functionality for ‘the thiasos’ on the basis of cross-comparison with Alcman’s partheneia. He thus provided a reading of both poets through this notional frame, even as the very word thiasos is, in fact, not attested in Sappho and only attested in Alcman once, in the context of what appear to be masculine-oriented 48  Felski 2011, 581–582 on context; cf. Felski 2015, 151–185. Also Nooter 2019, esp. 320. 49  Culler 1983, 215. For further exposition of the value of thinking with deconstruction for categories historically applied to the analysis of Greek lyric, see further Phillips 2016, 22– 25. For the ironies of the slide from lyric deconstruction into New Historicism, see Burt 2016, 437, discussed below in §8.2.

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feasts and paean-singing.50 It would seem rash to attempt to base a reading of Sappho on Alcman, an author whose poetry is temporally more remote and the preservation of which even more precarious, and whose communicational complexities are especially challenging.51 The most obvious legacy of Sappho is the question of the contribution of her poetry to the conception of the histories of gender and sexuality. As we will see, the benefits of thinking creatively with the futurity of reading Sappho – such that the relation between gender, erotics, and rhetoric projected by her texts always already anticipates interpretative limitations – may outweigh the pitfalls of certain previous progressive readings, whose earnest desire to uncover realities in the past succumbs to the same critiques that we have already exposed. Marilyn Skinner provides an example, in a passage beset with the same problem as that in Gentili of over-reliance upon the notion of controlled ritual contexts, especially as provided by the alleged thiasos: Patterns of intimacy forged by erotic encounters within the Sapphic thiasos would … have survived a patriarchally enforced separation by marriage, for the searing intensity of the love affair could be rekindled through verses associated with that affair and later performed over and over again during the singer’s lifetime… The diffused eroticism that taught female auditors in the sheltered atmosphere of the thiasos how to transcend linear symbolic systems was perceived within the masculine 50  Gentili 1988, 72, beginning a chapter entitled ‘The ways of love in the poetry of thíasos & symposium.’ The single attestation in Alcman is fr. 98 PMGF = Strabo 10.4.18 (citing Ephorus FGrH 70 F 149): ‘Ephorus says that in Crete the public messes are still called andreia but that in Sparta they did not keep the old name attested by Alcman in the lines θοίναις δὲ καὶ ἐν θιάσοισιν | ἀνδρείων παρὰ δαιτυμόνεσσι πρέπει παιᾶνα κατάρχην (‘and at meals and feasts of the men’s messes it is right to begin a paean among the diners’).’ Gentili is in turn reliant on the approach to early Greek female choral culture offered in the canonical treatment of Calame 1977 (and 1997): see esp. Calame 1977, 364–366 esp. 366 with n. 10, ranging freely across temporally diverse and generically distinct sources and diverse ancient terminology, but concluding that thiasos and female choreia have ‘la même fonction cultuelle.’ For a sensible overview, see Budelmann 2018b, 114; also Spelman 2018, 149–153. The term thiasos is notably not used by Burnett 1983, who prefers hetaireia instead, to mirror that of Alcaeus – though Burnett freely acknowledges this as her own assumption: Burnett 1983, 209 n. 2. Stehle 1997, ch. 6 chooses to separate out Sappho’s circle of friends from celebrants at weddings and religious events. 51  For a diverse range of attempts to make sense of Alcman fr. 1, the most extensive extant piece, see Budelmann 2018b, 58–83, with (from among a wealth of contributions) e.g. Robbins 1991; Stehle 1997, 30–39 and 73–88; Hutchinson 2001, 76–102; Peponi 2004; Bowie 2011. In general, note Spelman 2018, 150: ‘So much speculation has crystallized around the text that one can almost forget that the body of primary evidence is discouragingly small.’

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sphere as delightfully idyllic and romantic… In the symposium, singing one of these compositions – songs charged with the comforting presence of benign divinity and flooded with aching but sweet reciprocal desire – would have allowed men momentarily to “play the other,” in Zeitlin’s phrase, and so to release themselves from the necessity of being at all times publicly competitive and self-controlled. … In conclusion, then, I submit that the female-specific discourse known as Sappho’s poetry is not so marginal to the Greek, or to the western European, literary tradition as to be readily excluded from consideration as an influential cultural factor, no matter how absolute and totalitarian the grip of the patriarchal symbolic system might appear.52 (Re)constructing what we want Sappho to mean has always been the point, but this has a distinctive and problematic history for a variety of reasons, both scholarly and social, not least of which is the fragmentary nature of the evidence that we can project onto (or, indeed, attempt to erase). New textual evidence may help, or, equally, it may not.53 A more successful strategy might be to return to the surface of the poems,54 despite the complexity of the language and imagery, rather than aiming to get at the putative settings beyond them. Anne Carson once more provides a model. Her pithy summary of the rhetoric of fragment 105a, the apple tree fragment, is as follows: ‘The reach of desire is defined in action: beautiful (in its object), foiled (in its attempt), endless (in time).’55 This approach reconfigures our desire to find the originary Sappho (see Skinner) into the endless replay across time of desire, which is constitutive of the idea of Sappho as a poetic, insistent, gendered presence.56

52  Skinner 1996, 189–191, 192. Looking on this reading now, it is quite a short step from this position to that of Bowie 2016, arguing for a sympotic, and thus patriarchally dominated, Sappho from the very start. 53  Prins 1999 and Orrells 2015, esp. 141–151, are both very useful for showing the dynamics of Sappho’s reception, both shaped by and shaping consciousnesses of modernity. 54  As recently demonstrated by Purves 2016, 82 in her reading of fr. 105a. 55  Carson 1986, 29. 56  See too Sissa 2017, 30, channelling fr. 31, a responsive mode of creative writing – with and through Sappho – which strives to perform the importance of Sappho in and for reception. Cf. DuBois 2015, 173, rubbing up against the valorization of contingent vulnerability in affect-theory to reinforce Sappho’s continuity: ‘If we are moved by queer theory’s appeal to “contingent histories”, new modes of connecting with archaic Lesbos and its legacy might extend beyond polytheism, ancient sexualities, Lesbian / lesbian / Sapphic

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A reading of fr. 55, the address to a putative rival to be forgotten, may also be approached along such lines: κατθάνοισα δὲ κείσῃ οὐδέ ποτα μναμοσύνα σέθεν ἔσσετ’ οὐδὲ πόθα εἰς ὔστερον· οὐ γὰρ πεδέχῃς βρόδων τὼν ἐκ Πιερίας, ἀλλ’ ἀφάνης κἀν Ἀίδα δόμῳ φοιτάσῃς πεδ’ ἀμαύρων νεκύων ἐκπεποταμένα. Dead you will lie there: not ever will memory of you exist, not desire, in future. For you have no share in the roses, the ones from Pieria; you will be invisible, even in the halls of Hades and will wander amid shadowy corpses, flown away. The opening statement negotiates, and suggests the equation of, time and desire (and their negations) with reference to an erotic self, through the resonance between οὐδέ ποτα, ‘not ever / not afterwards,’ and οὐδὲ πόθα, ‘no desire.’57 This is emphasized with the closing εἰς ὔστερον, ‘… in future’ / ‘… for posterity.’ This anticipates the contours of the poetry’s own reception, or ‘afterlife,’ as itself the (only) embodiment of gendered Sapphic desire. The alleged ‘uneducated woman’ to whom the piece has often been thought to be addressed can be read instead as a figure for an alternative, mirrored Sappho: a Sappho whose poetics and desires may be flattened out, or avoided, or neglected in the futures we now know about – as well as those we do not, yet.58 But this enactment of a distinctively empowered utterance, alongside a neglected or negated reception, also carries with it that distinctive gendered, sexual Sappho, affording a subjectivity that will always have a future.59

erotics and poetics, to myriad enriching forms of contact between the archaic past, our present, the future.’ For more on affect-theory, see §9. 57  While perhaps obvious, the connection is first noted in scholarship by Clay 1993. 58  For a comparable view of lyric’s complex temporality, see more generally Michael 2017, esp. 281: ‘The ethics of poetry is not a fixed or formal function of the text that might be determined at the moment of its genesis, but an artifact of reading and of the readers who are touched by the text or miss its point, are moved by its description or fail to feel its power.’ 59  This is a very different reading from the canonical historical and biographical one of Burnett 1983, 215–216 (cf. Spelman 2018, 155–157), but no worse, I think, for that.

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Alcaeus, Ibycus, and Anacreon: Sympotic Poetics, Politics, and Erotics

4.1 Alcaeus When we move from Sappho to Alcaeus and to the later sympotic poets, including Ibycus and Anacreon, we may often feel that we are on more secure ground, in terms of setting. But in fact similar issues of method encroach. Historians have mined with enthusiasm the fragments of Alcaeus for important information about early Greek polis-formation and social groupings, as they have for information about sympotic culture.60 Here the contributions of Oswyn Murray have been particularly influential.61 For Alcaeus’ poetry as oriented directly to the specifics of the elite Mytilenean faction in early Lesbos, canonical discussions include those of Wolfgang Rösler, Burnett, and, again, Gentili.62 There have also been more recent New Historicist / cultural poetics readings of Lesbian political poetry by Leslie Kurke and Ian Morris, though these have been subject to critique from the perspective of political history by Dean Hammer.63 If New Historicist approaches are a blunt tool (anthropologically speaking, ‘too thin’ a description) for understanding politics, as Hammer strongly suggests, how do they and others fare in relation to the poetics? In a sense, the poetry of Alcaeus as an entry point to archaic politics puts pressure on the very usefulness and even validity of – or polarity implicit in – this question. Even as readings of sympotic lyric have been heavily dominated by historical approaches, it is perhaps less clear how useful canonical applications of historical analysis can be when we turn from politics to poetics and to the kinds of concerns we have become familiar with from Sappho. Historical analysis of culture may well be useful, but it may require a more capacious notion of poetics to understand its own terms. Partly the question centers around the conceptual nature of the symposium as a reference point. Traditional anthropologically informed accounts of the symposium within archaic Greek culture have tended to see it as a controlled and controlling institution. But such views

60  For discussion of the question of Alcaeus’ dating (c. 610–580 BC?), see most recently Budelmann 2018b, 87. 61  Murray 1990; Murray 1993. See too the welcome reception given to Murray in Cazzato et al. 2016, though see Leventhal 2017 for a methodologically rigorous review of the latter. 62  Burnett 1983, part two; Rösler 1980 and 1990; Gentili 1988. 63  Kurke 1994, 1997 and 1999; Morris 1996 and 2000; Hammer’s critique: Hammer 2004, with heavily critical conclusion at 506.

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are not the only ones possible, especially as they have been subjected to critique as romanticized and implausibly organicist.64 While we should be wary of striving to define ‘the institution of the symposium’ as solid ground upon which to base a persuasive interpretation of sympotic lyric, creatively expansive cultural models of sympotic experience can be found to allow us to see how to approach Alcaeus and his fellow poets. The evidence from other cultural products associated with the dining and drinking culture of archaic Greece – specifically, the iconography of sympotic vase-painting – provides a rich universe to explore. Self-referential assertions made by sympotic lyric texts in relation to drinking culture and self-absorption can be situated within the broader semiotics of sympotic experience. The complexities of the imaginative journeys on which sympotic wine vessels may be thought to transport their users, via the transformations of subjectivities that drinking and viewing both afford, relate quite closely to the semiotic concerns of sympotic lyric texts. Alcaeus fragment 333 Voigt states οἶνος γὰρ ἀνθρώπω δίοπτρον, ‘wine is a window onto man.’ We can interpret this assertion as a nod toward the sympotic environment as always already about images and the imagination, a world in which the material culture of drinking may already generate a sense of, and indeed overdetermine a sense of, presence. One classic iconographic motif of sympotic ceramics, which may be traced back to Alcaeus’ time, is the appearance of eyes on the exteriors of drinking cups.65 The eye-cup as a vessel for the precariously transformative power of alcohol and the Dionysiac fills out the sympotic space with ever more illusional presences, while transforming the drinker at the moment of wine-consumption.66 Alcaean lyric texts, full of gnomic assertions ripe for excerption and replay – hence their frequency in the subsequent Alcaean paradosis67 – provide bursts of experience that, while objectifiable and subject 64  E.g. Schmitt-Pantel 1990, 15, with Feeney 1998, 60–63 esp. 61 for critique of the broader approach (section entitled ‘The collectivist Golden Age of Greece versus the Iron Age of Rome’); despite this, Schmitt-Pantel’s model is taken further by Węcowski 2014, who speaks in terms of rules and symbolic codes in conclusion at 335–336. Contemporary anthropology, Feeney makes clear, is itself not at fault; the problem lies in long-standing assumptions and applications. 65  Ferrari 1986; Hedreen 2007. 66  Hedreen 2007, 241: ‘The aesthetic effect of the eye cup is not limited to those moments when it is lifted to the face and, like a mask, replaces the visage of a drinker. The eye cup … also … evoke[s] the presence of an imaginary figure with whom the viewer is invited to identify.’ On the aesthetics here more generally, Grethlein 2016. Another obsession, in Alcaeus and in sympotic vase painting too, variously interpretable, is seafaring: see further Slater 1976; Davidson 1997; Uhlig 2018, critiquing a different aspect of Gentili 1988. 67  For which see Yatromanolakis 2009a and 2009b, taken a stage further by Fearn 2018, 111– 113. On lyric as on a quest for cliché, see Culler 2015, 131 with Baudelaire. Spelman 2018,

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to historical analysis as from another time and place, are reframeable within – and beyond – ancient Greek sympotic culture. They are thus capable of creating and shaping new subjectivities. This suggests a more capacious, inventive, exploratory symposium. It is a cultural space ongoingly self-authorized and articulated through a complex diversity of interactions between texts, authors, performers, readers, and material culture.68 If we return now to the question of Alcaeus’ politics, it is a little easier to see the limitations of some of the earlier formulations, suggestive as they are. Gentili offers a particularly committed view: Alcaean poetry, born out of and for action and intended for restricted hearing by an aristocratic club, bears the unmistakable mark of lively, direct, and immediate participation in the events that inspired it. It reflects the tumultuous life of an archaic political club (hetairía) committed to a combatant’s role in the encounter between conflicting factions. Poetry thereby becomes an indispensible weapon in the political struggle and an expression of the joy or sorrow that the outcome of the contest inspires.69 This is a fair reflection of how Alcaeus’ committed poetics strikes us, but I think it is now reasonable to say that it only gives part of the story. Gentili emphasizes content, rather than the poetic form that delivers the content, and indeed the complex interactions between the two within a broader understanding of form. The aesthetics of Alcaeus’ lyric form – the intricate sonorities afforded by metre and prosody and the myths chosen to exemplify experiences – might confound what Gentili, along with the rest of us, yearn to find in it. Again, this is the perennially distinctive allure of lyric: its ability to draw us into its sense of a space while all the while reminding us of the confectedness of that experience as we give it voice and imagine it for ourselves – however close, or indeed 155 attempts to suggest that there is little to nothing in Alcaean poetry that anticipates its own reception – though he backtracks slightly at 162. Contrast Budelmann 2018b, 87. 68  Discussion in this paragraph replays and reworks in shorter compass some central ideas in Fearn 2018. I have space there to explore in detail Alcaeus’ ecphrastic materialism and its consequences, esp. viz. frr. 140 and 350 V. See now also Kantzios 2019. 69  Gentili 1988, 42. Cf. Murray 1993, 155 on Alcaeus fr. 140 V. Burnett 1983, 123 speaks the language of ‘idealized comradeship’ but offers little methodology for how such idealization may be thought to be brought about or offered up. Compare Spelman 2018, 161–162 ‘Alcaeus’ status as poet is not very central to his surviving fragments, which often exhibit a robust sense of corporate solidarity.’ They do, but that has no bearing on Alcaeus’ fundamental interest in poeticity and his systematic awareness of poetic mediation of politics and sympotic experience, for which both ecphrasis and the creation of proverbial statements (a list of which at Fearn 2018, 111 n. 56) assist.

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distant, audiences, performers, and readers are and were from any originally sympotic, committed ‘moment.’ 4.2 Ibycus We may feel that Alcaeus is ‘lyric for dark times’ – the kind of poetry we turn to, however bleak it may seem, for some sense of committed solidarity with our own causes, together with an aesthetic glow inhering in its fundamentally ‘alive and kicking’ poetics.70 With Ibycus and Anacreon, by contrast, we appear to be transported to an altogether happier place, full of light, color, and play – though frequently beset by the complexities of erotic, and indeed pederastic, subjectivities,71 and by the often despairingly fragmentary nature of the extant material.72 Scholarship on Ibycus is heavily dominated by interpretation of the Ode to Polycrates (S151 PMGF), a poem the extent of whose thematic recusatio continues to bewilder. But there are also suggestive readings of other fragments that attempt to situate Ibycus’ poetry in the late archaic contexts of both the symposium and the poetics of praise that comes to dominate fifth-century lyric with Pindar and Bacchylides especially. While caution is needed here 70  Cf. David Foster Wallace at McCaffery 1993, 131: ‘If what’s always distinguished bad writing – flat characters, a narrative world that’s clichéd and not recognizably human, etc. – is also a description of today’s world, then bad writing becomes an ingenious mimesis of a bad world. If readers simply believe the world is stupid and shallow and mean, then [Bret Easton] Ellis can write a mean shallow stupid novel that becomes a mordant deadpan commentary on the badness of everything. Look man, we’d probably most of us agree that these are dark times, and stupid ones, but do we need fiction that does nothing but dramatize how dark and stupid everything is? In dark times, the definition of good art would seem to be art that locates and applies CPR to those elements of what’s human and magical that still live and glow despite the times’ darkness. Really good fiction could have as dark a worldview as it wished, but it’d find a way both to depict this world and to illuminate the possibilities for being alive and human in it.’ 71  Ibycus’ ancient biography is populated by his alleged passion for boys: see esp. Suda Ι 80 s.v. Ibycus (test. 1 Campbell): γέγονε δὲ ἐρωτομανέστατος περὶ μειράκια, ‘he was completely crazed with love for boys’; Anth. Pal. 7.714.3 (test. 6 Campbell): τὸν φιλέοντα λύρην φιλέοντα δὲ παῖδας, ‘lover of the lyre, lover of boys’; Cic. Tusc. 4.71 (test. 12 Campbell), maxume vero omnium flagrasse amore Reginum Ibycum apparet ex scriptis, ‘it appears from his writings that more than any of the rest of them [sc. other early Greek erotic poets, including Alcaeus and Anacreon mentioned by name] Ibycus of Rhegium was ablaze with love.’ Further, Hadjimichael 2019, 87–90. 72  For Ibycus, an assortment of relatively small and difficult fragments and ancient quotations when set against an Alexandrian edition of possibly seven books (Suda Ι 80 s.v. Ibycus, test. 1 Campbell). For the vexed question of the specific dating of Ibycus’ mid-late sixth-century career and overlap with the Polycrates famous from Hdt. 3, see Hutchinson 2001, 231–234; Ornaghi 2008; Bowie 2009, 122–124; Wilkinson 2013, 3–12.

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(especially given the strong risk of circularity of ascription to either Ibycus or Stesichorus based on the perceived appropriateness of subject matter to each poet respectively), Felix Budelmann has suggested the possibility in Ibycus’ extant fragments of distinguishing between formal praise songs and evocations of a more personal subjectivity of the kind familiar from Sappho and Alcaeus.73 As I will go on to suggest, there are good evidential reasons for arguing that this distinction is not particularly obvious in Ibycus. Ibycus’ cardinal position in the literary history of early Greek lyric could instead be marked by a blurring of distinctions between, on the one hand, what seem – in comparison with subsequent poets – like allusions to more formal structures of encomiastic praise and, on the other hand, extreme erotic subjectivity matched only by Sappho and Pindar elsewhere in the extant corpus.74 With the Ode to Polycrates, a number of interconnected issues are raised. First is the link to epic thematics; second is the poetics of fame (kleos) in relation to patronage; and third is the question of the relation between the poem’s closing rhetoric – however interpreted – and the specific historical conditions of patronage. This last topic raises the further issue of Ibycus’ position within the literary history of Greek patronage poetry. Ibycus demonstrates a guarded relation to epic precedent: ‘On the one hand, he treats the epic topic par excellence, adopting an allusive style that relies on extensive knowledge of the epic tradition, more so than any other surviving text of this period. On the other hand, he develops his own distinctive treatment, distancing himself from epic explicitly as well as implicitly.’75 Earlier readings, most notably those of John Barron, explain Ibycus’ choice of heroic mythological theme by tying it closely to a broader story of panhellenic patronage. Ibycus, Barron explains, chooses a specific range of Trojan War heroes to cue in references to the Argive background of a context of patronage in Sicyon. Ibycus had left this context behind but reused its cultural capital to apply, as a kind of job advertisement, to Polycrates on Samos for patronage: As the poem nears its climax we find two Greeks singled out for special praise for their beauty, contradicting the Homeric account which gave the 73  Budelmann 2018b, 172; cf. Cingano 1990. 74  For related thoughts on the early development of epinician poetry see Spelman 2018, 186. 75  Budelmann 2018b, 173. Epic phraseology, a lyric meter of a quasi-epic dactylic kind, and compressed Trojan War narrative all feature, alongside a modified relation to the Muses that extends beyond the Iliadic by incorporating Hesiodic allusion. For specific discussions of Homeric and Hesiodic allusion (esp. to Hom. Il. 2.484–493 and Hes. WD 646–662) in the catalogue section of S151, see Budelmann 2018b, 177–178 ad loc. 23–31; also Hardie 2013 on Ibycus’ Muses.

