Clodia and Juventius
I sat for a while in a bookstore today reading some translations of Catullus. He was my favorite person to translate when I took Latin in high school because he was raw and sex-obsessed and funny as hell--really none of the other guys writing about how many Roman centurions it took to invade Gaul could even touch that.
And we didn't even get to see the half of it. Many of his poems were obscene by the standards of his day and have remained obscene by all standards for 2000 years since then. This boy was unstoppable. He was hell-bent in love with a woman historians think was probably Clodia, the wife of a Roman consul named Metellus. He calls her Lesbia in his poems, after Lesbos, home of Sappho, a 7th century BC Greek lyricist whom he admired greatly and whose work he translated. (Not many of Sappho's poems have survived but some come through Catullus's translations. She is one of the first known poets to write from the first person.) He also wrote love poems to a guy he called Juventius. He was pretty crazy about Juventius, but not QUITE as crazy as he was about Lesbia. He died, probably, not long after he turned 30.
Some of my favorite of his poems, though, are ones he wrote to his friends. Here is one:
Yesterday, Licinius, we made holiday
and played many a game with my tablets,
as we had agreed to take our pleasure.
Each of us pleased his fancy in writing verses,
now in one metre, now in another,
answering each other, as we laughed and drank our wine.
I came away from this so fired
by your wit and fun, Licinius,
that food did not ease my pain,
nor sleep spread rest over my eyes,
but restless and fevered I tossed about all over my bed,
longing to see the dawn,
that I might talk to you and be with you.
But when my limbs were worn out with fatigue
and lay half dead on my couch,
I made this poem for you, my sweet friend,
that from it you might learn my suffering.
Now be not too proud, and do not, I pray you,
apple of my eye, do not reject my prayers,
lest Nemesis demand penalties from you in turn.
She is an imperious goddess–beware of offending her.
And we didn't even get to see the half of it. Many of his poems were obscene by the standards of his day and have remained obscene by all standards for 2000 years since then. This boy was unstoppable. He was hell-bent in love with a woman historians think was probably Clodia, the wife of a Roman consul named Metellus. He calls her Lesbia in his poems, after Lesbos, home of Sappho, a 7th century BC Greek lyricist whom he admired greatly and whose work he translated. (Not many of Sappho's poems have survived but some come through Catullus's translations. She is one of the first known poets to write from the first person.) He also wrote love poems to a guy he called Juventius. He was pretty crazy about Juventius, but not QUITE as crazy as he was about Lesbia. He died, probably, not long after he turned 30.
Some of my favorite of his poems, though, are ones he wrote to his friends. Here is one:
Yesterday, Licinius, we made holiday
and played many a game with my tablets,
as we had agreed to take our pleasure.
Each of us pleased his fancy in writing verses,
now in one metre, now in another,
answering each other, as we laughed and drank our wine.
I came away from this so fired
by your wit and fun, Licinius,
that food did not ease my pain,
nor sleep spread rest over my eyes,
but restless and fevered I tossed about all over my bed,
longing to see the dawn,
that I might talk to you and be with you.
But when my limbs were worn out with fatigue
and lay half dead on my couch,
I made this poem for you, my sweet friend,
that from it you might learn my suffering.
Now be not too proud, and do not, I pray you,
apple of my eye, do not reject my prayers,
lest Nemesis demand penalties from you in turn.
She is an imperious goddess–beware of offending her.
posted by Anna at 10:36 PM
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