Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Medea, Third Choral Ode "The Fates of the Argonauts" (Seneca)

nulla vis flammae tumidive venti
tanta, nec teli metuenda torti,
quanta cum coniunx viduata taedis
ardet et odit;
non ubi hibernos nebulosus imbres
Auster advexit properatque torrens
Hister et iunctos vetat esse pontes
ac vagus errat;
non ubi impellit Rhodanus profundum,
aut ubi in rivos nivibus solutis
sole iam forti medioque vere
tabuit Haemus.
caecus est ignis stimulatus ira
nec regi curat patiturve frenos
aut timet mortem: cupit ire in ipsos
obvius enses.
parcite, o divi, veniam precamur,
vivat ut tutus mare qui subegit.
sed furit vinci dominus profundi
regna secunda.
ausus aeternos agitare currus
immemor metae iuvenis paternae
quos polo sparsit furiosus ignes
ipse recepit.
constitit nulli via nota magno:
vade qua tutum populo priori,
rumpe nec sacro violente sancta
foedera mundi.
quisquis audacis tetigit carinae
nobiles remos nemorisque sacri
Pelion densa spoliavit umbra,
quisquis intravit scopulos vagantes
et tot emensus pelagi labores
barbara funem religavit ora
raptor externi rediturus auri,
exitu diro temerata ponti
iura piavit.
exigit poenas mare provocatum:
Tiphys in primis, domitor profundi,
liquit indocto regimen magistro;
litore externo, procul a paternis
occidens regnis tumuloque vili
tectus ignotas iacet inter umbras.
aulis amissi memor inde regis
portibus lentis retinet carinas
stare querentes.
ille vocali genitus Camena,
cuius ad chordas modulante plectro
restitit torrens, siluere venti,
cum suo cantu volucris relicto
adfuit tota comitante silva,
Thracios sparsus iacuit per agros,
at caput tristi fluitavit Hebro:
contigit notam Styga Tartarumque,
non rediturus.
stravit Alcides Aquilone natos,
patre Neptuno genitum necavit
sumere innumeras solitum figuras:
ipse post terrae pelagique pacem,
post feri Ditis patefacta regna
vivus ardenti recubans in Oeta
praebuit saevis sua membra flammis
tabe consumptus gemini cruoris,
munere nuptae.
stravit Ancaeum violentus ictu
saetiger; fratrem, Meleagre, matris
impius mactas morerisque dextra
matris iratae: meruere cuncti
morte quod crimen tener expiavit
Herculi magno puer inrepertus,
raptus, heu, tutas puer inter undas.
ite nunc, fortes, perarate pontum
fonte timendo.
Idmonem, quamvis bene fata nosset,
condidit serpens Libycis harenis;
omnibus verax, sibi falsus uni
concidit Mopsus caruitque Thebis.
ille si vere cecinit futura,
exul errabit Thetidis maritus;
fulmine et ponto moriens Oileus
*pro suo gnatus* patrioque pendet
crimine poenas.
igne fallaci nociturus Argis
Nauplius praeceps cadet in profundum;
coniugis fatum redimens Pheraei
uxor impendes animam marito.
ipse qui praedam spoliumque iussit
aureum prima revehi carina
[ustus accenso Pelias aeno]
arsit angustas vagus inter undas.
iam satis, divi, mare vindicastis:
parcite iusso.

No force of flame or swelling wind,
Nor brandished spear, is half as great
As a wife of wedding-torches robbed
Who burns with hate;

Nor when the cloudy South Wind brings
The winter rains, and Hister roars
In wandering torrents, bursts each bridge
That spans its shores;

Nor when the Rhone strikes at the deep,
Nor when with streams of melting snows,
As the sun is strong at height of spring,
The Haemus flows.

Blind is the fire that anger feeds:
It brooks no rule, the bridle spurns,
And fears not death; to rush at swords
Headlong it burns.

Spare and forgive, ye gods, we pray;
May he who tamed the sea live on.
But the wrath of the lord of the deep is roused—
The next realm's won.