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palm to Nireus of Syme (Iliad 2.673). They are the Argive Cyanippus, son or brother of Aegialeus, grandson or son of Adrastus; and the Sicyonian Zeuxippus, son of an otherwise obscure nymph either called Argea or an Argive by nationality, herself the daughter of Hyllus the Heraclid, the Dorian tribal eponym. At this time the government of Sicyon either was or had recently been in the hands of the tyrant Clisthenes, whose nationalistic rule was based on a reaction against the suzerainty of Dorian Argos … It may be suspected that Ibycus left Sicyon for Samos after a quarrel with the tyrant, exchanging his patronage for that of another. On his arrival in Samos, Ibycus addressed to Polycrates the prospectus before us. At the climax of the poem Ibycus enthusiastically praised the Argive dynasty of Sicyon, whose memory Clisthenes had tried to efface, and in so doing he hurled mockery at the tyrant of Sicyon, now at a safe distance overseas.76 Barron’s interpretation is neat and ingenious. Nevertheless, his attempt to map Ibycus’ lyric mythmaking onto alleged realities of archaic Greek historical circumstance beyond the very partial evidence of Ibycus’ extant papyrus fragments and ancient quotations along with the later views offered in Herodotus is surely too speculative to be historically convincing.77 This kind of interpretation does, though, raise a basic methodological question about how a contextually nuanced reading of encomiastic poetry should work, especially as this is now an issue in the scholarship across the later encomiastic poetry of Simonides, Pindar, and Bacchylides, and a matter to which we will return.78 76  Barron 1969, 137–138 with Hdt. 5.67–8. 77  Thus Budelmann 2018b, 172, even as a number of fragments (if indeed correctly assigned to Ibycus) do suggest a very diverse range of patronage locations. Further discussion of biographical details pertaining to mid-late sixth-century patronage poetry in Bowie 2009, 122–127. 78  The readings of Goldhill 1991, 116–119 and now more recently Spelman 2018, esp. 166 on S151 lines 46–48 (‘the author’s actual reputation, which had already brought him to the Samian court, is highly relevant to the poem that he produces for his patron’), though different in emphasis, still follow the basic contextualist logic of Barron’s approach. It is now relatively easy to see how the final pay-off of Barron’s article prefigures by a number of decades the arguments made around the question of the relation of myth-making to ethnic identity prominent in scholarship following the important work of Hall 1997 on early Greek ethnicity: see e.g. Fearn 2003, D’Alessio 2005, Fearn 2007, Kowalzig 2007, Fearn 2011b, contributions by Nagy 2011 and Kowalzig 2011 in part 1 of Fearn 2011c (cf. Burnett 2005); and more generally work on Pindaric fragments including contributions to Kowalzig and Wilson 2013; also Lavecchia 2000, and D’Alessio 2009; see now Hadjimichael 2019, 23–57 for ‘the world of lyric.’ My own work in more recent years has taken a turn away from this long-standing centrality of contextualist historicism to Greek lyric scholarship, by attending to the special qualities of lyric form in ways that transcend traditional rhetorical

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A conceptual issue that will continue to concern us is the extent to which scholarship can hope to do justice to the affordances offered by the poetics of the material, even as questions about encomiastic function – or, perhaps better, encomiastic value – come into play. At any rate, what is importantly distinctive and new about Ibycus’ contribution in the Ode to Polycrates is the reconfiguration of Homeric kleos for lyric encomiastic purposes. The question then arises of how this modulation should be approached and understood. Simon Goldhill makes the following observation on the poetics of Ibycus S151: ‘“To what degree is the kleos of the subject of the poem subject to the kleos of the poet/poem?” is a question raised by the final lines of Ibycus’ poem.’79 The poem reminds us how far we have come from earlier mythological constructions of kleos in Homer. It also raises questions about the relation between kleos, context, and reception that are central to recent work on later epinician poetics, especially in Pindar. There, the kleos of both poet and patron should not be thought to have a perfectly matched portability in reception; encomiastic poetics can leave enough space for other audiences and diverse receptions to exploit.80 Budelmann provides a handy guide to the latest thinking on the interpretation of the final lines of Ibycus’ poem, which run as follows (lines 46–48; translated by Budelmann): τοῖς μὲν πέδα κάλλεος αἰέν καὶ σύ, Πο⟨υ⟩λύκρατες, κλέος ἄφθιτον ἑξεῖς ὡς κατ’ ἀοιδὰν καὶ ἐμὸν κλέος. Among them you, too, Polycrates, will on account of your beauty have undying fame, just as my own fame too is dependent on my singing. approaches. In Fearn 2017 I use an exploration of the Pindaric attitude to material culture in part to reframe the assumption of the primacy of initial performance context for interpretation; in Fearn 2018 I explore deixis, ecphrasis, and aphorism in Alcaeus to present a more inductive approach to sympotic poetics not shackled to original context but worked out through imaginative encounters of performers and audiences in reception. 79  Goldhill 1991, 119. 80  Cf. esp. Pind. Ol. 1.115–116, εἴη σέ τε τοῦτον ὑψοῦ χρόνον πατεῖν, | ἐμέ τε τοσσάδε νικαφόροις | ὁμιλεῖν πρόφαντον σοφίαι καθ’ Ἕλ- | λανας ἐόντα παντᾶι, ‘may you walk on high for the time you have, and may I for as long consort with victors, preeminent as I am in wisdom among Greeks in all parts.’ Here we may note that νικαφόροις is plural and unspecified (a factor that Spelman 2018, 219 glosses over). For pertinent scholarship on Pindar here see e.g. Fitzgerald 1987; Fearn 2017, chapter 3; Payne 2018; detailed discussion below in §8.1.

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Budelmann comments thus on line 48: Probably, (i) ‘… just as my own fame too is dependent on my singing’. Ibycus’ own fame, which is (presumably) already an established fact, depends on his singing. It follows (he says) that his singing will also be able to bestow fame on Polycrates. Or, (ii) ‘… as far as my singing and my own fame make possible’.81 Budelmann’s ‘(presumably)’ here raises the stakes for the kinds of contextual, or ‘poet’s backstory’, readings of Ibycus offered by Barron and others, given that the question of the poet’s own fame cannot, in fact, successfully be disentangled from, or made anterior to, this poem’s own double claim to fame.82 Indeed, the only good parallel for the self-proclamation of a speaker’s own kleos is Odysseus’ statement at Odyssey 9.19–20, a climactic moment of the Odyssey’s construction of itself as a tricky poem of kleos, renown, and storytelling.83 The depth and complexity of Ibycus’ epic intertextuality thus potentially grounds Ibycus’ questioning of the nature of kleos as paradoxically self-constituting. Even as a seemingly heroic style of beauty is conferred onto Polycrates, if the final line offers up the poet-figure as a self-constructing Odysseus-style celebrity, then the trickery of the text is what does Ibycus’ work for him. Indeed, it has succeeded, given the poem’s survival. We become absorbed by the text’s games; Polycrates is memorialized on these terms rather than on any other prior ones.84 With ‘on account of your beauty,’ Ibycus invites us to enjoy and imagine the physical allure of a ‘textual’ Polycrates, whatever his real physical appearance. ‘Beauty’ here is constituted in literary-historical, mythological, intertextual, and rhetorical terms, through the play of figures and through lyric texture, not simply through the radiant allure of Polycrates as a historical

81  Budelmann 2018b, 181 ad loc., my emphasis. 82  With κλέος ἄφθιτον pitching Polycrates into an Iliadic, Achillean, ambit: Hom. Il. 9.413. 83  Budelmann ad loc. 48 adduces Hom. Od. 8.73–74 – the narrator on Demodocus singing a famous song of the κλέα ἀνδρῶν – but the opening of Odyssey 9 is surely much closer and more suggestive given that it is the personal assertion of kleos that Odysseus himself – and so too the Odyssey in the enactment of this – emphasizes. For the emblematic uniqueness of this self-assertion in the Odyssey see further Segal 1983, 24–26 and Goldhill 1991, 96. 84  Contrast Spelman 2018, 166: ‘Ibycus can confidently predict his addressee’s glory because of his own glory as a poet, which already exists thanks to poems like this’ (my emphasis). But Ibycus makes his point in the poem’s surface, which provides no firm basis for a contextualist claim of the familiar sort but performs the encomiastic projection nevertheless, as a rhetorical instantiation. The complexity of Homeric epic’s attitudes toward the temporality of its own kleos has rubbed off on Ibycus here to interesting effect.

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presence. The intricate beauty of lyric form is what has transformed, and successfully celebrated, him. Goldhill is surely right that Ibycus’ poem raises the question of the relation between poetic kleos and the status of the patron thus celebrated. But we also need to factor in, as fundamental to Ibycus’ poem, the tension inherent in all ancient Greek lyric kleos between, on the one hand, the sense of situational specificity – of framing, or function, or utility, or aesthetic or political or religious value – and, on the other hand, deferral, absence, sense of loss, and desire (including for the reconstructability of original setting or rhetorical specification). Lyric poetics instantiates this tension in its memorializing projection of both a sense of an event, or of a moment, or of a setting, and a sense of poetic form.85 With Ibycus’ poem, our access to that contextual hinterland behind the poetics of patronage evaporates at the moment the poem suggests context, precisely because that is what the complex and endlessly fascinating temporality of poetic kleos can and must do. The thematization of beauty as a stimulation towards kleos in the last lines of the Ode to Polycrates, which is also one of the hallmarks of that poem’s subtle shift into a different non-epic register, is one sign of the prominence of desire so obvious in the ancient doxography of this poet. This thematization of erotics becomes more clearly articulated elsewhere in the fragments. Fragment 286 PMGF offers up an articulation of the extreme power of nature within the symbolisms of sympotic culture to affect the poetic subject fundamentally. The locus amoenus – and the subjectivized vine within it – is severely shaken by the imposition of divine violence onto this lyrically expressive, articulate, (viti)cultured (sympotic) subject.86 Analogous to both Sappho fragments 2 and 31, Ibycus’ poem is affecting because of the sense of aesthetic beauty of poetic form directly aligned with but played off against an utterly insistent erotic devastation of content. It is unfortunately impossible to say how long this poem was and how, if at all, it connected to any sense of a setting beyond suggesting it through symbolism. In fragmentary remains of his encomia, a clearer sense begins to emerge of Ibycus’ distinctive erotic poetics of patronage.87 In particular, see S221 PMGF, 85  This is a tension that is written across a range of contemporary approaches to lyric poetics – inherent in Culler 2015, but also present, if manifesting in slightly different ways, in Phillips 2016, Fearn 2017, and Payne 2018 in particular – and is a fundamental aspect of its challengingly mystificatory power. For more on the power of mystification in both critical theory and close reading of lyric texts, see §8.2. 86  Useful discussion at Budelmann 2018b, 181–182; also Davies 1986; Cazzato 2013. 87  Further discussion in Barron 1984; Rawles 2011 and 2012 discussing S166: an eroticized laudandus in the context of mention of Ionians, Sparta, athletics, and longing (pothos); Spelman 2018, 186.

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the remains of a poem entitled ‘Callias’ partially preserved in POxy 2637 fr. 1(a) lines 32–42, fragments of an ancient commentary on lyric: Καλλ[ί]ας αἰεν ἐμοὶ πόνος οὗτος εἶη· | αἰ δέ τις βροτῶν μ’ ἐνίπτει | νόσφιν· οἷον χωρ[ὶ]ς καὶ λάθρα· [εἴ τ]ις ἐπιπλήσσει μοι πάντα καλῶ[ς οἶ]δα· ἐγὼν δ’ ἔτι μ[είζο]ν’ αὔχαν | τίθεμαι περὶ τούτων· [οἷον εἴ] με αἰτιῶνται μείζονα [  ̣  ̣ ̣ καύχ]ησιν τίθεμ̣ [αι Callias Let this labour always be mine; and if some mortal upbraids me apart: i.e. away from me and secretly; if someone reproves me I am well aware of it all; (and?) I make a still greater boast about these things: i.e. if they accuse me, I make a greater claim … This is one among a small number of non-mythical personal names transmitted as titles of fragments in the remains of Ibycus. Of particular interest for our emergent concerns with encomiastic lyric is the appearance of the ‘labour of song’ / ponos-motif (only elsewhere found in Pindar in encomiastic poetry). As we have already seen, the ancient biographical tradition tells us that Ibycus was ‘totally crazy about boys’ (cf. Suda I 80 s.v. Ibycus: γέγονε δὲ ἐρωτομανέστατος περὶ μειράκια), and it seems entirely possible that in an early configuration of this ‘labour of song’ motif, or in a configuration of it different from the ones we are familiar with from Pindar,88 there is a complex merging of subjective desire and formal encomiastic praise in play. The provision of encomiastic praise as a task given form in the present text slips in and out of focus as we are struck by the poem’s rhetoric of besotted desire. Anyone who challenges the speaker about his intentions (an accusation characterized by phthonos – again, a motif familiar to us from Pindar) only spurs the speaker on to greater efforts and encomiastic assertions in praise of the subject of the poem, Callias.89 What we have here is a poetics of patronage merging with the articulation and eloquent artistry of extreme emotional attachment.90 But the 88  On which see Palaiogeorgou 2010, with e.g. Pind. Nem. 3.12. 89  And if this can be understood as moral anxiety (Rawles’ term: 2012, 11 n. 28) then again it prefigures the morally insistent subjectivity of the lyric speaker throughout much of Pindar’s epinician odes. 90  Compare Ibycus S166.23–6 PMGF, σὲ δ’ αὖ [ ] | [οὐρανόθ]εν καταδέρκεται ἀ�̣[έλιος] | [ ]τα κάλλιστον ἐπιχ̣θ̣[ονίων] | [ἀθανάτ]ο̣ις ἐναλ[ί]γκιον εἶδο̣[ς, ‘but on you the sun looks down from

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very artistry of the eloquence prompts (but always already anticipates its own) critique, again opening up a gap in the formal poetic projections of its truthclaims. Sincerity of deep emotional attachment is projected but at the same time hyperbolically overdetermined as lyric and thus – potentially at least – undercut by projection as encomiastic praise.91 This may be the ironic flipside of the biographical fallacy so often adduced in new-critical responses to earlier biographical readings of encomiastic lyric.92 The poetry’s own allure is figured through its too-knowing ability to make us consider its very business as biographical and indeed (homo)sexually motivated.93 4.3 Anacreon Anacreon shares with Ibycus a rich biographical tradition about alleged personal proclivities: in Anacreon not only sex but also drink. Anacreon, indeed, was the classic drunk.94 But Anacreon’s poetry is also characterized by a particular set of skills. In addition to ‘neatness, sophistication, elegance’95 and the self-conscious sympotic preference for delight and festivity over the toils of war,96 one obvious enchantment of Anacreon’s poetics is the complexity of its construction of atmosphere through lyric language. Semi-mythical confrontations between gods and sympotic subjects are created in ways that raise basic the sky as on the most beautiful of those on the earth, one like the gods in appearance.’ The thoughts of this present discussion conceptually extend the observations of Rawles 2011, 153–154, who factors in Carey 1981, 5 and 1995, 99–103, and Scodel 1996 on so-called oral subterfuge. 91  For hyperbole as a fundamental characteristic of lyric, see Culler 2008, 205 and 2015, 37–38. 92  As we will see more clearly when we come to consider Pindar. 93  For the bigger issues at stake here in the complex ‘ethicality’ of lyric in (and indeed always already as) reception, see §8.2 on Pindar. 94  Anacreon is dateable to the last half of the sixth century: recent discussion in Hutchinson 2001, 256–260; Bowie 2009, 127; Budelmann 2018b, 188–189; Hadjimichael 2019, 34–35. Recurrent biographical fictions: always drunk; obsessed with love of boys (as well as women): Campbell testt. 1 (Suda A 1916) and 7 (Σ Pind. Ιsthm. 2.1b (iii.213 Dr)); allegedly lived a very long life, only to be stricken by a grape pip: Campbell test. 9, Val. Max. 9.12. ext. 8; statue of Anacreon as drunkard on Athenian acropolis: Paus. 1.25.1. This tradition is also dependent on the sympotic reconfiguration of the original poetic persona projected in Anacreon in the subsequent Anacreontea tradition, on which see Rosenmeyer 1992; Budelmann 2009a; Baumbach and Dümmler 2014. 95  Budelmann 2018b, 189. 96  Anacreon, elegy 2: an example that naturally leads scholars such as Ford 2002 to the view that the structured, oppositional critiques of praise and blame in archaic sympotic poetry (for which cf. esp. Gentili 1988, 107–114) provide a likely origin for ideas and methodologies that become fully formed in the history of ancient literary and aesthetic criticism and philosophy in Plato and Aristotle a century or more later.

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interpretative questions about the nature of the scenarios being created. Two examples should suffice to show the degree of complexity and the extent to which scholarship has brought it out. First, fragment 413 PMG: μεγάλῳ δηὖτέ μ’ Ἔρως ἔκοψεν ὥστε χαλκεύς πελέκει, χειμερίῃ δ’ ἔλουσεν ἐν χαράδρῃ. Now again Love has struck me like a blacksmith with a great hammer, and washed me in the wintry torrent. Immediately we are struck by the recurrence of that word δηὖτε (‘now again’), so important in Sappho as we saw earlier (above in §3), which cues us in to the complex attitude toward temporality that this passage implies. According to Goldhill’s reading in a groundbreaking article on Anacreon’s poetics, this fragment points to an ironic reversal of erotic roles in its manipulation of the Homeric simile of bronze-casting at Odyssey 9.389–394 in the blinding of Polyphemus.97 The fragment reworks the one-off violence of the Homeric prototype by pitting it against, and reframing it with reference to, the repeatability of erotic experience as a phenomenon that is hard to pin down. Does the fragment present erotic experience as constantly tormenting and violent or as something which one can steel oneself against, as figured through the process of heating and then cooling?98 δηὖτε features prominently at the start, but how coextensive is it (and the history of repetitions it implies) with the sense of momentary temporality figured in the cooling at the close? Awareness of this puzzling experiential disjunctiveness is afforded by the formal brevity but alluringly complex creativity of Anacreon’s text. It allows us imaginatively to engender a sense of our world as both potentially violent and as characterized by the continually engrossing, inescapably desired, voluntary subjugation of the erotic subject. Erotic desire is not here simply a topic, theme, or narrative opportunity. It is also a figure for the allure of Anacreontic lyric in and through the subjectivities of performers and audiences. Potentially nonabsorbed moments of lyric self-consciousness in Anacreon inevitably slide into the narrated experiences of sympotic imagination.99 What is remarkable about Anacreon fragment 413 PMG is the extraordinary expressive confidence, immediacy, and brevity with which such powerful ideas are conveyed. Even

97  Goldhill 1987, 10. 98  Goldhill 1987, 11. 99  On the allure of narrativity in Anacreon see further Fearn forthcoming.

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without the presence of Odyssean reminiscence, the image of Love as blacksmith is both familiar and defamiliarizing, alluring and potentially rebarbative, if not shocking.100 The materialities of Eros form an essential part of Anacreon’s erotic power over us.101 This is true of fragment 413 PMG and its images of Love’s hammer (or axe). It is also true in the case of fragment 358 PMG in its evocation of a sense of an experience, however imaginary or metaphorical. Eros plays with his purple ball; colourful sandals and hair of a variety of colours, whether specified or not, are the focus of attention too.102 There again a particular experience, or set of experiences, involving Eros is evoked in a scenario that, given the brevity of its narration, we are free to speculate about and to replay and attempt to appropriate and engender for ourselves through the presence of δηὖτε.103 Paradoxically, meanwhile, we may enjoy the frisson in the irony that any erotic failure, according to the inevitably supreme whimsy of Eros himself, might not be an experience that we might wish to savour.104 There is also a gendered ideology of sympotic performance culture at play here, as Yatromanolakis has discussed in detail, in the possible associations and connotations of a girl from Lesbos within the sympotic realm: Compared to other archaic instances of poetic exploitation of cultural stereotyping, Anakreon fragment 358 PMG appears more subtly multivalent in the associations it attempts to establish. I suggest that Anakreon’s song plays on such archaic discursive practices and ideological idioms, especially since his ‘story’ is related to the imagined presence of an alluring young girl in fancy sandals in a convivial setting – that is, the polyvalent

100  On the aesthetics of literary shock, see Felski 2008, esp. 130–131: ‘An aesthetic that assaults our psyches and assails our vulnerabilities turns out to be all too vulnerable to the vagaries of audience response.’ 101  For ecphrastic poetics in sympotic lyric see further Fearn 2018 on Alcaeus, with esp. Cunningham 2007. 102  For the controversy about the identity of the references here to persons and hair of one kind or another – with implications for the reception of Lesbos as a distinctive (note: the heightened post-Homeric usage εὐκτίτου line 5, cf. Hom. Il. 9.129) locality renowned for Sappho, or hetairai, or for prostitutes specializing in fellatio – see most recently Budelmann 2018b, 195; cf. Gentili 1973; Giangrande 1973; Woodbury 1979; Marcovitch 1983; Pelliccia 1991 and 1995; Pfeijffer 2000. 103  See again especially LeVen 2018. 104  Cf. Goldhill 1987, 17 and 18. Further discussion of this important fragment in relation to its sympotic setting and its intertextuality in Williamson 1998; Pfeijffer 2000; full commentary by Budelmann 2018b, 193–195.

