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06 - Greek and Latin Lyric Poetry: From Archilochus to Martial
I propose to read from my forthcoming translation of 800 years of Greek and Latin lyric poetry, a book over ten years in the making, which will be published by Penguin Classics in July 2023, with an Afterword by Glenn Most; the book anthologizes a generous selection of poetry, which, along with lyric proper, also encompasses elegy, iambus, epigram, and even pastoral. I am happy to read both Greek and Latin originals as well as translations, and/or to talk about principles and approach employed in the translation, as time and interest allow.
Sample Translations
Alcman 26
No more, you honey-voiced maidens whose songs have a holy power,
can my frame bear my weight. I wish, I wish that I were
a kingfisher aloft with you halcyons over the sea-foam in flower,
an ocean-colored holy bird, light-hearted, sure.
Sappho 105a
An apple on a bough hangs redly, sweetly,
high on the highest limb, against the sky.
The pickers leave it be, but don't completely
leave it - they reached for it; it was too high.
Anacreon 358
Hitting me again today
with a purple ball, Love urges me
toward this bright-sandalled thing, to see
whether she wants to play.
But she's a Lesbian born and bred,
and laughs at me, for my white hair,
then opens her mouth wide to stare
at another sort of head.
Callimachus Epigram 34
When I heard, Heraclitus, you were dead,°
I thought of all the suns we'd talked to bed
those nights, and the tears came. Dear guest, I know
that you were ashes long and long ago,
and yet your nightingales are singing still:
Death kills all things, but them he cannot kill.
Catullus 84
Not "commodities", "commoditae",
says Arrius; "satyrs" are "satori".
He beams; our sidelong glances verify
the erudition of his "satori".
Clearly, these are words he grew up with -
his mother's, freedman uncle's, and their kith.
He sailed for Syria; our ears were easy,
without that dialect to drive them crazy,
until we heard what we'd thought gone for good -
a notice from abroad that chilled our blood:
it seems we've got new atlases to buy,
since Syrians now go by "Syriae".
Horace 1.38
Please, boy, no crowns of linden for my hair -
that's just the sort of Persian frill I hate.
Give up the search for some far country where
the rose blows late.
You can't improve on a simple myrtle wreath;
don't even try! These myrtle wreaths look fine
on you as you serve and me as I drink, beneath
the shade of the vine.
Martial 5.58
Tomorrow, tomorrow, Postumus, you swear
you'll live tomorrow - but when will it get here?
Where is it? How far off? And are there maps?
Search Parthia, or Armenia, perhaps.
How old is it? - at least as old as Nestor
or Priam. What's the cost for an investor?
Tomorrow you'll live? Today is late, I say.
The wise man started living yesterday.
Presenters
Christopher Childers, Independent Scholar
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