When the boy dared play the charioteer,
Unmindful of his father's track,
The fires he flung across the sky
Himself did rack.

The well-known path has no great cost;
The past's safe ways be the ways for thee,
And do not break the sacred bond
Of Earth's decree.

Whoever touched the noble oars
Of that bold ship, and the thick shade
Of sacred woods from Pelion stripped,
And into the Rocks that Wander strayed,
And strove so greatly on the sea,
And anchored on barbarian shores
To seize their gold and homeward bend,
Paid for the ocean's outraged laws
With dreadful end.

The sea, once roused, exacts her toll:
First Tiphys, whom the deep obeyed,
Left his helm to untaught hands,
And far from his father's realm is laid;
His bones rest in a humble tomb
'Mid unknown shades on a foreign strand,
And Aulis mourns its absent lord,
And its complaining ships must stand
In harbor moored.

The musical Camena's son—
Whose chords, when plectrum touched his string,
Made torrents pause and winds fall mute,
Made the songbird cease to sing
And draw near, the whole wood behind—
On Thracian fields his corpse they strew,
His head floats down sad Hebrus river
To the Styx and Tartarus he knew,
To dwell for ever.

Alcides slew Aquilo's sons,
And him of Neptune's getting, who
Assumed innumerable shapes;
But after bringing concord to
The land and sea, and opening
The realms of Dis, he, lying doomed
On burning Oeta, gave up life
And limbs, by twofold gore consumed,
Gift of his wife.

The fierce boar struck Ancaeus down;
Disloyal Meleager, you,
Slaughtering mother's brother, die
By mother's hand. They earned it, true,
But what sin did the boy's death pay
Whom mighty Hercules sought in vain,
Seized in the shallows, wretched waif?
Go, brave hearts, plough the watery main—
A spring's not safe.

Idmon, though well he knew the fates,
A snake entombed in Libyan sand;
Prophet for all but self alone
Died Mopsus, far from Theban land.
If he has sung the future true,
Then Thetis' mate will exiled stray;
By thunderbolt and ocean slain,
Oelius' son for his crime will pay
And his sire's stain.

With false fire seeking Argos' harm,
Into the deep will Nauplius fall;
For your Pheraean spouse's fate,
Wife, you'll trade away your soul.
The man who bade the first ship bring
The golden spoils, 'neath cauldron lid
Was roasted, in its trapped waves rolled.
The sea's avenged; spare him who did
As he was told.

Friday, May 28, 2010

1 (Sappho)

ποικιλόθρον' ἀθανάτ' Ἀφρόδιτα,
παῖ Δίος δολόπλοκε, λίσσομαί σε·
μή μ' ἄσαισι μηδ' ὀνίαισι δάμνα,
πότνια, θῦμον,

ἀλλὰ τυίδ' ἔλθ', αἴ ποτα κἀτέρωτα
τὰς ἔμας αὔδας ἀίοισα πήλοι
ἔκλυες, πάτρος δὲ δόμον λίποισα
χρύσιον ἦλθες

ἄρμ' ὐπασδεύξαισα· κάλοι δέ σ' ἆγον
ὤκεες στροῦθοι περὶ γᾶς μελαίνας
πύκνα δίννεντες πτέρ' ἀπ' ὠράνω ἴθε-
ρος διὰ μέσσω·

αἶψα δ' ἐξίκοντο· σὺ δ', ὦ μάκαιρα,
μειδιαίσαισ' ἀθανάτωι προσώπωι
ἤρε' ὄττι δηὖτε πέπονθα κὤττι
δηὖτε κάλημμι

κὤττι μοι μάλιστα θέλω γένεσθαι
μαινόλαι θύμωι· τίνα δηὖτε πείθω
.. σάγην ἐς σὰν φιλότατα; τίς σ', ὦ
Ψάπφ', ἀδικήει;

καὶ γὰρ αἰ φεύγει, ταχέως διώξει,
αἰ δὲ δῶρα μὴ δέκετ', ἀλλὰ δώσει,
αἰ δὲ μὴ φίλει, ταχέως φιλήσει
κoὐκ ἐθέλοισα.