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performative manipulation of women’s bodies in poetry predominantly sung in male symposiastic contexts.105 Finally, let us turn to fragment 396: φέρ’ ὕδωρ, φέρ’ οἶνον, ὦ παῖ, φέρε ⟨δ’⟩ ἀνθεμόεντας ἡμὶν στεφάνους· ἔνεικον, ὡς δὴ [or: μὴ] πρὸς Ἔρωτα πυκταλίζω. Bring water, boy, bring wine, bring us flowery garlands: fetch them so that I might [or: might not] box against Love. Again we have a complex combination of realms of experience, populated by familiar sympotic accoutrements (water, wine, slaves, garlands), as well as by the Love-god himself as a boxer. That these collide in the symposium is articulated in the contextual modulation, and in this case reconstructability, of the text’s own sense. The alternative transmission for the sense of the closing clause of the second line provides the best evidence we have for the ways in which performers and audiences over the history of ancient lyric transmission negotiated this clash of scenarios.106 Additionally, there is the construction of the subject’s drunkenness and the likelihood that some audiences and performers in antiquity associated the sympotic and erotic experience here directly with Anacreon. This is confirmed by the preservation of one version of the poem in a mosaic alongside a portrait of Anacreon and by another strand of the transmission in Demetrius (Eloc. 5), according to whom the rhythm of the Anacreontic metre is drunkenly mimetic: μεθύοντος γὰρ ὁ ῥυθμὸς ἀτεχνως γέροντος, ‘the rhythm is exactly that of an old man drunk.’107 A significant part of the scholarship on Anacreon has focused on the construction of the archaic aristocratic male self through such texts’ confrontations with Eros. So, for instance, the reading of Margaret Williamson: Only through abstraction and personification, in the figure of Eros, can the violence of passion be represented: no mere human could be permitted such a shattering impact on the aristocratic self, which in performance of these songs is a collective rather than an individual one. The 105  Yatromanolakis 2007, 183: more widely, see his discussions at 142–143, 174–183, and 355– 358. This is, as Yatromanolakis clearly illustrates at 182, an imagined scenario of a discrete and allusive kind far removed from the brusque sexuality of e.g. Arch. fr. 42 W. 106  Cf. MacLachan 2001. Note also the general theme of Collins 2004. 107  Cf. POxy 220 col. vii.3–6. Also Phillips 2016, 88–89 with Antipater of Sidon 14 G–P for the exploration of the relation between readerly present and a poet’s identity in the past through mediation of the book in the Hellenistic reception of Anacreon.

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symposiast who hears Anakreon’s love songs adopts, in solidarity with his fellows, a stance we can characterize as culturally masculine; real men only give in to gods.108 If we move beyond such contextually focused ideological considerations, in all the fragments of Anacreon considered here the brevity of the texts and the elusiveness of the lyric ‘I’ immerse performers and audiences in a deeper awareness of the very possibilities of their own erotic subjectivity. Additionally, such factors allow them to entertain the notion that they are reconstructing snippets of an erotic and inebriated sympotic biography of a (potentially aged) poet removed somewhat from their own worlds of experience. The very fabric of the form and rhythmical structure is what creates the possibility of these kinds of responses, whether inviting performers and audiences to become absorbed into a drunken world of their own (where the slippage between ‘real’ and ‘imagined’ is up for grabs) or inviting reflexive biographical speculation about the life of a significant cultural figure from the past.109 5

Stesichorus: Myth, Narrative, Ornamentation, Interpretability

Much greater in lyric scope and scale is Stesichorus, famed in antiquity for the grandeur (and length)110 of his Homerizing lyric narratives on a broad variety of mythological subjects.111 Scholarship on Stesichorus has been dominated by

108  Williamson 1998, 73. Cf. fr. 417 PMG for immediate signs of imbalances of power / gender in lyric figuration; Kurke 1997, 113–114; Rosenmeyer 2004. 109  And, as Yatromanolakis 2007, 177 shows, this is another thematization, in classical scholarship, of desire as fundamental to lyric affect: ‘the attempts to identify the actual or dramatic setting of the piece have been related for the most part, I suggest, to a desire to uncover (or refute the existence of) an invaluable late archaic piece of evidence about the female sexuality of a particular region, which may in turn shed light on Sappho’ (my emphasis). 110  On the basis of Page’s 1973 reconstruction, the Geryoneis is thought to have been at least 1300 lines long (line-number Ν in margin of line 6 of POxy 2617 fr. 7 column ii); the Oresteia and Helen both seemed to have filled at least two books each. Canonical recent critical edition on Stesichorus: Davies and Finglass 2014; ancient testimonia: Ercoles 2013. 111  Seemingly collected in twenty-six books in the canonical ancient edition: Suda Σ 1095 s.v. Stesichorus. Titles of works ascribed to him include: Funeral Games of Pelias; Geryoneis; Helen; Palinode(s); Eriphyle; Europeia; Sack of Troy; Cerberus; Cycnus; Nostoi; Oresteia; Scylla; Boar-Hunters; ‘Thebaid’. Mythological titles are uncommon in early Greek lyric, but cf. dithyrambs by Pindar and Bacchylides and titles of Athenian tragedies: here as elsewhere there may be a sense that Stesichorus’ interests with mythology provide links forward to future cultural developments as well as back with Homeric intertextuality. Titles

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reconstruction and discussion of fragments and metrics,112 stylistic treatments of individual fragments in relation to epic intertextuality and narratology,113 and questions of performance and contextualization.114 Additionally, Stesichorus has received significant treatment in contemporary writing through Anne Carson’s Autobiography of Red.115 In general, there is a sense that the status quo of Stesichorean scholarship remains very much rooted in technical matters. Questions of interpretation tend to hover around particular scholars’ views of the issue of Homeric intertextuality and around traditional formalist approaches to narrative structure and technique. There is still a need for broader research into the consequences for audiences and readers of Stesichorus’ at times bewilderingly multifaceted approach to storytelling in a lyric mode.116 Indeed, studies of what precisely the lyric mode amounts to with Stesichorus, and what its effects are, are in their relative infancy.117 Stesichorus is a poet from the early to mid-sixth century.118 His works are generally believed to have been performed by choruses: while there is no definitive proof of this, a triadic metrical structure certainly allows for greater expressive opportunities of sound and sense119 and is a feature of choral songs in tragedy.120

do not have to have been original, though they may appropriately have been retrofitted onto the evidence by Alexandrian editors. 112  Surveyed by Finglass and Kelly 2015a, esp. 4–12, with, in particular, Page 1973; Haslam 1974; Parsons 1977; Davies and Finglass 2014. 113  Maingon 1980; Russo 1999; Kelly 2015; Carey 2015. 114  Burkert 1987; Cingano 1993; West 2015. 115  Carson 1998. 116  West’s 2015 contribution here, despite its title, disappoints. His approach restricts itself to considerations of the relation between genre and performance in the traditional fashion. He speculates about the potential nature of an ancient Southern Italian lyric-cum-epic poetic background, rather than tackling the question of what Stesichorean style actually does. 117  Compare LeVen 2016 in her review of Finglass and Kelly 2015b, highlighting a need for a more systematic and targeted focus on major interpretative questions. 118  Finglass in Davies and Finglass 2014, 1–6 with conclusion at 6. 119  As shown for Pindar by Phillips 2018a. 120  Cf. Suda Σ 1095 s.v. Stesichorus: ὅτι πρῶτος κιθαρῳδίᾳ χορὸν ἔστησεν, ‘the first to establish a chorus for kitharodic performances.’ Complexities of reception and reperformance suggest flexibility here, in any case: the issue reappears especially with Pindar (on sympotic reperformance of which, see Currie 2004, cf. Phillips 2017). For strict division between choral and monodic poets as a modern construct, see Davies 1988. Most recent discussion: Finglass 2017.

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Where his works were performed is still uncertain.121 We do have at least one piece of evidence that helps to situate Stesichorus within the cultural history of early Greek lyric. Oresteia fragment 173 lines 1–2 makes a statement about context: τοιάδε χρὴ Χαρίτων δαμώματα καλλικόμων | ὑμνεῖν, ‘Such are the lovelyhaired Graces’ gifts to the public that we must sing.’ The combined reference to ‘gifts to the public’ and the so-called khreos- (‘debt of song’) motif so long familiar from rhetorical analysis of Pindaric epinician poetry from Elroy Bundy onward seems to give us a more public idea of reciprocity and thus patronage (or competition), beyond anything we saw with the close of Ibycus S151. See the view of Chris Carey: ‘This is a text for the whole population, not something for an elite context. In this case at least we are evidently dealing with a civic festival. And the generalizing τοιάδε δαμώματα suggests that this mode of performance is not unusual.’122 The question of where these songs were performed in public is impossible to answer. The evidence is so slim that it is uncertain whether our ignorance is due to the extremely meager nature of our material or to a deliberate authorial strategy of creating wide mythological applicability beyond the specific designs of individual poleis. It does seem clear, however, that Stesichorus did not restrict himself to Magna Graecia or particularly to Himera (which claimed him in antiquity). The view of Budelmann in his recent commentary is a fair summary: ‘Some of the myths he treats, and indeed his treatment of them, probably had particular resonance in the west … However, on the whole Stesichorus is remarkably devoid of local reference.’123 A clear and consistent feature of Stesichorus’ poems is a widespread and detailed Homeric intertextuality, which stands alongside broader questions about relations between Stesichorus and Homer.124 Homeric intertextuality 121  For a reconstruction of the opening of the Sack of Troy (fr. 100 Finglass), see Finglass 2013; programmatic questions of interpretation raised by Fearn forthcoming; cf. Spelman 2018, 154. 122  Carey 2015, 53; Bundy 1962. How Ibycus S151 opened is not known since at least one stanza is lost. 123  Budelmann 2018b, 154, with Burnett 1988, 147–153 and Willi 2008, 82–89. See also Davies and Finglass 2014, 29–32. Fr. 177 Finglass = Σ Eur. Or. 46 provides evidence for Stesichorus’ location of Agamemnon’s palace in Sparta, not Mycenae (Homer) or Argos (Euripides): this may suggest interaction with local epichoric tradition in Southern Greece, but there is no more to go on. Cf. Hadjimichael 2019, 30–1. For more on Stesichorean performance, see Cingano 2003, 25–34; Ercoles 2013, 494–503. Sensible brief discussion at Spelman 2018, 154. Himera: bronze statue erected there pre-Carthaginian sack (409 BC), cf. Cic. Ver. 2.2.86. 124  Interaction with Homer is an overarching feature of Stesichorean scholarship, from questions about – potentially competitive – performance contexts (e.g. Burkert 1987; cf. Arrighetti 1994) through to specific interpretation of particular fragments. In the case of the Palinode (or Palinodes) – Pl. Phdr. 243a (cf. Isoc. Hel. 64) = Stesichorus fr. 91a Finglass –

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has been debated in recent scholarly contributions, the nature of which I illustrate in two examples. Here, first, is an overview of the position offered by Adrian Kelly: Interaction with the Homeric poems of various kinds may have occurred before him, but in Stesichorus we see something new. For the first time a poet is not merely using Homeric allusions as a repository of striking episodes or expressions, or as a general appeal to Homer’s authority and status, but deploying themes and sequences stretching across large swathes of those poems.125 This is possibly a little unfair to Sappho and Alcaeus.126 But the very different scale of Stesichorus’ compositions, in conjunction with their more micro-level metrical and phraseological insistence, does seem to emphasize the Homeric links or at least to make the question of the relation to Homeric epic especially prominent. Second, as Carey suggests, following Spencer Barrett, Homeric intertextuality appears felt at the level of both narrative style and characterization: what is seemingly noteworthy about Stesichorus’ mythmaking is its frequent reliance on direct speech rather than narrative alone. Generally un-Homeric, by contrast, are the precise myths covered, which seem to avoid treading directly on Homeric toes.127 The care with which Carey articulates his position on Stesichorus’ relation to Homer is exemplified in the following excerpt from his discussion:

the relation with the biographical construction of authors and blindness within and against the Homeric rhapsodic tradition is well explored in Graziosi 2002, 138–63; Kelly 2007 suggests an epiphanic encounter between ‘Stesichorus’ and Helen modelled on the shepherd ‘Hesiod’ and the Muses in WD; background here includes ‘Homer’s’ blindness ~ Demodocus at Hom. Od. 8.62–64; HHAp. 171–6 (‘blind man of rocky Chios’); Thamyris the impaired singer at Hom. Il. 2.594–600. Evidence for an alternative tradition of Helen’s phantom at Troy can also be found in Stesichorus: Pl. Rep. 9.586c, traceable back – again – to Hesiod (fr. 358), flourishing later as major motif in Euripidean tragedy (esp. Helen), though Wright 2005 is notably skeptical. For more discussion of the palinode(s) see Bassi 1993; Beecroft 2006. Useful individual discussions of issues in Stesichorus here in Maingon 1980; Reece 1988; Spelman 2018, 154. 125  Kelly 2015, 21. 126  For Homeric allusions and mythmaking in which, see e.g. Rosenmeyer 1997 and in particular Sappho frr. 1, 16 and 44, with Budelmann 2018b, 139 and Spelman 2018, 160–161 on the latter; cf. Alcaeus fr. 42 V, with, more generally, Caprioli 2012. 127  Barrett 2007 (originally 1968), 4; Carey 2015, 59 for Arist. Poet. 1460a5–11.

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This impression that Stesichorus is profoundly influenced by Homer is increased by the identifiable intertextual gestures towards Homer in something like the form in which we have them, however this form may have been experienced by Stesichorus or his audience … The obvious way to avoid the imperative of Occam’s Razor, which would make something like our Homer the intertext, is to argue for a stock motif. But none of these looks like a stock motif … And the agreement with Homer on the use of speeches suggests (again by a not unreasonable application of Occam’s Razor) that we should not be looking for an unattested lost source when there is otherwise reason to believe that Stesichorus knew something like our Homer.128 Consensus concerning intertextuality with Homer in the archaic period is unlikely to be reached swiftly given the multiple complexities involved, including the nature of early oral performance culture, the question of the availability of written texts, and transmission and reception; and it is questionable whether consensus would be wise in any case. Ultimately, it seems most sensible to justify, and to take hermeneutic responsibility for, our readings on the basis of the meanings they can help to engender and to strive to make sense of the texts on that basis.129 This approach may offer a useful way of combating one’s natural skepticism, especially if that tends toward a less open-minded attitude based in purported limitations of interpretability set by original conditions of reception.130 128  Carey 2015, 60–61. Carey focuses on three examples in the Geryoneis: fr. 15 Finglass ~ Hom. Il. 12.322–328, fr. 17 Finglass ~ Il. 22.79–89, and fr. 19 Finglass ~ Il. 8.300–308. I look at the second and third of these in a little more detail later. For an even-handed treatment of intertextuality in Stesichorus see also Budelmann 2018b, 161–162 viz. the Iliadic Sarpedon in fr. 15, and 170–171 on the poppy simile in fr. 19. 129  Classically, Fowler 1997, 25: ‘We have to stop somewhere, but we also have to face the fact that any particular stopping-place is therefore our choice, and carries with it ideological implications … To say that this text is relevant but not this text is not to discover the literary system but to construct it, and those constructions are part of wider constructions of antiquity.’ 130  Fowler 1997, 28–29 is especially pertinent here, especially as the ‘wider constructions of antiquity’ (see previous note) at stake for our purposes involve assessment of the boundaries in traditional scholarship of what ‘Greek lyric’ can even be interpreted as meaning, an issue which the entirety of the present discussion has aimed to open out onto new perspectives. Neither Fowler 1997 nor Hinds 1998 – the two most influential treatments of intertextuality in classical studies – are cited in Finglass and Kelly 2015b. Nor, from a rather different perspective, is Graziosi and Haubold 2005, a distinctive contribution on Homeric style in relation to orality and the wider tradition of early epic. I note, for balance, that Burgess 2001 is cited, though that contribution in turn rather overlooks

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The verdict of antiquity on Stesichorus is best exemplified by Quintilian, who is notoriously ambivalent: Stesichorum quam sit ingenio validus materiae quoque ostendunt, maxima bella et clarissimos canentem duces et epici carminis onera lyra sustinentem. reddit enim personis in agendo simul loquendoque debitam dignitatem, ac si tenuisset modum videtur aemulari proximus Homerum potuisse, sed redundat atque effunditur, quod ut est reprehendendum, ita copiae vitium est. The greatness of Stesichorus’ genius is shown among other things by his subject matter: he sings of the most important wars and the most famous commanders and sustains on his lyre the weight of epic poetry. In both their actions and their speeches he gives due dignity to his characters, and if only he had observed restraint he could possibly have been regarded as a close rival of Homer; but he is redundant and diffuse, a fault to be sure but explained by the abundance of what he had to say. Institutio oratoria 10.1.62131

Quotation of this passage is a consistent feature of Stesichorean scholarship and book-ends it, right from the early years of the papyrological discoveries through to the latest discussions. It is frequently used as a yardstick against which to measure up Stesichorean fragments as they emerge. See first Barrett, originally in 1968: ‘The picture which this gives is of a lyric poet writing largescale works on epic themes with a fullness of treatment running sometimes into the diffuse; and the papyrus fragments are now beginning to make clear how true this is.’132 And, more recently and extensively, though with more pointed intent, see Davies and Finglass in their edition, at the very end of their treatment of Stesichorean style:

Stesichorus. Burgess’s following claims (2001, 127) in particular seem rather naïve: ‘We have seen that the evidence for allusion to Homeric poetry in the Archaic Age is very slim … Precisely because I do not see how the Homeric poems could have been dominant in the Archaic Age, I approach early Greek poetry not expecting to see Homeric influence. This is most appropriate in view of the historical circumstances.’ 131  See also [Long.] De subl. 13.3 for Stesichorus as ‘most Homeric.’ 132  Barrett 2007, 4. Compare Parsons’s later verdict (1977, 26) on the Lille Stesichorus: a text to be characterized by ‘drab, repetitious flaccidity.’

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The single most famous comment on Stesichorus’ style is Quintilian’s … Yet as we have seen, both at the lexical level, and in broader narrative structures, Stesichorus employs repetition and redundancy as deliberate features. Quintilian may not have liked them, and his remark has overshadowed all discussions of Stesichorus’ style. But we need not adopt his literary preferences …; accordingly, we place his tendentious verdict at the end, not the beginning of this investigation. Our contention is that when we examine Stesichorus’ poetry with minds unprejudiced by the obiter dictum of that most influential literary critic, we may learn to appreciate the distinct aims of his poetry and the subtle means by which he achieves them.133 Quintilian’s verdict seems to be an albatross around the neck of canonical Stesichorean scholarship. What is generally overlooked in this otherwise very well-known passage, however, is the way in which Quintilian applies the ‘decorum’ theory of perfect fit between form or rhetorical purpose and content to test Stesichorean lyric and to find it wanting as it breaks this Aristotelian principle.134 And Quintilian’s analysis raises the question of what an application of restraint – in terms of style and thus form – would mean for a Homerizing lyric style, as well as for the relation between lyric form and content. Quintilian’s complaint that Stesichorus did not apply any formal restraint belies an ancient conception of lyric form as something attenuated: thin, compact, controlled in its outlook on the backstories of its content (whether mythological, historical, or imagined). This view also seems to match the formal constraints of sympotic monody in perhaps especially Anacreon, as discussed earlier in §4.3, as well as the rhetoric of lengthier lyric in, for instance, Pindar.135 Quintilian’s mis-appreciation of Stesichorus exposes the formal 133  Davies and Finglass 2014, 59–60; they devote only nine pages out of ninety-one to ‘style’ (§8, 52–60) in their introduction. 134  On problems of ‘decorum’ in ancient literary criticism, going back at least as far as Aristotle’s Poetics and Plato’s Republic, compare Silk 1980, 120–123, cf. Silk 2000, esp. 158–159; also Laird 2006, 32 for a critique of Quintilian. In a different positive take on Stesichorean style – as Davies and Finglass 2014, 60 n. 325 observe – the ancient scholar Hermogenes found Stesichorus’ poetry ‘sweet’ (ἡδύς) because of its use of many epithets: On Style 2.4; cf. Hunter 2015. Similar issues arise with Bacchylides too, for which see §7 (Timotheus upsets both sides of the decorum equation: see §9). 135  Note the similarity of the force of Quintilian’s rhetoric with Pind. Pyth. 1.81–83. On these terms, Quintilian’s complaints about Stesichorean style would figure the rhetorician as in the position of a reader of a style of lyric that had not paid due attention to Pindaric καιρός (read as formal ‘appropriateness’), with κόρος (‘satiety’) and μῶμος (‘blame’) the lamentable result.

