I listened to an enjoyable, illuminating episode of the BBC Radio 4 series Great Lives. The subject was Sappho. The host (the rather arch Matthew Pariss) and a couple of wholly enthusiastic, delightful guests filled half an hour of talk with their exuberance and joy for the real woman, real poet. It's infectious. Here's the first poem from the broadcast, Fragment 31. It's brilliant.
He seems to me the peer of gods, that man who sits and faces you, close by you hearing your sweet voice speaking, and your sexy laugh, which just this moment makes the heart quake in my breast: for every time I briefly glance towards you, then I lose all power of further speech. My tongue is smashed; at once a film of fire runs underneath my skin; no image shapes before my eyes; my ears are whining like a whirling top; cold sweat pours down me, and in every part shuddering grips me; I am paler than summer grass, and seem to myself to need little to make me die.