ἔλθε μοι καὶ νῦν, χαλέπαν δὲ λῦσον
ἐκ μερίμναν, ὄσσα δέ μοι τέλεσσαι
θῦμος ἰμέρρει, τέλεσον, σὺ δ' αὔτα
σύμμαχος ἔσσο.


Richly-seated immortal Aphrodite,
Zeus's daughter, weaver of snares, I beg you,
do not lay my heart low with grief and sorrow,
goddess and lady,

but come here, if ever before you heard me,
heard my voice from far off and hearkened to it,
left your father's house and yoked up your golden
chariot; so you

came to me, and beautiful darting sparrows
drew you as you went with their quick wings whirring
over the black earth from the heavens down through
mid-air to meet me.

Suddenly you came, and then you, O blest one,
with a gentle smile on your deathless face, asked
what had happened this time, and why I'd called you
to help me this time,

and what I now most wanted in my maddened
heart to come to pass; “Whom shall I persuade to
be your darling this time? And who is it, my
Sappho, that wrongs you?

For if she flees, soon she will be pursuer;
if she spurns gifts, yet she will seek to give them;
if she does not love, she will soon be love-struck,
even unwilling."

Come to me once more, and from heavy trouble
free me, and accomplish what my heart longs to
be accomplished, and you yourself, O goddess,
be now my ally.

Wednesday, April 7, 2010

Le Vampire (Charles Baudelaire)

Toi qui, comme un coup de couteau,

Dans mon coeur plaintif es entrée;

Toi qui, comme un hideux troupeau

De démons, vins, folle et parée,

De mon esprit humilié

Faire ton lit et ton domaine;

— Infâme à qui je suis lié

Comme le forçat à la chaîne,

Comme au jeu le joueur têtu,

Comme à la bouteille l'ivrogne,

Comme aux vermines la charogne

— Maudite, maudite sois-tu!

J'ai prié le glaive rapide

De conquérir ma liberté,

Et j'ai dit au poison perfide

De secourir ma lâcheté.

Hélas! le poison et le glaive

M'ont pris en dédain et m'ont dit:

«Tu n'es pas digne qu'on t'enlève

À ton esclavage maudit,

Imbécile! — de son empire

Si nos efforts te délivraient,

Tes baisers ressusciteraient

Le cadavre de ton vampire!»



You who, like the bite of a blade,
Entered my heart deject and sad;
You who, like a ghastly brigade
Of demons, came bedecked and mad

To make my soul, bereft of pride,
Your bed of lust and your domain;
Loathsome thing to whom I'm tied
Like the convict to his chain,

Like the gambler to his dice,
Like the drunkard to his thirst,
Like the carrion to its flies—
Accurst be you, accurst!

To the swift sword I did sue
To win for me my liberty,
And conjured faithless poison too
To aid in my timidity.

Alas! the poison and the blade
Both did scornfully respond:
"You are not worthy to be made
Free from your accurséd bond,

Besotted fool! Should we contrive
To make you nevermore her slave,
Your burning kisses would revive
Your vampire's carcass from the grave!"

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

58 ("The New Sappho")

῎Υμμες πεδὰ Μοίσαν ἰ]οκ[ό]λπων κάλα δῶρα, παῖδες,
σπουδάσδετε καὶ τὰ]ν φιλἀοιδον λιγύραν χελύνναν·

ἔμοι δ᾽ἄπαλον πρίν] ποτ᾽ [ἔ]οντα χρόα γῆρας ἤδη
ἐπέλλαβε, λεῦκαι δ’ ἐγ]ένοντο τρίχες ἐκ μελαίναν·

βάρυς δέ μ’ ὀ [θ]ῦμος πεπόηται, γόνα δ’ [ο]ὐ φέροισι,
τὰ δή ποτα λαίψηρ’ ἔον ὄρχησθ’ ἴσα νεβρίοισι.