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diversity of archaic and classical Greek lyric and, through that diversity, reveals the extent to which lyric form never allows unproblematic access to content as wholly separable from form as its mediation. Stesichorus, in a sense, achieves for Homeric mythological lyric what Anacreon achieves for sympotic experience: very different approaches, but with similar issues arising.136 Some modern scholars appear still to believe that ancient Greek lyric provides a neat tessellation of form, content, context, and meaning (a version of the organicist model critiqued earlier when we looked at Alcaeus and sympotic culture, as well as following Aristotelian rhetorical decorum). Yet the fact is that at least Quintilian thought that this was not true, at least in part, in Stesichorus’ case – even as he preferred to criticize Stesichorus for it. This is important because it highlights again how much pressure Greek lyric texts – across the full range of authors – put on the relation between form and content. It is the particular way that Stesichorean lyric negotiates this pressure point that provides, I feel, much of the interest of his poetry. While Malcolm Davies and Patrick Finglass in particular have begun a reappraisal of Stesichorean stylistics, much more remains to be done, especially in the recognition that the combination of, or indeed strong tension between, insistency of extreme stylistic detail and extreme narrative scale may have important consequences. And Quintilian’s commentary should stay with us because of the methodological questions it provokes. I suggest it should not be set aside as merely descriptive, as Davies and Finglass propose, because of the influence of the Quintilian passage on modern scholarship. If we move forward, a quick look at a fragment from Stesichorus’ Helen provides a direct prompt for the interpretative challenge. Fr. 88 Finglass is as follows: πολλὰ μὲν Κυδώνια μᾶλα ποτερρίπτουν ποτὶ δίφρον ἄνακτι, πολλὰ δὲ μύρσινα φῦλλα καὶ ῥοδίνους στεφάνους ἴων τε κορωνίδας οὔλας. 136  For the influential differentiation – which lyric massively pressurizes – between form and content in rhetorically focused ancient literary criticism from Aristotle’s Rhetoric onwards, see Russell 2006, 327. On Aristotle as problematic for lyric – but undoubtedly influential – see Harvey 1955, and, from a more theoretical perspective, e.g. Genette 1992, 60–72; Duff 2000, 3; Brewster 2009, 3. This present discussion raises further conceptual points. I agree with Feeney 1995 that literary criticism and theory, whether ancient or modern, is constantly battling to catch up with what poetry already implicitly knows. Much work remains to be done to negotiate the relation between ancient literary criticism, modern critical approaches, and ancient Greek lyric. For one starting point see Phillips 2016.

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They showered quinces on the lord’s chariot, they showered myrtle leaves, rose-garlands, crinkled wreathes of violet. Where scholars pay attention to this fragment, they tend to do so in the context of (worthwhile) attempts to find a place for it in a mythological sequence that the wider poem might have narrated. Davies and Finglass, however, raise the interesting question of the relation between the elaborate detail of the passage and the broader trajectory of Stesichorus’ myth: ‘Such a detailed description of the wedding, and especially the association of the thrown objects with fertility and love, has an ironic tinge in view of the eventual failure of the marriage.’137 But they do not pursue the issue of irony, or indeed the question of the basis on which an audience response ought to be configured. The passage is immediately striking for its detailed list of flowers. This is an evocation of a locus amoenus entirely appropriate to a wedding scene and is perhaps particularly reminiscent of Sapphic themes in fr. 44 (the wedding of Hector and Andromache), as well as more generally. But how appropriate to Stesichorus’ poem is it, we might ask? And how thus might we push the observation of Davies and Finglass further? It may seem that Stesichorus’ narrative pacing here is very different from what we find in Homer. Yet there are moments in the early hexameter tradition where narrative does indeed slow down to focus in on such detailing, to varying effect. Comparison may clarify. Consider the description of the burgeoning flowers that accompany the lovemaking of Zeus and Hera at Iliad 14.346–351 and the dressing-scene in the Homeric Hymn to Aphrodite (lines 58–67) that is followed by the impact of the goddess’s consequent appearance in lines 84–90. In these passages the slow pace allows us to absorb the vivid details of especially captivating divine scenarios. In the Iliadic example, attention to detail helps to articulate a sense of supernatural, otherworldly, even aetiologically cosmogonic, uniqueness; the pacing also fits with the broader strategic context of Hera’s ruse away from the Trojan plain. In the Homeric Hymn, our absorption is reliant on the strongly marked focalization of the description through the experience of Anchises. The details of the jewelry help to ground not only the alluring nature of Aphrodite to Anchises but also the alluring nature of the hymn for its own audiences. A direct correspondence between Anchises’ arousal at the vision and our absorption into the literary texture of the hymn is a reasonably obvious strategy. 137  See Davies and Finglass 2014, 326–329, discussing the inherent symbolism as appropriate to a wedding, presumably of Helen and Menelaus; Finglass 2015, 93.

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A third comparandum is provided by a fragment of the Cypria (fr. 4 Bernabé), describing in elaborate detail the variety of flowers with which Aphrodite adorns herself in preparation for the Judgment of Paris. Whatever one’s view of the broader structure of the Cypria, this fragment shows the poem’s willingness to offer up a high level of detail to pause narration when it wishes.138 Again, attention to vivid detail emphasizes the unique multi-sensory, supernatural character of the goddess in question. And, perhaps, like the Homeric Hymn, it allows the potential for the goddess’s allure to be focalized through a mortal perspective and for the gulf between gods and mortals – and thus the unique nature of the Judgment of Paris itself in the immediate narrative context – to be highlighted. This level of detail in the Cypria passage has been famously criticized by Jasper Griffin (setting it, as characteristically ‘cyclic,’ unfavourably against the two Homeric passages I have likewise cited).139 It is notable that his critique shares with Quintilian’s criticism of Stesichorus, in its underpinnings, an ultimately Aristotelian perspective. It also raises the very question of what amount of detail should be considered appropriate. This takes us back to Stesichorus fragment 88 and the interpretative point raised by Davies and Finglass concerning irony. Their point may be true, but it is not sufficient to identify the distinctiveness of Stesichorus’ treatment, since, for instance, the Cypria passage could be assessed in a similar way (gorgeous detail but to ultimately devastating effect).140 Scholarship might advance through consideration of three further factors. First, fragment 88 offers a mortal – even as heroic-world – scenario and seems potentially to jar with the exaggerated natural detail best paralleled in divine epic scenes: it is another sign of lyric’s tendency to hyperbole (in description as well as in rhetorical assertion). This pushes harder than with epic examples the question of the relation between poetic form and mythological content. Second, in addition to being focused on a mortal marriage, the diction in this passage implies the point of view of a multiplicity of onlookers. The focalization potentially blurs with a sense in which the extreme detail of the description is guaranteed and owned by, and is thus part of, our own worlds of experience, not straightforwardly that of a fictional realm of myth. This is where the analogy with the significance of flowers in Sappho is apposite. When we hear those flowers being sung in the Stesichorus fragment, the intensity 138  On which see Burgess 1996, 95. 139  Griffin 1977, 50–51. 140  Here I note that Carey 2015 does not investigate questions of language and style in the potential relation between Stesichorus and the epic cycle (the focus is rather on contexts, narrative technique, and intertextuality).

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of their presentation to us perhaps even makes us feel as if it is us who are, or might at least want to be, throwing those fruits, leaves, and garlands: Stesichorus would thus articulate ‘desires in our world,’ conforming to some degree with the view of Jonathan Culler on lyric’s epideictic nature: Lyrics do not in general performatively create a fictional universe, as novels are said to do, but make claims (quite possibly figurative ones) about our world. Keats’s ‘Ode to a Nightingale’ does not posit a fictional universe in which people talk to birds but articulates desires in our world.141 Even with the extended narratives of Stesichorus, then, it may therefore be that ‘the semantics of ancient lyric are not [quite] the semantics of narrative fiction.’142 Third, attention to detail – as evidenced more widely in Stesichorus as we will see – is not simply a sign of the modulation of narrative pace and scope to localized effect, as we have seen in the epic examples, whatever the individual narratological effects in Stesichorus. It seems to be a systematic and thoroughgoing aspect of Stesichorean narrative technique. Stesichorean style is an insistent, combined assertion of both hyperbolic phraseology and hyperbolic narrative. While Stesichorus is clearly heir to the oral-formulaic style of epithet usage familiar from Homer, the effect of the application of the lexical resources of epic is markedly distinct. This makes Stesichorus’ approach to style very different indeed from that located in Homer by, for instance, Matthew Arnold in On Translating Homer (‘rapidity,’ ‘plainness,’ and ‘directness’) and Silk’s reworking of it as ‘stylization’ and ‘immediacy,’ effects that, for epic, characterize its realism.143 This new-found view of realism problematized adds fresh complexity to the very question of Stesichorean narratology and focalization – and thus mood as well as point of view144 – beyond fragment 88. The problem of realism is also raised by the prominence of direct speech in the extant fragments, a factor that has otherwise been thought to show 141  Culler 2015, 128. 142  Payne 2006, 161, with my adjustment added. As Payne shows, there are some significant moments in Homer where the fictionality of the scenario breaks down somewhat, for instance in the famous words of Helen at Il. 6.357–358, ‘a strange rupture of narrative decorum’, as Payne (2006, 163) puts it; compare Halliwell 2011, 90. 143  See Silk 1987, 54–69. Even with Silk’s (1987, 57–58) modified application to the Iliad of Auerbach’s view of Homer as representing a brand of realism, projecting external reality and bringing it to a ‘uniform illumination’: Auerbach 1953, 7 – Silk rightly questions strict uniformity – it seems clear that Stesichorean style puts much more massive pressure on the very question of realism in epic-like myth-making. 144  Cf. Fowler 1990.

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Stesichorus’ similarity with Homeric technique. It is especially at issue in cases of intertextuality with the language used to describe Homeric characters. An example taken from the Geryoneis145 raises the question of the relation between Stesichorean language and mythmaking and Homeric intertextuality, and of how that relates to affecting characterization in lyric. This is Geryoneis fragment 17.2–5, where Callirhoe laments her doomed motherhood, bears her breast, and entreats Geryon to respect her and not go out to meet Heracles in battle. As Chris Carey and others have convincingly proposed, the characterization of Callirhoe is Homerically intertextual.146 It combines Hecuba’s breastbaring entreaty to Hector at Iliad 22.82–83147 and Thetis’ self-proclamation as a paradigm of bereavement at Iliad 1.414 and 18.54.148 While readers and audiences may react differently to the visibility of these interrelations, their very visibility raises the fundamental question of what we think we are to be imagining when we recall the intertexts and apply them to the local situation of Stesichorus’ poem about Geryon. Malcolm Davies comments on line 5, ‘The humanization of Geryon is complete; amid the pathos we forget to ask how Callirhoe breast-fed the three-headed infant.’149 This seems rather to miss the point of the interaction between Homeric scenarios and their new situation, which the effect of Stesichorus’ choice of narrative never really allows us to think past. The language of Stesichorean myth-making sets us off on an imaginative journey into both Homeric intertextuality and our construction of the nature of Geryon’s life as a character. But the upshot is that the very idea of a realist fictional presentation of Geryon and his mother does not entirely emerge from the inter145  A narrative of Heracles’ tenth labour, during which he journeys to the furthest West to abduct the cattle of the three-bodied Geryon (son of Callirhoe, an Oceanid nymph, and Chrysaor, son of Poseidon and Medusa); summary of myth at Ps.-Apollod. 2.5.10. 146  Barrett 2007, 16; Davies in Davies and Finglass 2014, 278–279; Kelly 2015, 37–39; Carey 2015, 60–61. 147  With this combination potentially influencing and thus shaping the complexity of the climactic characterization of Clytemnestra at Aesch. Cho. 896–898. For more on Stesichorus’ influence on tragedy, see Swift 2015, though not discussing this instance of intertextuality. 148  Kelly 2015 is much more skeptical about intertextuality with the Iliadic Thetis. In order for Kelly’s argument to have more interpretative purchase, however, more consideration of the poetic effect of the potential intertextual conflations ought to be considered; Kelly’s interest by contrast is more focused on the history of the poetic tradition than its specific poetic effects. For Thetis as a powerful paradigm of bereavement, one that guarantees the plot of the Iliad, see Slatkin 1992, ch. 1. 149  Davies in Davies and Finglass 2014, 279–280. For the over-prioritization of Homeric language in Stesichorus as a tool for interpretative clarity rather than complexity, cf. Kelly 2015, 42 ‘using … elements from the Iliad so as to encourage sympathy or admiration for Geryon.’

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textual nexus. Form at the level of diction mediates intertextuality in a way that stands to some extent at odds with the coherent presentation of a mythological world and thus gets in the way of the straightforward eliciting of our emotional response to it, despite the power of Callirhoe’s entreaty. If anything is captivating here, it is the creative intricacy of poetic form at the level of diction that generates the question of the coherence of this mythical space, rather than characterization. We enjoy the puzzle we are presented with and forget none of the details. Exactly comparable issues are raised by the juxtaposition in fr. 19 lines 31– 47 of cunning battle tactics of a crypto-Odyssean kind (Heracles – seemingly imagined as looking on from a crouching position150 – stealthily dispatches one of Geryon’s heads at lines 40–41, the mountain-like description of which is also reminiscent of Odysseus’ view of the mountainous Polyphemus at Odyssey 9.187–192151) and the hyperbolically overdetermined appropriation for Geryon of the simile from Iliad 8.300–308 figuring the demise of the Trojan prince Gorgythion shot by Teucer. Stesichorus’ version exceeds even its Homeric counterpart in its immediacy with καταισχύνοισ’ ἁπ̣ α̣λ̣ὸ̣ν� ̣ [δέμας, line 46: both καταισχύνοισ’, ‘spoiling,’ and ἁπ̣ α̣λ̣ὸ̣ν� ̣ [δέμας, ‘tender body,’ might be thought to be intruding into the poppy-vehicle from the tenor, given that not only ‘spoiling’ but also the sensuous language of bodies seems drawn from an anthropomorphic frame of reference.152 Davies and Finglass note that this beauty is ‘incongruous’ but do not elaborate.153 If there is anything beautiful and alluring about Stesichorus’ Geryoneis, it is the lyric language itself and its affective character for us – that is, the mode of signification rather than, at least straightforwardly, the characters and scenarios it allows our imaginations to attempt to create. Stesichorus here has completely transformed the Iliadic ‘beautiful death’ and made it all his own, by pushing much harder the relation between narrative and affecting lexical detail.154 Such affectivity is brought out, from a very different perspective, by Anne Carson’s brilliant recasting of Geryon and Heracles as postmodern lovers in her Autobiography of Red. In this retelling, ‘Herakles is not killing modern Geryon, but trying to seduce him … Carson’s Herakles, however, does not kill 150  Spelman ap. Davies and Finglass 2014, 288 ad loc. fr. 19.40–41. 151  Compare also the language of mountain peaks at Hom. Il. 13.12 and Hes. Theog. 62. 152  Davies and Finglass 2014, 289 ad loc. 44–47 with Fowler 1987, 189 n. 17 and Silk 1974, 138–149; as Davies and Finglass also point out, ἁπαλὸν δέμας, ‘tender body,’ recurs in the seemingly different human erotic context of Anacreont. 59.17. 153  Davies and Finglass 2014, 289 ad loc. 154  And for the poetological significance of this motif in the Iliad, see classically Vernant 1991.

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Geryon literally as he did in Stesichorus; rather, he breaks his heart.’155 Carson’s sexualized reanimation of the language and imagery of the poppy simile runs as follows: He felt Herakles’ hand move on his thigh and Geryon’s
 head went back like a poppy in a breeze
 as Herakles’ mouth came down on his and blackness sank through him.156 For Carson it is the stylization of lyric language in Stesichorus that is exemplary, not the mythological setting. The Geryoneis appears to revel in a gripping narrative set against a lyricism that emphasizes affecting details and tends toward sensuousness. Stesichorus’ reception of Homeric epic is most marked in the way that his attention to narrative detail and the intertextuality inherent in his lyric lexis allow him to intensify even further the affective tensions in the potentially divergent modes of experiencing and understanding narratives at all.157 Carson’s Autobiography of Red runs with the creative resources of diction that Stesichorus’ extra­ ordinary style affords, while exploring the imaginative paradigm provided by his absorbing yet multifacetedly puzzling narratives. This is brought out brilliantly by Carson’s commentary on her own work, as discussed by Monique Tschofen. The following excerpt in particular stresses Stesichorus as a liberating creative resource: What difference did Stesichoros make? Carson singles out two major “differences” that Stesichoros has made to literary history. Stesichoros’s 155  Schade 2015, 184. For further explorations of the reception of Geryon in Carson, see Rae 2000; Tschofen 2004; Hall 2009 provides a fascinating and informed overall guide. 156  Carson 1998, ch. 35, 118–119. 157  I do not have space here to cover in detail interpretation of the Lille Stesichorus (fr. 97.201–303 Finglass). While Parsons’s 1977 discussion is still important, recent treatments have moved things on somewhat, including Finglass 2015, who notes clear differences from cyclic Thebaid material, and especially Hutchinson 2011, who, at 125 ad loc. 204–210, makes the important point that ‘most of the stanza suggests the authoritative wisdom of a lyric, elegiac, or iambic narrator more than the purposeful speeches of epic … Yet in this speech from a character the wisdom is ironically misguided.’ The extent to which the scenario is ironic would be determined by individual readers / audiences on the basis of a fuller experience of the narrative than is now possible. Yet Hutchinson picks up on another aspect of the same general jarring effect in Stesichorus that I have noted through the discussion of the Geryoneis, located in the juxtaposition of different levels of language (and including intertexts) and the question of appropriate fit between Stesichorean lexis and envisioned narrative scenario / realism. Other important discussions on the Lille Stesichorus include Burnett 1988 and Maingon 1989.

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first contribution is tropic. According to Carson, Stesichoros unleashed the adjective from the fixity of the Homeric epithet, and thus “released being” (5) … Where in epic, adjectives are used to put things in their place and keep them there, in the lyric world that Stesichoros unleashes, adjectives are used to bring to things spectacular depths and dazzling ambiguities … This new metaphoric logic is dynamic; in it, dramatic reversals and returns are possible. It also invites a complex and carnal sensory engagement, and this is how it connects with the first part of the proposition “red meat.” … The difference Stesichoros makes, then, is to expand the communicability of language. He lets us see that words say but that they also show, that they make us think, but they also make us feel. According to Carson, Stesichoros’ second contribution to literary history is narrative. Just as he unleashed words from the weight of the past, so too did he unleash story, completely altering the assessment of important mythological figures.158 While we would want to resist Carson’s rather negative characterization of epithets in Homeric epic, which seems to be a good deal more creative than this blanket overview appears to allow,159 the intensity that Carson’s claims highlight for Stesichorus is directly in line with my earlier twin focus on hyperbolic narrative and hyberbolic descriptive language. And Tschofen’s own twinned language of ‘unleashing’ is perfectly in tune with this way of thinking. My additional emphasis has been on the effects of the dynamic tension between these two hyperbolic modes.160

158  Tschofen 2004, 39–40. 159  See e.g. Macleod’s and Martin’s attention to the distinctive language used to characterize Achilles, both in narrative and direct speech, in the Iliad: Macleod 1982, 40–45; Martin 1989, esp. 179–205. 160  Carson herself does articulate this tension, though very differently and across multiple dimensions, throughout her novel’s complex mediation between classical reception, narration, poetic description, and photography (Geryon is, it turns out, a portrait photographer). Some aspects here are fascinatingly explored in McCallum 2007. See also Carson 1998, ‘Interview (Stesichoros),’ 148–149, channelling Gertrude Stein, where ‘she’ interviews ‘Stesichoros’ on the difference between narration as relational and poetic detail as concerned with description: ‘I: Description can we talk about description | S: What is the difference between a volcano and a guinea pig is not a description why is it like it is is a description.’

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Simonides: Tombs and Pictures

Scholars feel more securely grounded in historical contexts with Simonides.161 Though the vast majority of his works are lost, fragments, titles, and enough doxography survive to reveal a poet working across an exceptionally wide range of genres, including epinicians, threnoi, encomia, paeans, and dithyrambs, as well as epigrams: thus a poet with a vast range of interests and connections.162 As a fully fledged epinician poet, it is easy to situate Simonides in the heavily financed environment of competitive panhellenic athletics – with all its trappings – that is a central feature of the cultural (and material-cultural) life of late archaic and early classical Greece.163 Social and cultural contextualization has accordingly been the focus of the majority of extensive critical attention in recent years.164 The anecdotal tradition associated with Simonides is extensive.165 It is best exemplified by the story of the ‘Thessalian disaster:’ the poet agrees a fee for 161  A native of Ceos and uncle of Bacchylides (for whom see §7). Work at Athens: under the Athenian tyrant Hipparchus (Campbell test. 10, Arist. Ath. Pol. 18.1); within Athenian state-sponsored – democratic? – performance-culture: Wilson 2000; Hadjimichael 2019, 40–1. Sparta: Nobili 2012 (a potential epinician ode); also 531 PMG commemorating Thermopylae; other commemorations of the Persian Wars, in epigrams (VI, XXIIa and b FGE = Herodotus 7.228.3–4: further, Bravi 2006; Petrovic 2007) and narrative elegy (cf. elegiac frr. 3–16, including well-known ‘Plataea Elegy’ fragments: Parsons 1992; Boedeker and Sider 2001, commentary by Rutherford 2001a; discussion of context by Aloni 2001; Kowerski 2005; Rawles 2018a, 78–106); other Spartan lyric compositions: frr. 532–536 PMG. Career chronology: Hutchinson 2001, 286–288 – Simonides is a generation older than the contemporaries Pindar and Bacchylides. Now-standard critical edition, with German commentary: Poltera 2008, superseding PMG, though for ease of cross-reference with established work in the field, PMG numerations are still frequently used, including here. 162  For the Alexandrian edition, see Lobel 1959, 89; D’Alessio 1997, 52; Obbink 2001, 75–77; Lowe 2007, 175. 163  A wide panhellenic patronage: beyond Athens and Sparta, Corinth (SLG S339/40: Barrett 1978; commentary by Poltera 2008, 358–361), Thessaly: esp. 511 PMG (Molyneux 1992; Rawles 2013, 199–200 and 214–221; Budelmann 2018b, 206–209) and 542 PMG (Most 1994; Budelmann 2018b, 117–142). Also: Euboea (518 PMG = Hdt. 5.102.3) and Magna Graecia (515 PMG; 513 PMG, on which mostly recently Spelman 2018, 268 n. 38; 580 PMG: association with Hieron of Syracuse). 164  See esp. Rawles 2018a; Spelman 2018, 187–189 for an overview of the development of epinician poetry in relation to late archaic culture. 165  Simonides as a money-grubbing skinflint: at least as early as Aristophanes and Old Comedy and possibly as far back as Xenophanes (cf. Harris 2009) and thus more directly contemporary: Bell 1978; Rawles 2018a, 155–193, esp. 157–160. Whatever the historicity of these tales, the clear upshot is that Simonides is part of – and perhaps has a foundational role in? – the commissioning of commemorative works for payment by both city-states and individuals or families; cf. Spelman 2018, 186–187.

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composing a victory ode; full payment is withheld because too much time was spent praising Castor and Pollux in the poem; Simonides is present at the victory banquet, when he is called outside to see two young men on horseback; meanwhile the palace collapses, and all inside are killed; Simonides is then able to recall the seating plan and thus return dead bodies to their respective relatives.166 Richard Rawles observes that ‘one of the features of the Simonidean tradition seems to be an interest in what happens when the relationship between patron and poet breaks down, and we are shown the result; it puts both in a negative light.’167 This is significant for the broader themes of my present survey because, as a counterpoint to lyric memorialization through patronage,168 it underlines how Greek lyric seems to carry within itself, and seems always already to understand, the vicissitudes of its own reception through, and as, kleos. This provides a neat link with the end of Ibycus’ Ode to Polycrates (S151), for instance, as discussed in §4.2. There is never a perfect fit between poetic form, as mediated in reception, and original context. Both contextualizability and interpretability are systematically at issue, and these are factors that recur in the fragments of Simonides, as we shall see shortly.169 Simonides is distinctive for being very self-aware about his relation to his own creative medium and to other poets / traditions / artists.170 There is also a long-standing tradition placing Simonides apophthegmatically at the start of the paragone tradition pitching art against literature, threading through into Horace, Leonardo, and coming to a head in enlightenment Art History with Gotthold Ephraim Lessing’s Laocoon.171 This tradition is too fragmented 166  Anecdotal sources here: Quint. Inst. orat. 11.2.11–16 (= 510 PMG); cf. Cic. De orat. 2.86.351– 353; Call. Aet. fr. 64 Pf. Discussion in Rawles 2018b, 187–191, esp. 190–191. 167  Rawles 2018b, 193. 168  Made most obvious, perhaps, through the systematic critique of lyric poetics of patronage and lofty figurative escapism in Ar. Av.: cf. Rawles 2018b, 161–163; also, with a different emphasis, Hadjimichael 2019, 76–84 esp. 83 with Martin 2009. 169  Again, a point raised in recent critical-theoretically attuned approaches to Greek lyric: esp. Phillips 2016, Fearn 2017, Payne 2018. 170  Simonides includes critiques of so-called Sages (Cleoboulus of Lindos in 581 PMG; Pittacus in 542 PMG) and named figures from the literary tradition, including Homer, Hesiod, and Stesichorus too (the latter two together in 564 PMG): see further e.g. Ford 2002, 93–130; Porter 2010, ch. 9; Fearn 2013; Rawles 2018a; Budelmann 2018b, 227–228. 171  See Fearn 2017, 230–231, with Peponi 2016, 9–12 and T101 Poltera with Poltera 2008, 84 n. 153; earlier: Lessing 1766; Sprigath 2004, 263; Newby 2007, 1; Squire 2009, 147–148 building on Ford 2002, 96–101; Squire 2010, 73; Bravi in Bravi and Brunori 2010, 466–468. Although Simonides’ attitude toward visual art is generally thought to be polemical, I have suggested, in Fearn 2017, 230–231, a more nuanced position: that the polemical reading has involved, firstly, a problematic biographical application of the apophthegmatic

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at its earliest points to suggest certainty, but it does seem clear that Simonides’ poems themselves frequently either provide encounters with contemporary material culture or offer a style of vivid narrative that draws attention to gaps between verbal and visual.172 In order to develop some of the themes identified so far, let us turn now to examine the ways in which two fragments have been subject to recent critical scrutiny. These are 531 PMG, the Thermopylae poem, and fr. 543 PMG, the Danae fragment.173 Here is a text and translation of 531 PMG: [τῶν ἐν Θερμοπύλαις θανόντων] εὐκλεὴς μὲν ἁ τύχα, καλὸς δ’ ὁ πότμος, βωμὸς δ’ ὁ τάφος, πρὸ γόων δὲ μνᾶστις, ὁ δ’ οἶ[κ]τος ἔπαινος· ἐντάφιον δὲ τοιοῦτον οὔτ’ εὐρὼς οὔθ’ ὁ πανδαμάτωρ ἀμαυρώσει χρόνος. ἀνδρῶν ἀγαθῶν ὅδε σηκὸς οἰκέταν εὐδοξίαν Ἑλλάδος εἵλετο· μαρτυρεῖ δὲ καὶ Λεωνίδας, Σπάρτας βασιλεύς, ἀρετᾶς μέγαν λελοιπὼς κόσμον ἀέναόν τε κλέος. [for the dead at Thermopylae] glorious is fortune; fair is fate; tradition and, secondly, an underappreciation of Simonides’ own concerns as a poet, as evidenced in both the diversity of his career and through extant fragments, such as the Thermopylae poem (531 PMG) and the Danae fragment (543 PMG). 172  Cf. classically [Long.] De subl. 15.7: 557 PMG; overall theme of Fearn 2017, ch. 4 esp. 229–248. 173  The two discussions that follow here are brief variations on the readings I offered in Fearn 2013, 236–8 and Fearn 2017, 229–248, with new, greater focus on bibliographical review. Among other lyric fragments by Simonides to receive detailed critical discussion in recent years, see e.g. the contrasting views of Fearn 2011b, 204–211 and Rawles 2013 on the interpretation of the Krios fragment, 507 PMG (praise, or mockery?) and its reception in Ar. Nub. – interpretation of which is to a large extent determined by one’s broader view of how epinician poetry chooses to memorialize, somewhat impeded by the present state of our ignorance about Simonides’ epinician poetry. The broader evidence from Pindar and Bacchylides suggests that epinician poetry does not spend any time conferring unnecessary kleos on the defeated and is also in the frequent habit of making puns on victor’s names. Was Simonides different, somehow even more jocular and more edgy? Cf. e.g. Bowra 1961, 314; Carey 1999, 18. Whatever the ultimate assessment, such issues of tone and intent are very likely to be related to questions of encomiastic projection already raised by e.g. interpretation of fragments of the erotic encomiastic Ibycus, for which see §4.2 earlier. For discussion of 542 PMG, notoriously transmitted and subjected to critical scrutiny in Plato’s Protagoras, see Most 1994; Demos 1999, 37–38; Hadjimichael 2019, 115; commentary by Budelmann 2018b, 214–221.

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the tomb an altar; in place of wailing, remembrance; the dirge is praise: such a shroud as neither mould nor time, all-conquering, can fade. This sepulchre of fine men has chosen as its inhabitant the good name of Greece. Leonidas bears witness, king of Sparta, who has left behind a great ornament of excellence and ever-flowing fame. What should matter, I think, is not how Simonides’ poem does or does not correspond to known facts about the historical commemoration in Sparta – or indeed elsewhere – of the battle of Thermopylae. (Philologists, it might be said, tend to bother themselves with hermeneutic recoveries of the scraps of historical reference, while Simonides has already left the scene of the crime far behind.)174 Rather, we should focus our attention on how the poem’s conjuring of affect through language allows the very idea of commemoration of Spartan war dead to stay with us, not just for the purposes of immediate historical record and mourning, but forever. A creative interpretation is provided, once again, by Anne Carson, in her discussion of Simonidean sensitivity to the special way in which words can be made to do things through their interface with one another. This is a poem that focuses the mind on the very question of the relation between materiality and memory. As Carson notes, The poem begins with five statements that compose a fivefold conceptual shock … Simonides lines up a series of nouns and adjectives in tensile pairs, so that they seem to defy one another and to threaten the 174  Basic historical coordinates are set by Hdt. 7.228 (that the Spartans were buried where they fell; that Simonides wrote the commemorative epigram for the monument honouring the Spartan seer Megistias). Further discussion at Budelmann 2018b, 210, spending some time discussing the interpretative possibilities of deictic ὅδε in line 5: ‘If the song was performed at the site it will have transformed what was primarily Leonidas’ shrine into a “precinct of the excellent men”, and transformed the men into cult heroes in the mould of Leonidas. When performed anywhere else, the song would conjure up “this precinct” poetically.’ He also notes the more extended poetic readings of Steiner 1999, 397– 398 and Wiater 2005, 51–53, who suggest that ὅδε σηκός refers to the song itself. I much prefer the latter readings, especially as there is no obviously successful way for us either to strip away poetic language to allow us to get back to the ‘real’ monument ulterior to it; nor is it the case that even if we had the monument in front of us when we were experiencing a performance of this text the text’s complex deixis would be slightly defused through referentiality across from lyric content to monument. The reasons for my preference are outlined in what follows.

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conventional categories of epitaphic diction … Simonides creates a syntax of defiance out of simple apposition, as a painter may set daubs of color next to each other on his canvas in the knowledge that they will mix on the retina of your eye. The aligned words do not refute or replace one another, they interdepend; the meaning of the sentences happens not outside, not inside the daubs of paint, but between them.175 Carson’s reading is important as a detailed atomization of how I think Simonides’ words would have been understood and how many people would and will naturally read them. Simonides’ ‘syntax of defiance’ works through lyric’s ability creatively to blur the usually separate categorization of abstract concepts and material things. He projects that new blurring across time and space as a distinctively new kind of commemorative artwork. Budelmann notes that ‘the stark and balanced phrasing recalls commemorative epigram.’176 This is an important observation, since Simonides, as a writer of commemorative epigram himself, knows the extent to which that form is self-referential (through complex use of personal pronouns) as far back as one can go, especially when considered to be part of a monument rather than separate from it. Simonides takes this a stage further by using his poem to muse on the very ideas of physicality, monumentality, and permanence, as well as presence and absence. See Deborah Steiner’s discussion: Fragment 531 seemingly observes the epitaphic rule. Line 3 speaks of the τάφος, and the σηκός in line 6 seemingly describes a burial area, one of a particularly exalted kind appropriate to the status of the semi-heroized dead; accompanied by ὅδε, it corresponds to the epitaphs’ own repeated use of τόδε to introduce the σῆμα or μνῆμα to which they belong. But just as Simonides marked both person and place as absent in his opening line, so too he includes the monument only to deny it the ‘presentness’ that contemporary inscribed epitaphs take pains to affirm. When the looked-for τάφος does appear, it forms part of the assertion that this grave serves as, or, more curiously, has been replaced by an altar. So too the ἐντάφιον rapidly loses the material character it seems to possess: no sooner does Simonides introduce the term than he strips it of physicality, proclaiming it miraculously untouched by mould and time. And finally

175  Carson 1999, 53–54, emphasis in original. 176  Budelmann 2018b, 210.

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the σηκός, whose pronoun begins by announcing its presence before the audience, undergoes an equivalent change in state.177 Moreover, there is never a moment, even in an encounter with any real monument, when such experience does not involve at least some activation of the creative imaginary.178 Indeed, we can factor in desire once again; as ever, lyric gets us to negotiate presence and absence through desire.179 Relevant here are Don Fowler’s particularly acute – and affecting, increasingly lyrical – comments on the power of monuments: We can only begin from the traces, the ruins and the monuments, but the stories they tell are our own. This is the paradox of the monument: designed as a summation of memory, an omega-point in which is concentrated all the meaning that a culture wishes to preserve, it can only function for the modern interpreter as a blank slaughterhouse wall on which to project the stories back, the starting-point not for memory but for desire. The point at which the lived reality of the imaginary falls into meaning in the symbolic order, the monument is simultaneously the spark that sets in train the modern reader’s hopeless but necessary desire to set off on a journey into that imaginary, mixing memory and desire in the dead land like Eliot’s cruellest April.180 Simonides’ poem makes us attune ourselves to the recognition that monumentality is constituted by imaginative desire. It strikes me that Simonides’ distinctive achievement is to appropriate for poetry the materiality of 177  Steiner 1999, 385. Cf. Steiner 2001, 258; Neer 2010, 15. For related issues of deictic complexity in early Greek prose, compare also Hecataeus fr. 1 and Heraclitus DK 22 B 1, with EGM II.678 and Most 1999, 358–359. 178  More generally for classical Art History conceptually (what do we / did they think we’re / they were looking at when we look at a sculpture?) cf. Berger 1972, 10 and Gordon 1979, 8. For the art-and-text communicative dialectic of archaic inscribed kouroi, see Lorenz 2010 (Bruss 2010 is a weaker contribution). There is increasing recognition of the need to break down disciplinary walls between Greek Art History and philology, so that the slippages and tensions between archaic Greek art and text can be properly appreciated. Compare also Mitchell 2003, 60: ‘The very phrase “word and image” … is a pair of terms whose relation opens a space of intellectual struggle, historical investigation, and artistic/critical practice. Our only choice is to explore and inhabit this space.’ 179  One reason why my entire present discussion begins with Sappho. For desire in Pindar as a not only orienting but also destabilizing presence, see Fearn 2017, ch. 2 on Nemean 8; see too §8.2 below, with related issues of lyric mystification and lyric (dis)embodiment. 180  Fowler 2000, 202.

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monumentality – in which he was himself a famous practitioner as a composer of epigrams for monumental inscription – and to produce a lyric text that makes the Spartan war dead at Thermopylae resonate much further than their own contexts by virtue of Simonides’ ability to pause to consider the very nature of memorialization itself. Simonides shares the structured alignments and syntactically direct and terse associations that lyric form affords in order to make the language of death, and the frame of reference provided by the materiality of mourning, hit home as a quasi-philosophical reflection on death and the possibility of death’s transcendence.181 If, on Mark Payne’s formulation,182 we want to go looking for ‘signature ethical gestures’ in Simonides, the tomb would be a good place to start.183 This may seem gloomy, but it is not. Simonides is one of ancient lyric’s most creative thinkers. He raises similar questions about our proximity to or distance from his poetic subjects – though this time, mythical ones – in the celebrated Danae fragment, 543 PMG. Again, Anne Carson has important things to show us. The Danae fragment, decontextualized and unframed (apart from its quasiecphrastic opening three words ὅτε λάρνακι ἐν δαιδαλέᾳ, ‘when in the decorated chest’ – or is it ‘on’?),184 presents a piteous scene: a mother cries to Zeus amid the wind, rain, and surging sea, cast adrift on the ocean with the baby Perseus, uncannily slumbering unresponsively in (or, again, is it ‘on’?)185 her purple robe. The text begs us to imagine its scenario, but the poem’s very language as the creative resource we rely on to create the scene in our minds’ eyes presents something of a hypertrophic barrier to doing so. For, as Carson observes – and my own 2017 reading builds on – the poem abounds with double negatives. Rather than being simple aspects of language requiring no further comment, negatives can be much more stimulating as a poetic resource. Carson concludes her observations by saying the following of Simonides’ negatives: ‘The interesting thing about a negative, then, is that it posits a fuller

181  Cf. Steiner 1999, 389–390 with Thuc. 2.43.2–3 for further development of this motif for historiography. 182  Payne 2018, 263; cf. above §2 for Sappho’s flowers. 183  Indeed, this would work nicely with the way Simonides’ classical reception is already deeply intertwined with the physical monumentality of the tomb. Cf. Morrison 2013; Rawles 2018b. 184  Cf. Fearn 2017, 233–235. 185  Cf. Fearn 2017, 244–245.

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picture of reality than does a positive statement;’186 ‘no other poet of the period manages to deny so much, so well.’187 See further: ‘If to you the terrible were terrible,’ says Danae to her sleeping child, ‘you would hear what I am saying.’ But the child does not hear and a different kind of sleeping has to be imagined by the wakeful mother … The poet’s metaphorical activity puts him in a contrafactual relation to the world of other people and ordinary speech. He does not seek to refute or replace that world but merely to indicate its lacunae, by positioning alongside the world of things that we see an uncanny protasis of things invisible, although no less real. Without poetry these two worlds would remain unconscious of one another.188 Simonides has his eye on relations between verbal and visual realms in a way that allows us to focus our attention on what makes art (poetic and visual) special: its affordances that enable us to conceptualize and orient ourselves to the worlds we inhabit. Simonides dangles a mythological space, and a seemingly hyper-vivid scenario within that space, in front of our eyes, only to make us realize that access to that mythological space is not really possible and is not really the point anyway. The surface artistry of Simonides’ poetics enriches and deepens our own conceptual understanding of what art can do as an aesthetic and ethical resource for our worlds. In many ways, this is already to some extent going on in Stesichorus, whose rich lyric-epic intertextuality confronts us with the very question of what we are imagining. Simonides, it seems, in the Danae fragment at least, is advancing things conceptually. Not only is it quite plausible that he is drawing inspiration from visual art for his vivid scene-painting. He also invites deeper reflection on the imagistic and communicational resources of lyric poetry in detail through carefully controlled micro-level attention to diction and syntax. Moreover, Carson’s observation in the passage quoted above about the ramifications of Danae’s (non)-communication with the passive Perseus raises the stakes for our consideration of what our own responses should be to such art(istry). How can we, in our circumstances, be expected to relate across the communicative 186  Carson 1988, 149 = Carson 1999, 102. Nota bene ‘posits’ not ‘represents’ or ‘presents.’ Mimeticism is very much at issue here, as Carson knows. 187  Carson 1988, 148 = Carson 1999, 101, discussing οὐκ ἀδιάντοισι παρειαῖς, ‘with cheeks not unwet’, line 5; Fearn 2017, 237–40. Compare the complexity of the presentation of the Nereids’ tears at Hom. Il. 18.65–67, as imaginatively discussed by Purves 2016, 77–78. 188  Carson 1992, 59 = Carson 1999, 58–59.