τὰ <μὲν> στεναχίσδω θαμέως· ἀλλὰ τί κεν ποείην;
ἀγήραον ἄνθρωπον ἔοντ᾽ οὐ δύνατον γένεσθαι.

καὶ γἀρ π[ο]τα Τίθωνον ἔφαντο βροδόπαχυν Αὔων
ἔρωι φ . . αθεισαν βάμεν’ εἰς ἔσχατα γᾶς φέροισα[ν,

ἔοντα [κ]άλον καὶ νέον, ἀλλ’ αὖτον ὔμως ἔμαρψε
χρόνωι πόλιον γῆρας, ἔχ[ο]ντ’ ἀθανάταν ἄκοιτιν.


You, girls, make haste to reap the lovely gifts
of the sweet Muses with their violet breasts,
and the clear-singing lyre.

My own once tender skin is now grown parched,
withered by age, and all my flowing hair
has turned from black to white;

my spirit sinks in heaviness; my knees
no longer bear me up, though once I danced
as lithely as a fawn.

So often I lament these things; but what
can one do? To be human, not grow old—
it is impossible.

For rosy-armed Aurora, so they say,
once bore away Tithonus for her love,
off to the wide world's end;

and beautiful and young as he was then,
yet grizzled age in time seized hold of him,
clasping his deathless wife.

Tuesday, January 12, 2010

Odes 4.11 (Horace)

Est mihi nonum superantis annum
plenus Albani cadus, est in horto,
Phylli, nectendis apium coronis,
est hederae uis

multa, qua crinis religata fulges,
ridet argento domus, ara castis
uincta uerbenis auet immolato
spargier agno;

cuncta festinat manus, huc et illuc
cursitant mixtae pueris puellae,
sordidum flammae trepidant rotantes
uertice fumum.

Vt tamen noris quibus aduoceris
gaudiis, Idus tibi sunt agendae,
qui dies mensem Veneris marinae
findit Aprilem,

iure sollemnis mihi sanctiorque
paene natali proprio, quod ex hac
luce Maecenas meus affluentis
ordinat annos.

Telephum, quem tu petis, occupauit
non tuae sortis iuuenem puella
diues et lasciua tenetque grata
compede uinctum.

Terret ambustus Phaethon auaras
spes et exemplum graue praebet ales
Pegasus terrenum equitem grauatus
Bellerophontem,

semper ut te digna sequare et ultra
quam licet sperare nefas putando
disparem uites. Age iam, meorum
finis amorum

(non enim posthac alia calebo
femina), condisce modos, amanda
uoce quos reddas; minuentur atrae
carmine curae.



There is in my cellar a jug of Alban--
more than nine years aging--and in the garden,
Phyllis, there is parsley for weaving garlands,
there are abundant

ivy leaves to bind back your shining hair; the
whole house laughs with silver, and the blest altar
bound with sacred greenery begs the touch of
sacrificed lamb's blood.

All the household's running about in tumult
here and there, the lads and the maidens mingled,
and the dancing flames to the heights are shaking
soot-blackened smoke plumes.

But so you might know the occasion for this
call to joys: we herald the Ides of April,
happy day that cuts into halves the month of
ocean-born Venus;

day I hold in rightful regard, more sacred
almost than my own natal day, for from this
morning my Maecenas adds up his flowing
years as they pass by.

Telephus, whom you are pursuing--that boy
far above your station--is in the clutches
of a lusty rich girl who holds him bound in
pleasure's glad shackles.

Burning Phaethon warns against greedy hopes, and
Pegasus, who balked at Bellerophon, his
earthbound rider, offers to us a weighty
lesson in this vein:

that you always follow the fitting path, and
think it wrong to hope more than is permitted;
shun unequal matches. But come now, lovely
last of my lovers

(after this no woman shall heat my blood), and
learn a verse or two, then with your enchanting
voice recite them; so dark and gloomy cares in
song will diminish.