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divide?189 The nature of the ancient citation does not enable us to identify this poem’s genre. Equally, any wider framework – encomiastic? Threnodic? Or no frame at all (compare Bacchylidean dithyramb)? – within which the Danae myth might have originally been positioned in the poem is unrecoverable. But the reflections that Carson’s observations help to promote are worth considering, because they remind us of our direct implication in the construction of what such texts mean and the responsibility we all have for justifying our critical reactions to them. Indeed, the incomplete transmission of this text has helped to orient recent scholarship to these issues of communication and the construction of meaning.190 7

Bacchylides: Narrativity and Imagistic Depth

With Bacchylides, of all the poets surveyed so far, we are in a much better position to offer a clear view of his works as individual complete poems because of one positive (though complex) story within the vicissitudes of transmission: the publication at the end of the nineteenth century of a series of virtually complete epinician odes and dithyrambs from a papyrus that found its way to the British Museum from Egypt.191 Scholarly reaction was unkind to Bacchylides for an extended period, though in recent decades there has been something of a reappraisal.192 His work across the majority of fifth-century choral lyric genres – especially, given the transmission, victory odes and dithyrambs – has attracted the usual range of discussions situating him alongside Pindar in the context of classical Greek performance culture.193 189  Compare also Michael 2017, 276, considering Sappho’s call to be heard in fr. 1 V, a call which is more optimistic in its anticipation of response than Danae’s appeals here. 190  See esp. Rosenmeyer 1991, via Dion. Hal. Comp. 26.15. 191  Editio princeps: Kenyon 1897 (with Fearn 2010 for discussion of context of papyrus publication); landmark commentaries include Jebb 1905; Maehler 1982 and 1997, cf. Maehler 2004; Cairns 2010. Translations: Campbell, Loeb; fascinating interpretation by Fagles 1998, with highly suggestive notes by Adam Parry. 192  Original reception, following on from ancient polemics: Stern 1970; Lefkowitz 1981, 57; Pfeijffer and Slings 1999; e.g. ΣΣ Pind. Ol. 2.154b, Nem. 3.143; Pyth. 2.163b, 166d, 171bcd (i.98– 99, iii.62; ii.58, 60 Dr); [Long.] De subl. 33.5. New work: Carey 1999; Fearn 2007; Fearn 2012; Most 2012; Uhlig 2017; Fearn 2017, 248–264. Groundbreaking discussion of epithets: Segal 1976, cf. Silk 1974, 111. 193  Commissions for his home island of Ceos feature strongly: Bacch. 1, 2, 6 and 7; cf. Bacch. 17. Among his earliest commissions may be fr. 20B, a sympotic encomium for Alexander I of Macedon, and Bacch. 13, a victory ode for a patron from the island of Aegina, a pair with Pind. Nem. 5 and datable within the mid–late 480s BC; Bacchylides’ latest victory odes stretch down to the 450s: see Cairns 2010, 3–4. His most prominent

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Bacchylides’ book of dithyrambs contains poems that provide precious evidence to support the idea that dithyramb as a form was particularly associated with narrative, as claimed by Plato (Rep. 3.394b–c), even if this takes us only as far back as Hellenistic editorial practice and its implicit indebtedness to Platonic genre-theory.194 The notorious Bacchylides 17 similarly provides no explicit reference to Dionysus and in fact ends with a coda celebrating Ceian choral culture in honour of Apollo on Delos. This does not mean that Dionysiac elements within the poem’s myth-making may not have been felt or that, in some sense, it is ‘wrong’ to think of this poem as dithyrambic. This is especially so given the poem’s likely Athenocentric colouring: ‘the glorious deeds of Theseus’ are recounted and contrasted with the rapaciousness of Minos, a figure elsewhere treated in Bacchylides’ victory odes as a culture hero for the islanders of his own home of Ceos.195 Elsewhere, the poems refuse to provide framing details specifying their conditions of performance or reception. Bacchylides 15, ‘The Sons of Antenor, or the Request for the Return of Helen,’ is purely mythological with a pointed lack of framing even at the end where Menelaus’ message is left hanging in mythological space. Bacchylides 18, ‘Theseus, for the Athenians,’ is an idiosyncratic and as-yet-unique kind of hybrid between choral lyric and what is generally but rather unhelpfully called a kind of ‘dramatic’ exchange, though, again, with no contextualizing frame.196 That these poems are not so obliging as some might like in this regard is, in fact, rather liberating. It may indeed be recognized that a lack of precise contextual specifiability makes these texts’ cultural power and resonance easier to argue for rather than less, especially if this means that we think more directly about form and poetic style, affect, and aesthetics.197 Distinctive features of Bacchylidean poetics – which seem to extend and rework themes already present in Stesichorus and Simonides – include vividness, extensive intertextuality, and prominent use of simile. Bacchylides 5 is the most accessible place to witness the range of scholarly views of Bacchylidean intertextuality. commissions are for Hieron of Syracuse: Bacch. 3, commemorating his Olympic chariotrace victory of 468, and Bacch. 5, a pair with Pind. Ol. 1, for Hieron’s Olympic horse-race victory of 476. Among other less well-known localities commemorated, see Bacch. 9 for Phleious (see Fearn 2003) and Bacch. 11 for Metapontum (see Cairns 2005). 194  See further in detail Fearn 2007, ch. 3; D’Alessio 2013, esp. 119–122. 195  See Fearn 2011b. 196  Cf. Zimmermann 1992, 95–98; Maehler 2004, 193; Fearn 2007, 193; D’Angour 2013, 206; Calame 2013, 346–349 esp. 349. 197  Cf. Felski 2015, 191.

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In her influential analysis of Bacchylides 5, Mary Lefkowitz strives to rectify the long-standing view of Bacchylides’ second-rate status in an era where the opposition between traditionality and originality was beginning to come under intense pressure elsewhere in classical literature.198 Lefkowitz concludes her discussion with the following sensible comments on the stimulating rationale of Bacchylides’ Homeric intertextuality: To his contemporaries, Bacchylides’ epic recollections could serve as a kind of metaphorical language, in which a few words could bring to mind a fuller picture, and comparison could add new meaning to the poem. Thus brief references to the “generation of leaves,” Odysseus’ descent to the lower world, Hector’s death, and Achilles’ meeting with Priam add vast scope to Meleager’s narrative … In short, the very qualities for which Bacchylides has since antiquity been criticized seem, in Ode 5 at least, to be the most creative and effective aspects of his art.199 In a 1983 paper, Simon Goldhill acknowledges his own debt to Lefkowitz’s significant contribution but puts much greater emphasis on the creative effects of Bacchylides’ strategic choice of narrative style within encomiastic discourse and on the questions of interpretative coherence this raises. See in particular the following: This overall structure is in itself also a major element in the definition of the tone of the piece: for the depressing and mournful atmosphere often noted by critics gains much of its force not only from the sadness of the tale of Meleager, the centre of the poem, but also from the tension between this tale of human mortality and the implied passage to immortality of Herakles; between the cyclical natural world and the linear paths of mortality both on a subtextual level, and as paralleled by the movement of Herakles to the underworld and back in contrast to Meleager’s, and all humans’, one way journey; and, lastly, the tension that builds from the redefinition of Hiero’s apparently confident human control towards the realisation of the randomness and irrationality of narrative action, and the ultimate lack of control, his mortality.200 198  Cf. e.g. the history of Virgilian scholarship since Williams 1968. 199  Lefkowitz 1969, 95. 200  Goldhill 1983, 78–79. For a more recent, though diffuse, discussion of Bacchylidean intertextuality, see Pfeijffer 1999b. For detailed discussion of Iliadic intertextuality in Bacch. 13 and 15, see Fearn 2007, chs. 2 and 5.

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Compare, more recently, Chris Carey: As with Homer, juxtaposition, contrast and reversal are also used to great effect. Perhaps the most impressive use of juxtaposition is the magnificent chiaroscuro of Ode 5, where the opening and closing sections, with their emphasis on success, envelop a central section which presents the Greek view of human insubstantiality at its most bleak. Here the contrast is between myth and victor-praise.201 More recently still, Glenn Most has examined Bacchylidean intertextuality to explore tonal differences from Pindar: Bacchylides presents himself as a listener who has heard and admired the same great poetic texts as we have and is eager to bring them back to life in collaboration with us. Pindar presents himself as a speaker who has studied the poets of the past more critically than we have and who will now show us why he can understand them better than we, and can write poems better than they.202 Most’s emphasis on collaboration here is absolutely right. I would suggest, however, that Most’s argument misses the interpretative questions raised by the disjunctive structuring of epic-style narrative and encomiastic assertion that Goldhill’s treatment brings out.203 A systematic focus on mournful mortality via katabatic narrative allows a specially enhanced lyric attunement to what Homeric death feels like from the other side of the great divide. Lines 151–158 give the soul of Meleager the chance to re-enact the moment of his Iliad-style death with a mournfully lyric sigh of αἰαῖ, ‘Alas!’ (line 153), which re-animates and asserts the remoteness of the (Homeric) departed.204 Bacchylides here reveals lyric’s special ability, through the power and insistence of the re-vocalizability of its assertions and 201  Carey 1999, 25. 202  Most 2012, 272–273. 203  Carey 1999, 28 has active collaboration of audiences resolve this, via application of a traditional Aristotleian rhetorical approach (the sympathetic bond created by narrative pathos). For an exploration of the limitations of a traditional rhetorical approach to epinician poetry, see §8.1 on Pindar. 204  Hom. Il. 16.856–857 = 22.362–363. Cf. Maehler 1982, 115–116; 2004, 124–125; Cairns 2010, 240 ad loc.; Fearn 2012, 327–328; Uhlig 2017, 128–129. Compare also Bacch. 5.63–67 – Heracles’ vision of souls in a specifically Iliadic underworld as leaves on trees buffeted by wind on Mt Ida: further Stern 1967, 41; Fearn 2012, 333–334.

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points of view, to negotiate, and invite us implicitly to assess, the extent to which the feeling that motivates this ‘Alas!’ becomes our own; in Bacchylides this is often achieved through embedded character-speech. In this case the question for us and for the victor Hieron of Syracuse too is ‘can we all do any better than Heracles?’ in our feelings about Meleager’s mortality and the responses that that prompts. The question of the extent to which the Sicilian tyrant Hieron – or indeed any mortal anywhere, anytime – will himself feel an emotional connection with and understanding of what is being narrated – and indeed conveyed by the poem as a whole – is implicated in the poem’s opening. In lines 3–6, Hieron is granted mortal pre-eminence in assessing rightly the work of the Muses: τῶν γε νῦν αἴ τις ἐπιχθονίων, ‘[you, Hieron], of any mortals now.’205 That ‘now’ is our time as much as it ever was his.206 Elsewhere too Bacchylides is able to project the meaning of transient moments of success in a distinctive way – quite unlike anything we see in Pindar – through the combination of simile and intertext. Bacchylides 9.21–41 presents a vivid description of the moments of success achieved by Automedes of Phleious at the Nemean Games through the use of an extended simile likening the pre-eminence of the victorious pentathlete to the moon outshining the stars in a night sky.207 The comparison of Automedes to the full moon evokes and appropriates an important earlier moment in the lyric tradition, when Sappho expresses loss and longing, offering consolation to Atthis for separation from a lost beloved now absent in Lydia, in fr. 96 (covered earlier in §2). Allusion to Sappho is not simply a way of subtly praising the erotic allure of Automedes’ physicality.208 It is also another way of articulating the evanescence of success: moments of victory are vividly evoked and make people and the places that are their homes famous, but it is the very essence of kleos (renown) that it enforces a separation between us and the people and places we want to access through it. Lyric kleos articulates for us the paradoxical nature of our desire to be there, be like that, or feel like that, in the full knowledge that access to those things is endlessly deferred and thus always desired. The meaningful depth and specificity of this intertextuality within vivid description is

205  Cf. Maehler 1982, 118 ad loc. 162–164, with the emphasis on correctness of assessment or recognition: γνώσηι … ὄρθως, ‘you will know rightly.’ 206  Contrast the different, more limited, interpretation of Bacchylides’ ‘now’ here at Goldhill 1983, 67. 207  This is one of three detailed descriptions of athletic success in Bacchylides, the others being Bacch. 5.37–55 and Bacch. 10.21–32: Hadjimichael 2015. 208  Cf. Steiner 1998.

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a characteristically Bacchylidean contribution to epinician and more broadly lyric poetics.209 8 Pindar 8.1 Pindar In and Out of Context: Contemporary Methodologies Pindar was a contemporary of Bacchylides and four books of victory odes (a grand total of forty-four complete poems if we count Isthmian 3/4 as one) made the jump from papyrus codex into the medieval manuscript tradition. This vast array of material (at least in comparison to the paucity of the majority of the rest of Greek lyric) has been joined by an assortment of papyrus fragments, superbly edited by a range of scholars in recent decades, along with a number of parts of poems preserved through ancient quotation across a wide range of other genres including hymns, paeans, dithyrambs, partheneia, and sympotic encomia.210 Pindar brings to a head many of the methodological challenges posed by lyric interpretation that we have already surveyed – although, as we will see, the full range of challenges are not all widely shared, appreciated, recognized, or equally distributed across recent approaches. In this section I discuss in more detail the questions raised by approaching lyric in and out of context that many of the previous discussions have touched on so far. In particular, I will draw explicit attention to the extent to which a variety of methodologies are currently in play. I will then give my own view of what this says about the state of Pindaric and more generally Greek lyric scholarship today, and of what the opportunities and dangers are in the range of interpretative approaches. Diversity in general is a good thing, of course, but there seem to be frequent moments marked by missed opportunities or methodological misreadings or mis-applications. It may seem initially odd that there are in fact relatively few explicit methodological discussions of how to approach Greek lyric in and 209  More on Bacchylidean vividness: Fearn 2007, 310–312; issue pressed harder in different ways by Fearn 2017, 255–264 and Uhlig 2017. 210  Standard Greek text for epinicians: Snell-Maehler I; for fragments, Snell-Maehler II now superseded by editions with commentary by Rutherford 2001b for paeans and by Lavecchia 2000 for dithyrambs. Recent commentaries on victory odes: Olympians: Gentili et al. 1995; Pythians: Gentili et al. 2013 (both with parallel Italian translations); Nemeans: Pfeijffer 1999a (particularly prolix); Henry 2005 (by contrast, particularly terse); cf. D’Alessio 2012. A new commentary on the fragments is promised by Giambattista D’Alessio. English translations: Nisetich 1980 is still reasonably serviceable (epinicians only); Verity 2007; cf. Race 1997: a handy two-volume edition. Lexicon: Slater 1969.

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out of context, given its own complex attitude toward reception built into the poetics of kleos. Yet upon reflection, it may not seem that strange, given the extent to which scholars of lyric and of Pindar in particular have continued to want to circumscribe within customary disciplinary parameters what reception means.211 This is a situation markedly at odds with critical-theoretical discussions of lyric in English and comparative literature, dominated as they are by the very question of the nature of lyric artifice, textuality, reception, subjectivity, and affect.212 What is especially true of approaches to Greek lyric in classical philology is the close-grained attention to literary form – even as traditionally understood – that may appear rather quaint or nostalgic to comparativist readers. But this is absolutely fundamental, and indeed one of the strengths of the best chapters in Culler’s comparativist book is that he never loses sight of close reading as his ultimate guide.213 Partly – but I suspect not solely – the issue here has to do with disciplinary entrenchment within the rigors of classical philology, especially given the level of training and specialist expertise required to even grapple with the complexities of issues surrounding these texts’ forms and transmission. It would be a great shame and potentially detrimental to the future broad appeal of the disciplinarity of Greek lyric studies if a kind of philological complacency overrode a willingness to think laterally and take in a wealth of other opportunities to enrich the reading and appreciation of this extraordinary material.214 211  So e.g. Morrison 2007 with the controlled language of primary, secondary, and tertiary audiences – closely matching the approach of Henry Spelman, as acknowledged at Spelman 2018, 5. 212  This should be clear from even a cursory reading of Culler 2015 or a glance at the table of contents of Jackson and Prins 2014b. 213  This is less true of Culler 2015 ch. 7, ‘Lyric and Society’, which sees him implicitly work at odds with himself by building on certain historicist readings within Classics that already cut directly against the grain of some of his most significant earlier discussions in this important book. 214  The best, most up-to-date, and suggestive discussion of the stakes in play here is Budelmann and Phillips 2018a; for a perhaps more familiar, though rather more conservative, take see Spelman 2018, 3–12. Discussion in this subsection and the next will push some of the issues outlined in the former a bit harder in the immediate reception of some of the papers that Budelmann and Phillips 2018b contains (for early reviews see Eckerman 2018; Vos 2018; Johnston 2019). See too Payne 2006, esp. 162–164; Phillips 2016, esp. 1–46, including the use at 22–23 of Derrida on phonocentrism to assist a critique of the vocal, the performative, and the originary in favour of polysemous textuality (back and forth, forward and back) from performance to text and back again (this position is misconstrued by Pavlou 2018, 261); Fearn 2017, 3–14, looking back over the recent history of lyric scholarship on deixis, persona, and contextualization (including, from a large range of

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Recent scholarship on Pindar has been dominated by a turn toward historical contexts of commissioning and performance,215 via a traditional notion of rhetoric as contextually orientational.216 This is especially the case in the aftermath of the significant impact on the field made by Leslie Kurke’s groundbreaking blend of New Historicism and cultural poetics in The Traffic in Praise,217 which in turn elaborated upon the hugely influential formalist rhetorical approach taken by Elroy Bundy.218 material, on deixis Peponi 2004; Athanassaki 2009a; for different perspectives on Pindar and the monumental, Steiner 1993 and 2001; Athanassaki 2009b; 2011; 2012; 2016; Power 2011; Day 2013; Kurke 2013; Neer and Kurke 2014); also Budelmann 2018b, 2–7 (‘Definitions and Perspectives’) – though that volume serves a different purpose and is not quite so methodologically driven. Further work remains to be done, especially in terms of open discussion of the possibility and potential for interplay and interaction between classical philological approaches and comparativist ones best exemplified for our purposes by Culler 2015 and Payne 2018. 215  In addition to items already listed at n. 78 in §4.2 on Ibycus, see esp. Krummen 1990, Hornblower 2004, Currie 2005, Morrison 2007, items in Hornblower and Morgan 2007 (though with the reaction from within by Silk 2007), Neumann-Hartmann 2009, Morgan 2015, Nicholson 2016. Spelman 2018, 10–11 situates himself with admirable clarity within the history of scholarship, a clear exposition of what classical philologists generally conceive their role to be, as fundamentally hermeneutic and historically minded: note esp. ‘a study of Pindar’s formal rhetoric within the broad historical context of archaic literary culture.’ My own views have now moved on somewhat from the comment at Fearn 2011a, 211 cited by Spelman 2018, 3 n. 3. 216  Lurking in the background here is the canonical Aristotelian position on rhetoric: Rhetoric 1.1–2 1355b, τὸ ἰδεῖν τὰ ὑπάρχοντα πιθανὰ περὶ ἕκαστον … ἔστω δὴ ἡ ῥητορικὴ δύναμις περὶ ἕκαστον τοῦ θεωρῆσαι τὸ ἐνδεχόμενον πιθανόν, ‘[the function of rhetoric is] to discover the persuasive facts concerning each case; … let rhetoric be defined as the power to observe in each given case the available means of persuasion.’ As we have seen elsewhere here (see earlier n. 136 with Genette 1992), however, Aristotle has particular difficulty handling lyric. Nevertheless, the application of Aristotle on (non-epideictic) rhetoric to archaic and classical lyric is seen throughout Pindaric scholarship; cf. Spelman, previous note. 217  Kurke 1991: though it is interesting to note that times change and things move on, as Kurke herself observes on page vii of the 2013 edition: ‘It is a strange thing returning to this book after an interval of more than twenty years; it is a product of a different time and essentially of a different author.’ Many thanks to my student Alex Byrne for alerting me to this (my own copy is the original 1991 edition). Cf. Kurke 1993, with comparativist anthropological underpinnings very much of their time. The republication of Kurke 1991 in 2013 is already a full ten years after the withering critique of New Historicism offered up by Sedgwick 2003, esp. ch. 4, ‘Paranoid reading and reparative reading, or, you’re so paranoid, you probably think this essay is about you.’ I will come to discuss the applicability of affect theory in §9. 218  Bundy 1962. Bundy is in fact vague about the Aristotelian rhetorical methodology undergirding his own systematizations, although he is cited as a rhetorical authority on four occasions. From e.g. page 3, where Bundy speaks in one breath as follows, ‘It should be evident that the Epinikion must adhere to those principles that have governed enkomia

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Kurke’s position is outlined as follows: Other scholars have focused on imagery drawn from different spheres of social life, demonstrating the cultural and poetic coherence of the poet’s use of marriage imagery and certain types of legal language. I follow this last group of scholars in focusing on the concrete details of Pindar’s images and the social contexts from which they are drawn. Yet this does not mean that I shall ignore the methods and advances of Bundy and his followers. A sociological poetics must be thoroughly grounded in the formal analysis of Pindar’s odes, for only by knowing what is narrowly conventional in literary terms can we identify a surplus of meaning or imagery.219 This approach prompts two observations. First, it relies upon a rather longin-the-tooth, new-critical notion of literary form and, by implication, a rather outmoded (or at least contestable) one for poetic rhetoric too.220 Second, it treats imagery as though it were a separable add-on to rhetorical structure; as I have tried to show throughout this discussion, there are various ways in which Greek lyric, across all its diversity, makes this view rather difficult to sustain.221

from Homer to Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address,’ it is clear that however trans-historical his idea of such principles are, they are not really specified as based in lyric uniquely if at all. 219  Kurke 1991, 10. 220  On the more capacious conceptualization of form after deconstruction, cf. Eagleton 2012, 201, previously quoted at n. 47. For rhetoric, strongly contrast e.g. Bloom 1979, 10: ‘Rhetoric has been always unfitted to the study of poetry, though most critics continue to ignore this incompatibility. Rhetoric rose from the analysis of political and legal orations, which are absurd paradigms for lyrical poems.’ Cf. Fearn 2017, 33 n. 60. The view of rhetoric becomes especially clear in Bundy 1962: a controlling and unifying new-critical tool to use on poems that might otherwise resist. Further Fearn 2017, 172–3 with Culler 2015, 351 on lyric apostrophe’s disorderly, disruptive presence, within a reading of Pythian 1 which tries to show how such resistance can be made to work within a conception of a temporally more dynamic, trans-contextual poetics. 221  Note the affinities with Aristotle (cf. n. 216); and compare and contrast the attitude to imagery here with that of Gentili 1988, 83 on Sappho fr. 96: ‘The flowers are not decorative elements here. They belong, rather, to a precise spot and take us back to the thiasos surroundings – to the very place described at greater length and with detailed realism in the ode preserved on the Florence ostrakon [fragment 2].’ For Kurke, imagery takes us to structures of ideology and power; for Gentili imagery takes us to structures of ritual space. See too Gentili’s antipathy to Bundyist formalism: ‘[running] the risk of turning the text into a mere form without historical structure or reality’ (Gentili 1988, 118), though again raising the stakes for Gentili’s own conception of lyric structure and the lyric real.

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Lyric imagery is, as I think the evidence reveals, a fundamentally world- and mind-expanding creative resource.222 So how do we move on, if there is a problem of fit in the application of an approach to rhetoric that may not quite do justice to the formal and creative resources of lyric expression? One attitude is, of course, to persist in resisting, in being satisfied that such a model of rhetoric and performance-context are historically (or, rather, historiographically) meaningful, reinforcing, and justified. Or, in one way or another, we may try to methodologize beyond context. One path has taken some into cognitive linguistics, according to which an attunement to the multi-modal social semiotics of synaesthetic and kinaesthetic experience in literary texts and performances and forms of non-verbal communication across time and space, from antiquity into the modern world of art, popular culture, and advertising, helps to make sense of ancient Greek lyric’s interest in the multi-sensory. (This is perhaps true of Pindar especially.) This has some attractions: it opens up and democratizes literary language by making it part of ordinary language and everyday experience.223 As a theory it is gaining some traction in lyric scholarship as part of a broader ‘cognitive turn’ within Classics.224 For instance, summarizing her recent discussion of Sappho and Alcman, Sarah Olsen proposes the following: ‘I argue that the insights of cognitive research, when situated within the theoretical discourse of dance and performance studies, illuminate the possibilities for both acculturation and agency within the live performance of archaic Greek song.’225 The conclusion of her argument, however, is rather less confident: ‘My goal for this chapter, therefore, has been to explore the intersection of phenomenology, cognitive science, and archaic Greek poetry and examine the potential impact of Alcman’s and Sappho’s descriptive strategies in performance.’226 The question I raise about this is not the methodology per se but its application and aim. I wonder how far we have got, with the ‘live performance of archaic Greek song,’ from Gentili’s ‘real’ in 1988 (as discussed earlier in §2), when it is precisely the question of the nature of performance that the texts 222  Cf. Budelmann and Phillips 2018a, 4. 223  Cf. the often-cited Lakoff and Johnson 2003. This is a rather far cry indeed from e.g. Silk 2012, 349 on Pindar’s special poetic lexis, as both generally elevated and locally heightened, as ‘a linguistic corollary of the aristocratic ideology he so actively upholds.’ Some negotiation between the two political poles with Pindar would seem perhaps a little more attractive; cf. Rose 1992; again, Fearn 2017 on Pythian 1. 224  See e.g. Meineck, Short, and Devereaux 2018. 225  Taken from the abstract for Olsen 2018. 226  Olsen 2018, 292.

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themselves exploit.227 Taken to extremes, when literary language ceases to be the subject of prime interest, the results risk becoming rather illusory.228 Yet there have been positive outcomes, including important recent work by Felix Budelmann and Pauline LeVen.229 Budelmann’s recent contribution ‘Lyric minds’ represents a more sophisticated attempt to use a cognitive approach to address the particular ways in which lyric creates its encounters between audiences or readers and performers and poets. His conclusion includes the following statement: ‘Lyric encounters hold out the promise of a utopian world in which we fully understand one another.’230 This is a much more nuanced response to the questions that lyric texts raise about the potential conditions of composition and performance that they foreground. It is also canny enough to go beyond a reliance upon potential modalities of originary performance ulterior to the texts, in search of which scholars – especially with Sappho and Alcman, but with Pindar too – have almost exclusively mined the texts themselves in the absence of other circumstantial evidence. It is still too early to tell how successful such cognitive approaches will be, but if they remain limited to opening up access to alleged ancient realities without questioning or properly negotiating the gap between us and ancient contexts (and thus after all what makes us classicists rather than sociologists), then it is not clear how far things will be moved on; nor likewise if they ultimately amount to a relatively unimaginative brand of functionalism.231 There are also risks if attention to what seems special / disorienting / defamiliarizing, i.e. not ordinary, about poetic – especially perhaps Pindaric – language is lost.232 With some of these cognitive approaches, is there not a broader sense in which scholars have a ready theory to bring to bear for which the outcome is anticipated before the application, and the encounter with the text is not itself a constitutive mind-expanding experience? This I find not to fit well with my own experience of encountering Greek lyric poetry. Another option is to expand the very conceptualization of performance, especially attuned to the ways in which Pindar as well as Bacchylides talk in a much more dynamic way about it – and song, even – than a functionalism 227  An issue already tackled earlier in §3 discussing D’Alessio 2018 on Sappho. 228  Cf. Bierl 2016: there is nothing in the Sappho poem discussed that points to the chorality that Bierl seeks; see Budelmann 2018b, 148. 229  Budelmann and LeVen 2014 on the New Music; Budelmann 2018a. 230  Budelmann 2018a, 256. 231  Cf. Budelmann and Phillips 2018a, 4. 232  Here I note the warning of Budelmann and LeVen 2014, 208 in conclusion: ‘However, it is important not to use [cognitive] blending inadvertently to domesticate poetry, to deprive it of its dissonances.’

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of any kind could do justice to.233 Another comparable approach would be to suggest that the idea of lyric performance is never prior to lyric’s textual configuration of its formal affordances, and I myself have offered this up as a challenge to the dominance of performance-based approaches to Pindar in context.234 Again, others will not accept this, objecting to the very idea of the literary as a frame of reference.235 Claude Calame has recommended jettisoning the term ‘lyric’ altogether, as if, by replacing it by the ancient term melos, we might be somehow in a better position to understand the functionality of ancient poetry’s claims on audiences.236 Calame appears worried that talk of ‘lyric’ rather than melos would lure critics into regressive biographical readings of the lyric ‘I,’ but this is unlikely: this is definitely not what mainstream contemporary Anglo-American work on Romanticism looks like, for instance.237 This view also underappreciates the range of similarities between the ways that archaic and classical Greek speak and the ways that other lyric texts do, as Jonathan Culler’s 2015 book demonstrates. Even as we should freely admit that, say, Sappho, Simonides, and Pindar are different from Shelley and Keats, or Baudelaire or Rilke, Paul Celan or William Carlos Williams, the commonalities are worth teasing out.238 A different kind of approach to the literariness of ancient Greek lyric that aims to extend beyond contextual determinism is adopted by Boris Maslov.239 A comparativist methodology based in historical poetics is used to assert how the idea of the literary emerges with Pindar, as part of a new literary culture that develops out of an archaic folkloric background.240 This approach has the virtue of side-stepping more traditional historicist positions according to which literature is determined by its contexts of production. Maslov attempts instead a richer historical account through the assessment of diachronic layers of literary and social history within Pindaric lyric. Another virtue of this approach is its skepticism about the extent to which Pindar should be considered 233  See Budelmann 2013; Phillips 2016, 217–223; Budelmann 2017; Uhlig 2017. 234  See Culler 2015, 131: ‘The notion of the performative has the great virtue for a theory of literature of foregrounding language as act rather than representation, but, beyond that, the performative is the name of a problem, not a solution to the question of the status of literary discourse.’ Quoted at Fearn 2017, 5. Cf. Phillips 2018b on Pind. Pae. 9. 235  For discussion, Feeney 2016, 153–154 and 224 commenting on Pindar directly; Fearn 2017, 6 n. 16; Budelmann and Phillips 2018a, 4–5 and 10–11. 236  Calame 2016, 291; cf. Calame 2006, 2009. 237  See e.g. Jarvis 2009 and Clarkson 2015 on Wordsworth. 238  Cf. Stewart 2009; Jackson 2012; Molde 2018. 239  Maslov 2015. 240  For a broader account of aspects of the methodological approach taken by historical poetics, see now Nowell Smith 2019.

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as organically or directly engaged in making claims to religious authority in the there-and-then: Maslov puts valuable pressure on the nature of Pindaric occasionality. This healthy skepticism, is, as we will see later in this section, a reasonable response to the significant challenges posed by the multiform nature of Pindar’s lyric attitudes. However, Maslov’s insistent focus on the distinctive literary historicity of Pindaric lyric has a tendency to over-emphasize the extent of the uniqueness of self-conscious poetic assertion in Pindar. It tends to underappreciate the extent to which earlier lyric – notably Sappho and Alcaeus – rather than being understood as folkloric in any straightforward sense, can already be seen to explore and to project its own self-conscious artistic complexity, and its own awareness of the constructedness of its own realms of experience, as indeed we have seen here in previous sections.241 The closing of the gap between classical and comparativist approaches, allowing each to speak to the other, has the advantage of avoiding problematic differential theorizations that risk looking misguided from each other’s perspective. An example here is the tendency for post-Romantic lyric criticism to define itself (especially in the so-called trend of ‘New lyric studies’) as different from the originary, organic, always mystificatory, qua religiously embedded, ancient model offered up as a straw man (or woman).242 Yet this approach has already now come under heavy attack from two different perspectives in comparative literature.243 The answer here is that we can accept that Classics – and its interfaces with comparative literature – is capacious enough for a variety of approaches to operate at the same time; the hope is that all approaches will be equally methodologically self-aware. Following Jonathan Culler or indeed Mark Payne, we might also run or walk, cautiously or more enthusiastically, as far as we choose along the path to a

241  For further detailed critique, see the review by Tom Phillips (Phillips 2018c), three of whose observations – the distinctiveness of Maslov’s historicism, his skepticism towards direct religious functionalism, and the limitations of his literary-historical account of early Greek lyric self-consciousness – I here summarize. 242  In particular Prins 1999 and Jackson and Prins 2014b. See e.g. the approving citation at Prins 1999, 33 of Lardinois 1994, 62–63 on Sappho as a stock persona rather than a real presence, in order for Sappho herself to evaporate in reception: from that perspective of course archaic Sappho looks exceptionally different – and indeed absent – when set against Sapphic reconfigurations in Victorian poetry; but that is not the only way to read the archaic Sappho through her work on its own terms as lyric poetry and literature, as we have already explored here earlier. 243  See Culler 2015 ch. 2, ‘Lyric as genre’ and Burt 2016 for assaults on ‘new lyric studies’ / ‘lyricization’: an especially elegant critique in Burt’s case.

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trans-contextual comparativist methodology.244 This methodological position would focus on links noticed and affordances granted within the greater lyric constellation. Exactly how far we push our commitment is our own responsibility, but the possibility is opened up for creative energies to be released if interactions across the centuries can be explored. A path might be found between classical philology, qua traditionally conceived as (literary-)historical hermeneutics, and classical reception studies. There is an opportunity for something distinctively new to flourish in between, which may be in a position to expose a little more insistently the consequences of and challenges inherent in the interpretative enterprise. Payne, far more directly than anyone else yet, has confronted head-on the anthropological / performance-paradigm within Greek lyric studies. He replaces it with an approach based in ethical subjectivity following Jonathan Culler all the way to a fully realized lyric epideixis; one that almost – but not quite – rejects historicism entirely (not just New Historicism). Here is Payne, casting aside the hermeneutic shackles of the anthropological paradigm: The present volume proposes a new approach to Greek lyric poetry under the rubric of the textual event. As a preparation for such a reconsideration of what lyric poetry is, or might be for us, the editors have suggested that contributors each propose some forms of critical distance from what they call the ‘anthropological paradigm’, which has dominated the study of this poetry over the last couple of decades, an umbrella term for the blend of New Historicism and cultural poetics whose characteristic hermeneutic position I take to be the assumption that the discursive ambitions of Greek lyric poetry were so radically constrained by their original performance context that valid interpretation consists solely in relating them to that context. I call it an assumption because I think it is one. The weakness of this hermeneutic position … is its inability to theorize the psychological ground underlying its assumption of difference, such that original performance context is simply posited as a constraint upon meaning in antiquity that is to be emulated by modern scholars, in contrast to the hermeneutic freedom of other cultural contexts, including the ancient reception of Greek lyric, which is characterized by the very forms of 244  E.g. Spelman 2018, 280, following Culler 2015, 226. Compare and contrast Fearn 2017 for an expansive notion of cultural value in Pindar through and as reception, played out through the capaciousness of lyric form and its ability to communicate to, and radically beyond, original spaces.

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hermeneutic freedom that scholars working in the anthropological paradigm would disavow.245 In the next section, I pursue the opportunities opened up by, and the challenges inherent in, Payne’s response, via discussion of two different aspects of Pindaric lyric voicing. Voices and Attitudes, Lyric Mystifications, or ‘Enchanted ethicality’ / ‘ghost channel:’ ‘Operationalizing’ Pindar One of the most noteworthy aspects of Pindaric style is the insistently ethical aspect of its subjective attitudes to mythological content.246 Pindar projects an ethical attitude toward his own lyric structures and orientations, which allows us to meditate on our own orientations to these structures and spaces.247 This is for Payne a negotiation summed up by a twin ethicality of ‘fidelity’ and ‘farewell’ in Pindar’s epinician odes. The poems are ethical events in their own right, to which listeners pledge their faith; yet the poems also strive to free themselves from their occasionality: 8.2

The experience of being seized by what has shown itself in the athletic event, of incorporating it into the poem, and thereby remaining faithful to it, is their fundamental ethical gesture and their explicit claim upon the attention of others… We should recognize that the extremity of their fidelity to what emerges in the athletic event is constantly thematized in the poems themselves as the difficulty of entering their charmed circle, of giving our time to the time of the poem. The extremity of their fidelity

245  Payne 2018, 257–258; also Payne 2006, esp. 162–163. From another perspective, cf. Felski 2011, 581–582, quoted earlier in §3. Contrast e.g. Kurke’s ‘the strangeness of song culture’ (Kurke 2000): we should like instead, I think, the strangeness and familiarity of archaic and classical lyric to oscillate in creative tension. The issue of the vocabularies we may require to describe and evaluate such oscillation is discussed in §9. 246  Best exemplified by Pind. Ol. 1.28–34; cf. e.g. Nem. 5.14–21, αἰδέομαι μέγα εἰπεῖν …, ‘I feel shame at telling a mighty deed …’ 247  Cf. Payne 2006, 182 on Pindaric ‘truth claims’: ‘Gnomic lyric … presupposes its own transhistorical reception by addressing abstract formulations to a universal subject created by its own pronominal structures…. A reading that is faithful to this rhetoric will be one that endeavors to respond as the “you” the poem addresses, rather than one that attempts to imagine the response of someone else. The poems are not founded upon a “single-use” aesthetic but look toward their future reception.’

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is the fundamental ethical gesture that gives their event character, and it is constantly thrust towards us as such …248 … But if Pindar’s fidelity is an enactment of extremity, it is also a modality of limitation … [on Nemean 11.37–48] Aristagoras and his kin are glimpsed from the airplane window as the poem takes off for a realm of supernal comprehension, a place where the superabundance of wisdom it has just offered us might actually be at home, as it is not here on earth, where human beings have to set out on their adventures without any such stores of self-certainty. Our bodies may be chained, but this is no obstacle to the lift-off of the mind.249 This conceptualization of a Pindaric ethics works particularly well as a negotiation of the various complexities with which the voices of Pindar’s epinician poems articulate their commitments. Compare, for instance, Pindar, Nemean 8.13–16: ἱκέτας Αἰακοῦ σεμνῶν γονάτων πόλιός θ’ ὑπὲρ φίλας ἀστῶν θ’ ὑπὲρ τῶνδ’ ἅπτομαι φέρων Λυδίαν μίτραν καναχηδὰ πεποικιλμέναν, Δείνιος δισσῶν σταδίων καὶ πατρὸς Μέγα Νεμεαῖον ἄγαλμα. A suppliant of Aiakos I am clasping his hallowed knees, on behalf of his beloved city and his people here, bringing a crown of Lydian fabric, embellished with whistling notes of the pipes, a Nemean ornament for the double stadion races of Deinias and his father Megas.

248  Payne 2018, 268, with e.g. Pind. Ol. 1.100–105; cf. Culler 2008, 205 and 2015, 37–38 for the powers of lyric hyperbole. See earlier, n. 17 for the underpinnings of Payne’s position in the philosophy of Alain Badiou. 249  Payne 2018, 268–270, including a knowingly anachronistic (lyric time is different, after all) hypermodern version of Pindaric metaphors of flight (an extension beyond simply thinking of flying as metaphor for dissemination): for Pindaric epinician ‘lift-offs’, cf. e.g. Pind. Nem. 5.19–21.

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My own reading of this extraordinary passage has attempted to bring out how Pindar balances reference to a repeatable, apparently simple ritual gesture with a highly singular poetic articulation of it. The structuring of lyric language here – its constructions of both deixis and subjectivity – negotiates the very question of our access to or distance from the scenario being envisaged but radically manipulated in the lyric mode.250 We could also apply Payne’s ‘fidelity’ and ‘farewell’ here to negotiate the challenge of Pindar’s ritualist mystification, of entering Pindar’s ‘charmed circle’251 – the negotiation between, on the one hand, the sense of both direct contact with the heroic, an extreme fidelity to an event,252 and, on the other hand, a fundamental absence and distancing through synaesthetic metaphor and radical poetic configuration of what at least looks like a gesture toward a ritual occasion. Compare and contrast Keats’ ‘This Living Hand,’ and Culler’s brilliant reading of it: This living hand, now warm and capable Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold And in the icy silence of the tomb, So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood So in my veins red life might stream again, And thou be conscience-calmed – see here it is – I hold it towards you. This is a daring attempt to produce a poetic event by exploiting the resources of direct address to the reader, boldly collapsing into one the time of articulation – the now when “this living hand” is “warm and capable of earnest grasping” – and the time of reading: “See, here it is, I hold it towards you.” The poem dares assert that this hand is being held toward us at the moment of reading, and we might expect to smile ironically at this misplaced poetic pretension: the claim to survive the icy silence of 250  Fearn 2017, 105–132. The focus throughout that book was ‘the poetic expression of choral lyric poetry as itself a construct about vision and aesthetics, about the possibility of crossovers, and points of contact, across aesthetic and expressive divides of genre / art form / aesthetic mode, in terms of how to present, represent, or model the world for consumption by a wide range of audiences’: Fearn 2017, 3. 251  Fränkel 1975, 428; Payne 2018, 260. 252  Cf. Payne 2018, 268: ‘Reading these poems for their enactment of fidelity to an event that they constitute as an event through their fidelity to it is simply to read them as they ask to be read.’

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the tomb and reach out to us here and now. But seldom do readers react in this way. Rather, we accede to the poem’s claim, granting it the power to make us imaginatively overcome the death with which it simultaneously threatens us. Contrasting the poet’s life with his death, it proleptically claims that if this hand were dead, it would haunt us, and make us wish to transfer our blood to it, if only that would make it live, and that we would feel better for it. While we don’t actually wish to sacrifice ourselves, readers do temporarily sacrifice their sense of reality in allowing the poem to create for them a temporality in which the hand lives and is held toward them. The poem predicts this mystification, dares us to resist it, and shows it to be irresistible. It is a tour de force that shows what lyric can do and why it is memorable.253 In the context of the present discussion, such attunement as Culler evinces to the creative possibilities of lyric mystification matters, and not only because it seems in line with what we feel Keats’ words mean. It also matters because it can help enrich our sense of the strangeness of the gestured presentness and physicality of ‘I am clasping’ in Nemean 8 and attune us to how that is so memorable and successful. It matters, too, because it can help to shed light on the development of critical theory on lyric with significant relevance for the history of recent theoretical approaches in Classics, as discussed in the previous section. Consider now Stephen Burt’s discussion of a slide from deconstruction into New Historicism via the assumption that lyric poems solicit bad faith through mystification and are thus potential ‘death traps,’ conceptual dead-ends: Both sung words, and spoken words, imply a human speaker (unless we are in science fiction). Can ‘lyric poetry … provide,’ Barbara Johnson asked in 1998, ‘the assumption that the human has been or can be defined so that it can then be presupposed without the question of its definition’s [sic] being raised?’ (316). Johnson follows Paul de Man in implying that the set of modern texts that we call lyric poems solicit bad faith: they claim to be songs and are not songs (299); they claim to provide the same

253  Culler 2015, 197, cf. Culler 2015, 37. Also Burt 2016, 439: ‘Lyric … tends or aspires to replace the live, mortal, present body … with something else (impressions or inscriptions or spirits or memorials or “poetic artifice”), by means of a variety of forms and tropes, to a variety of emotive ends.’ (Burt’s hedginess – with my emphasis – is important here, and should be preserved.)

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human presence that they snatch away …, especially but not only when they are elegiac or memorial (301). If you want to ally yourself with poems that do such things, you will end up – de Man continued – inside ‘the uneasy combination of funereal monumentality with paranoid fear that characterizes the hermeneutics and the pedagogy of lyric poetry’ (302). So lyric poetry is not like sheet music; it is more like a death trap. And if ‘lyric’ is, as de Man kept saying, ‘not a genre’ but a way to avoid genre, not a kind of poetry so much as a way to mystify what poems do, then critics should hold the category at arm’s length in order ‘to allow for non-comprehension and enumerate non-anthropomorphic, non-elegiac, non-celebratory, non-lyrical, non-poetic, that is to say, prosaic, or, better, historical modes of language power’ (303). If you want to know how deconstruction could lead to New Historicism in the 1980s, how attention to putative inconsistencies in high-culture poetic texts (attention modeled on Continental philosophy) could lead to the study of other kinds of texts (in ways modeled on social and cultural history), now you know.254 Attuning ourselves to the ways lyric texts communicate with us in their complex and oscillating ways across time matters and helps to expose some of the problems with a diagnostic, uniformly distanced, historicist attitude to such material, ancient or modern. With reference to the example taken from Nemean 8, a New Historicist approach might focus on the rhetoric and the imagery of the passage to attempt to demonstrate the embeddedness of lyric language in original contexts of politics and religion from which Pindar’s epinician output should be held at arm’s length to be assessed. Yet there is risk in not taking into consideration the trans-contextual consequences raised by Pindar’s formation of an extraordinary kind of subjectivity in the evocation of Aiakos, as well as the sense of an event: it would circumvent our ability to pay attention to the very processes by which lyric enchants us, changes us, and makes its demands on us, asking us to contemplate and assess what it is that we are seemingly, at least in part, being granted access to. Thinking about Pindar in this way is, I think, a more enriching, rewarding experience.

254  Burt 2016, 437 with De Man 1984 and Johnson 1998 in Jackson and Prins 2014b. Deconstruction doesn’t have to go down in flames this way, however. For a different way of articulating deconstruction’s attunement to the complex challenges and affordances of literature, see McDonald 2006 for Derrida as an ‘enchanted anti-essentialist’ – another negotiation of some of the issues in the present discussion.

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There are, however, other moments within Pindaric lyric that seem to expose to huge pressure the extreme ethical commitment of fidelity. Compare and contrast fr. 123, the sympotic encomium for Theoxenus of Tenedos: χρῆν μὲν κατὰ καιρὸν ἐρώτων δρέπεσθαι, θυμέ, σὺν ἁλικίᾳ· τὰς δὲ Θεοξένου ἀκτῖνας πρὸς ὄσσων μαρμαρυζοίσας δρακείς ὃς μὴ πόθῳ κυμαίνεται, ἐξ ἀδάμαντος ἢ σιδάρου κεχάλκευται μέλαιναν καρδίαν ψυχρᾷ φλογί, πρὸς δ’ Ἀφροδίτας ἀτιμασθεὶς ἑλικογλεφάρου ἢ περὶ χρήμασι μοχθίζει βιαίως ἢ γυναικείῳ θράσει ψυχρὰν† φορεῖται πᾶσαν ὁδὸν θεραπεύων. ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ τᾶς ἕκατι κηρὸς ὣς δαχθεὶς ἕλᾳ ἱρᾶν μελισσᾶν τάκομαι, εὖτ’ ἂν ἴδω παίδων νεόγυιον ἐς ἥβαν· ἐν δ’ ἄρα καὶ Τενέδῳ Πειθώ τ’ ἔναιεν καὶ Χάρις υἱὸν Ἁγησίλα. One must pluck loves, my heart, at the appropriate moment and at the proper age. But any man who catches with his glance the bright rays flashing from Theoxenos’s eyes and is not tossed on the waves of desire, has a black heart of adamant or iron forged in a cold flame, and dishonoured by Aphrodite of the arching brow either toils compulsively for money or, as a slave, is towed down a path utterly cold by a woman’s boldness. But I, by the will of the Love Goddess, melt like the wax of holy bees stung by the sun’s heat, whenever I look upon the fresh-limbed youth of boys. And surely even on the isle of Tenedos Seduction and Grace dwell in the son of Hagesilas.255 255  For a reading of the poem in the context of the symposium and the history of sexuality see Hubbard 2002.

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This poem flags its own commitment as both exorbitant and morally problematic, yet inevitable nevertheless. Moreover, the extent to which its own commitment is hyperbole might be thought to be a significant factor constituting this fragment’s status as lyric. The poem’s attitude to its own freely acknowledged lyrical and ethical untimeliness and disruption – in seemingly not obeying its own demand to act ‘at the appropriate moment,’ properly within constraints of both time and sexual ethics – is surely very difficult to adopt in any straightforward sense. But the poem’s attitude is pressed upon us because of the complex blurring of lyric temporality with the moral constraints of sexual desire. This poem offers a paradoxical, puzzling, and troubling projection of subjectivity. It does so because of the slippage between the temporally complex ‘right time’ of lyric epideixis256 and the moral (in)appropriateness of the sexuality thus being projected. The opening clause χρῆν μὲν κατὰ καιρὸν ἐρώ- | των δρέπεσθαι, θυμέ, σὺν ἁλικίᾳ, ‘one must pluck loves, my heart, at the appropriate moment and at the proper age,’ can be read both poetically – the appropriate time both of and for erotic poetics – and sexually – with σὺν ἁλικίᾳ referring to the ageing of the human body through growth and maturation. The ulterior force of Aphrodite’s divine intervention then motivates the shift to the powerful experience of the erotic allure of boys: see lines 10–12, ἀλλ’ ἐγὼ τᾶς ἕκατι κηρὸς ὣς δαχθεὶς ἕλᾳ | ἱρᾶν μελισσᾶν τάκομαι, εὖτ’ ἂν ἴδω | παίδων νεόγυιον ἐς ἥβαν, ‘but I, by the will of the Love Goddess, melt like the wax of holy bees stung by the sun’s heat, whenever I look upon the fresh-limbed youth of boys.’ This shift is accomplished in a way that is projected as timelessly general precisely because its assertion is guaranteed by the special lyric temporality offered in the poem’s opening. The blurring of sexual specificity and lyric timelessness generates this poem’s memorable if difficult and puzzling projection of subjectivity. Here we might perhaps try to embrace another series of formulations by Payne that articulate from a different perspective our predicament as classicists. Here is Payne discussing the category of the ‘relic:’ The relic is what should no longer be present in the present, as a leftover from some prior life world, but yet, as the uncanny persistence of what should no longer be here, it continues to message us in its own distinctive way. The relic is a modality of communication that operates as

256  Compare Pind. Pyth. 1.81, καιρὸν εἰ φθέγξαιο, ‘if you speak what is appropriate,’ with discussion at Fearn 2017, 216–217: there, second-person apostrophe blurs the referentiality of the utterance across both Pindaric poetics and tyrannical politics.

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a supervenient channel, a ghost channel, whose presence is no longer explicable according to the logic of the discourse network … Historical philology asserts that the remains of antiquity can only be properly encountered as what once had their place in a historical human life world, and that this life world as it is reconstructed by historical philology is the only channel on which we can properly view them. On other channels they appear staticky, blurred or impoverished, and it is only when they are reintegrated into an imagined form of life that we see them as they really are. Historical philologists operationalize the communicative modalities of the relics of historical life worlds.257 Appropriating Payne’s formulation, we might characterize one reaction we might have in the face of fragment 123’s untimely imposition as a type of operationalization, a defining and shackling of this text (or at least an attempt to) through the categorizations we can measure it against (ancient sexuality, the symposium, patronage, and so forth). That is, in sociological terms, a diagnosis of modern Classics, according to which the hedgy doubts we have and worries we encounter are often set to one side through the processing of ancient texts as relics, as fuzzy logic processed into neatly explicable and manageable categories. This is Classics at its most alienated, and it is predicated upon our concerns about our vulnerability to the insistent communicational modalities of fragment 123. Such historical processing may be the only way to deal with the uncomfortably extreme ethicality of a text like Pindar fr. 123, a poem which raises even more starkly the question of the interpretability of erotic encomiastic hyperbole that we saw first with Ibycus S166 earlier. (A similar case could be made in a text like Archilochus fr. 196A, effectively the subjective imposition onto us of a rape-narrative from the perspective of a perpetrator.) It is not quite a historicist diagnostic approach of the familiar kind precisely because it is able to self-diagnose its own predicament and vulnerability, as both problematically and positively belated, and able to make a virtue of being reparative – if still troubled – as part of the interpretative act.258 This serves as a salutary re257  Payne 2016, 240–241. 258  Other ways in to the texture of the issues here might be through encounters with modern art and its reception of Greek lyric. See e.g. Cy Twombly’s response to the first Gulf War via Epitaph (Jupiter Island, 1992): ‘a rough wooden box, white painted, bulging obscenely with matter: human remains reduced to a visceral mess, retaining their capacity to shock despite being transposed into white plaster. The lid gapes half open as if to reveal what should be hidden. On it is written Archilochos’s grim “epitaph,” the hostile graffiti of a departing army: “in the HOSPITALITY / of WAR / We LEFT THEM THEIR DEAD /

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minder of the kinds of negotiations with similarity / familiarity and difference that we constantly experience when we encounter Pindar, just as we encounter antiquity as a whole. But for lyric it raises in a particularly pressing fashion the very question of our proximity to the material in its designs on us as its readers, listeners, and re-voicers. 9

Timotheus, the New Music, and Beyond: Sound Affects

We can take the idea of reparative reading further with the last poet – or rather, group of poets – that I have included in this survey. This is part of a broader, if brief, discussion of the questions raised by the musical sound – and lack of musical sound – projected through lyric. First, a quick appraisal of the New Music is in order, which brings us full circle to my starting point with West’s definition of Greek lyric. Timotheus’ life and times have been eminently summarized by Csapo and Wilson as follows: Timotheus was born in Miletus about 450 and died about 360 BCE. His professional activity can be traced from about 415 BCE into the fourth century. Timotheus is said to have written nineteen kitharodic nomoi [‘nomes’], eighteen dithyrambs, twenty-one hymns, an unknown number of enkômia, thirty-six preludes (prooimia) ‘and some other pieces’ [Suda Τ 620 s.v.]. Of the kitharodic nomoi there survive: about a third of the Persians; a single line of Artemis (unless this is a hymn), and nothing more than the titles of Nauplius and Niobe. Certainly dithyrambs and known by title only are Mad Ajax, Elpenor, Birthpangs of Semele and Skylla. Possibly dithyrambic is Cyclops, of which six lines survive. We also know the titles Laertes and Sons of Phineus, both of unknown genre. Though little verse and no music remains, there is plentiful evidence to show how the ancients reacted to Timotheus. From antiquity to modernity these reactions have been extreme. Indeed the history of Timotheus As a gift / TO REMEMBER / US BY / ARCHILOCHOS”’: Jacobus 2016, 129; cf. Goldhill 2017b. Archilochus fr. 6 W (of which the ‘epitaph’ is a translation) is already a fragment, a translation of a citation, a quotation by someone else (Σ Soph. El. 96). Greub 2014, 227 notes that ‘it is striking that Cy Twombly’s artistic self-discovery … is mostly discussed in the secondary literature with the aid of terms that belong to the vocabulary of archaeology: “layering,” “fragment,” “collection,” “disappearance,” or “discovery,” and, in a broader sense, “trace,” “sediment,” “palimpsest.”’ Not only of archaeology, but of our predicament too: that of being made subject to Greek lyric poetry itself, for these are the terms and parameters of our discipline too.

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is the story of his reception – and at the heart of the story is the controversial ‘New Music.’ Timotheus’ activity spans the most volatile and most creative period in the history of Greek music.259 To understand West’s decision not to cover Timotheus, we might look to Frederick Kenyon’s brutal assessment of the poet: [Timotheus] contradicts in every respect the ideals of Hellenic art and taste. He is a curiosity, a monstrosity; … the sort of writer who makes ‘baroque’ an insulting word; … [his] pomposity and bombast, … a far cry from the grandeur of Pindar or the grace of Bacchylides, … look forward to the worst traits of Hellenistic poetry.260 Luckily we do not tend to think this way these days. But what to make of the New Music (or what not to, since we do not really have any music) is a matter that raises interesting methodological conundrums and has produced interesting and important recent results. According to the findings of Wilson and Csapo and other experts on ancient Greek music, the music of archaic and early classical song was determined by words, with rhythm determined by syllable length and melody by pitch accent and with direct correspondence between notes and syllables. In the New Music, this all changed, with music taking center stage, with rhythm and accent moulded to suit it. Ethical critiques were assuredly swift and harsh: New Music was critiqued from Plato onwards as surrendering reason (logos) to sound and emotion.261 In the scholarship on earlier poetry, the relation between song / music and language was, generally speaking, an issue about the relation between words and performance, with a ‘phonocentric’ approach tending to dominate.262 Now, however, with the ‘New Music,’ music and thus ‘song’ are actually at the

259  Csapo 2004; Csapo and Wilson 2009, 277; cf. Budelmann 2018b, 230–231. Also esp. Melanippides (c. 475–415), Cinesias (c. 450–390), Telestes (c. 450–390), and Philoxenus (c. 435–380). Full coverage in LeVen’s important 2014 book; cf. Power 2010 on kitharoîdia. Handy critical edition of Persae: Sevieri 2011; cf. Hordern 2002. 260  Kenyon 1919, 5, quoted by LeVen 2014, 4. 261  Especially useful on the music of the New Music is D’Angour 2006; Csapo and Wilson 2009, 287 with Arist. Prob. 918b and Pl. Rep. 3.398d; Gurd 2016, 97–131. 262  Though for an attempt to move away from this approach, see Phillips 2018a; also Porter 2007 on Pind. Dith. 2, expanded with discussion of Lasus of Hermione in Porter 2010, 371–404. Cf. Prauscello 2012.

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heart of the problem of form with lyric, both as lyric(s) as text and as accompaniment to virtuoso, professional instrumentation. Because of New Music’s immediate proximity to philosophical critique in Plato and Aristotle, Timotheus provides the clearest entry point into the issue of the relation between music / lyric / song, rationality, and ethics – even beyond Pindar and in very different way from Pindar, at least in the history of scholarship and emerging strands in ancient philosophy and literary criticism. The pressing question for New Music’s contemporaries was that of how culturally to accommodate and account for the emotion of lyric language and lyricalcum-musical expression. Such emotionalism was heavily critiqued as populist democratization in some notorious passages in Plato,263 but the very nature of his response belies the popularity of such modes of expression.264 The question of characterizing and allowing room for the emotional as a natural reaction to the literary and the musical is a pressing issue in some contemporary critical theory but is beset with further problems for classicists because of the almost entire lack of the music, and thus the sound, that formed the basis of original critical anxiety. What we can say from the evidence we have, from poetry as much as transmitted titles, is that the New Music appeared to revel in the connection between heightened emotion and new-found cultural analysis of social categories, especially male versus female and Greek versus barbarian. It achieved this through highly stylized musical delivery and an exceedingly baroque, melodramatic kind of textuality.265 Within the history of lyric, Timotheus pushes narrativity to its limits through an even more jarring disparity between narrative and lyric form. This is an issue that arises clearly in Stesichorus, and then Simonides and Bacchylides, but that comes to a head in Timotheus because the nature of the scenarios envisaged seem to come from the furthest imaginable emotional extremities of human experience or mythology. In Persae we get to experience – or imagine the experience of – the sound of a drowning Persian (lines 60–87), set amid a hyperbolically overdetermined and speedily delivered baroque style of language266 that makes it a challenge to even imagine the detailed nature of the scenario narrativized in this bizarre, even grotesque way.267 Looking beyond Timotheus’ Persae, even asking – with no further evidence to go on – what on earth works 263  Csapo and Wilson 2009, 293 with esp. Pl. Leg. 3.700a–701a. 264  See further Peponi 2018 on the problem of lyric and the relation between words, melody, and rhythm in Plato’s Republic. 265  Csapo 2004, 229–245. 266  LeVen 2014, 162; Budelmann and LeVen 2014. 267  See esp. Persae 31–39 on the sea / Amphitrite, with LeVen 2014, 151; wider discussion of focus on the language itself: Hordern 2002, 50–55; in particular, Budelmann and LeVen

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such as ‘Mad Ajax,’ ‘Scylla,’ ‘Niobe,’ or ‘The Birthpangs of Semele’ would have felt and sounded like makes the point. Overall, then, Timotheus’ poetry seems designed to challenge us to imagine through the ornamentation an emotionally highly-charged series of settings and to offer up a self-consciousness about its composition, showing its working on the basis of various engagements with fifth-century theater and reveling in its artificiality. Through sound effect (and our present-day imagination of what Timothean sound effects sounded like), Timotheus seems to make us want to think about the origins of sounds in myth. Many of those mythical figures are paradigms or aetiologies for lament or suffering, the potential source of grotesque sound. Timotheus also seems to want us to meditate on the shock of sound as a sign of (dis)embodiment – a sign of bodies and presences under pressure of erasure and a sign of an absence of reasoning or structure (logos) other than that provided by the affectivity of sound and rhythm (though itself a kind of ordering structure, as Plato knew).268 This links up with the general themes of the present discussion in two ways. First, it connects with how other ancient Greek texts use sound or music to think through literary history from the very outset as a story about reception: a story both of the subjectivity of the listener / receiver and of absence and resonance.269 Second, it helps to orient us to the challenges of responding critically to emotion in art: the issue of affect.

2014, 203. Wide range of Homeric and tragic / comic intertextuality: Firinu 2009; LeVen 2014, 180 and 207–217; Budelmann and LeVen 2014. 268  Pl. Leg. 2.665a, as discussed in Kowalzig 2013; cf. Schelling [1989] 205: ‘Since both music and speech are characterized by movement in time, their works would not be selfcontained wholes if they were subject to time, and if they did not rather subject time to themselves and possess it internally. This control and subjugation of time = rhythm.’ For the shock of sound via another disembodiment (of the tortoise), desiring response, and the aetiology of lyric music, see HHHerm, esp. lines 420 and 434, with Peponi 2012, 102–107; cf. Thomas 2018. 269  See esp. LeVen 2018, discussing Longus DC 3.21–23 (Pan and the sparagmos of Echo). ‘The echo in general is a good image to characterize our position in the reception of ancient Greek lyric poetry: as scholars of literary and musical history, we will always be in the position of Pan, chasing after the performer of the music, wanting to know what or who emitted the original sound, without any chance of encountering him or her. As students of lyric in particular, we are the echo-chasers par excellence’: LeVen 2018, 222. Also relevant: Gurd’s 2016 discussion of Sappho fr. 31 considered earlier; and for another second-sophistic text thinking out loud about lyric reception, see Dio Oration 19.3, thinking through an animalesque subjection to Orphean music in relation to second-sophistic oratory.

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After Eve Sedgwick characterizes New Historicism as a project marked by a kind of paranoia set fast in a temporal stasis,270 she offers a new notion of reparative reading, one that acknowledges and negotiates openly all the failures, gaps, and doubts that we have when we read and analyze. This open-hearted critical position seems particularly well attuned to at least some of the things that we have to grapple with when we read Greek lyric poetry. I would highlight in particular an openness to affect that can connect our experience of the things that matter in reading and our own literary-critical / philological honesty in dealing with material we cannot ever – quite – understand or be entirely at home with because of the variety of ways in which lyric (and Greek lyric in particular) can manipulate our subjectivities and make us concerned about that as it works its strange magic. Sedgwick speaks of this new approach to reading and criticism as an orientation to the future as well as to the past. This may strike home for us directly as readers of Greek lyric: To read from a reparative position is to surrender the knowing, anxious paranoid determination that no horror, however apparently unthinkable, shall ever come to the reader as new; to a reparatively positioned reader, it can seem realistic and necessary to experience surprise. Because there can be terrible surprises, however, there can also be good ones. Hope, often a fracturing, even a traumatic thing to experience, is among the energies by which the reparatively positioned reader tries to organize the fragments and part-objects she encounters or creates. Because the reader has room to realize that the future may be different from the present, it is also possible for her to entertain such profoundly painful, profoundly relieving, ethically crucial possibilities …271 We may of course worry that such a shift toward the inductive rather than the hermeneutic, to the futurity of the unknown rather than to the certainties or realities (allegedly) located in the past (on archaic Lesbos in Sappho’s grove, for instance?) may feel under-theorized and vapid. On this see further Sedgwick as follows: The vocabulary for articulating any reader’s reparative motive toward a text or culture has long been so sappy, aestheticizing, defensive, 270  And compare the paranoia that characterizes De Man’s predicament in relation to lyric in the passage from Stephen Burt quoted earlier. 271  Sedgwick 2003, 146, my emphasis.

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anti-intellectual, or reactionary that it’s no wonder few critics are willing to describe their acquaintance with such motives. The prohibitive problem, however, has been in the limitations of the present theoretical vocabularies rather than in the reparative motive itself. No less acute than a paranoid position, no less realistic, no less attached to a project of survival, and neither less nor more delusional or fantasmatic, the reparative reading position undertakes a different range of affects, ambitions, and risks. What we can best learn from such practices are, perhaps, the many ways selves and communities succeed in extracting sustenance from the objects of a culture – even of a culture whose avowed desire has often been not to sustain them.272 The worlds of archaic and classical Greece have not sustained us because they cannot: they are long gone. But their objects – the songs and texts of the poets we have explored here – have and do, and there is a strong sense that any reading of Greek lyric must necessarily be reparative. Moreover, ‘the richer theoretical vocabularies’273 thus now available – if we have the confidence to use them, as, for instance, Mark Payne does – can help to bring some enchantment back to the critical discussion and, crucially, to explain why that enchantment is necessary. Not so much in terms of what we can do for – or to – the texts, but in order to achieve a richer and more self-aware experience and negotiation of the difficulties and problems of dealing with what these texts mean and with what these texts can do for us, now and into the future, in all the ways that might matter for our lives. References Aloni, Antonio. 2001. ‘The Proem of Simonides’ Plataea Elegy and the Circumstances of its Performance.’ In The New Simonides: Contexts of Praise and Desire, edited by Deborah Boedeker and David Sider, 86–105. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Arrighetti, Graziano. 1994. ‘Stesicoro e il suo pubblico.’ MD 32: 9–30. Athanassaki, Lucia. 2009a. ἀείδετο πὰν τέμενος. Οι χορικές παραστάσεις και το κοινό τους στην αρχαϊκή και πρώϊμη κλασική περίοδο. Herakleion: University of Crete Press.

272  Sedgwick 2003, 150. 273  Cf. Felski 2015, 181, following on from Sedgwick: ‘The antidote to suspicion is thus not a repudiation of theory – asking why literature matters will always embroil us in sustained reflection – but an ampler and more diverse range of theoretical vocabularies.’

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