Catullus 116: Callimachus’ Poems Can’t Fight Your Magic Missiles

“I find myself turning over and over in my mind again
How I might send you some of Callimachus’ poems
To soften you towards me, so you might not try
To pour out your missiles on my head too.
But now I see that I have taken up this task in vain,
Gellius, and that my prayers are worth nothing.
I will make your weapons miss me in flight
But you’ll be struck fast and then pay my price.”
 

Saepe tibi studioso animo venante requirens
carmina uti possem mittere Battiadae,
qui te lenirem nobis, neu conarere
tela infesta mittere in usque caput,
hunc video mihi nunc frustra sumptum esse laborem,
Gelli, nec nostras hic valuisse preces.
contra nos tela ista tua evitabimus amitha
at fixus nostris tu dabis supplicium.

I Love it When They Hate Me (Martial, 6.60)

“My Rome praises, loves, and sings my little books—
Every pocket, every hand holds me.
Look: someone turns red, yellow, is dumbstruck, looks again, and hates!
This is what I long for: now my songs have pleased even me.”

Laudat, amat, cantat nostros mea Roma libellos,
meque sinus omnes, me manus omnis habet.
Ecce rubet quidam, pallet, stupet, oscitat, odit.
Hoc uolo: nunc nobis carmina nostra placent.

Yes, but can you publish hate?

Martial, Epigram 9.35: You Know the Secret to a Free Meal, Now Forget It

“You will always earn a dinner with these skills, Philomusus:
Fabricate many tales, but relay them as if they are true.
You know what Pacorus is considering in his Arsacian abode;
You count the number of Rhenish and Sarmatian men,
You reveal the words consigned to paper by the Dacian chef,
And you see the victor’s crown before it arrives.
You know how many times Pharian rain dampens dark Syene
And the number of ships departing from Lybian shores
For whose head Julian olives are harvested,
And for whom the heavenly father has promised his wreaths.
Forget your skill! You will dine with me today
Under one rule: Philomusus, tell me nothing of the news.”

Artibus his semper cenam, Philomuse, mereris,
plurima dum fingis, sed quasi vera refers.
scis quid in Arsacia Pacorus deliberet aula,
Rhenanam numeras Sarmaticamque manum,
verba ducis Daci chartis mandata resignas, 5
victricem laurum quam venit ante vides,
scis quotiens Phario madeat Iove fusca Syene,
scis quota de Libyco litore puppis eat,
cuius Iuleae capiti nascantur olivae,
destinet aetherius cui sua serta pater. 10
Tolle tuas artes; hodie cenabis apud me
hac lege, ut narres nil, Philomuse, novi.

Martial, 6.12 and 6.57: A Woman and A Man with Counterfeit Hair

“Fabulla claims as her own the hair she buys!
Hey Paul—wouldn’t you say that she lies?

Iurat capillos esse, quos emit, suos
Fabulla: numquid illa, Paule, peierat

57

“You make fake hair with gel, Pheobus—
Your filthy scalp is covered with drawn-in hair
You don’t need to summon a barber for that head:
A sponge can give you a better shave, Phoebus.”

Mentiris fictos unguento, Phoebe, capillos
et tegitur pictis sordida calua comis.
Tonsorem capiti non est adhibere necesse:
radere te melius spongea, Phoebe, potest.

Martial, Epigrams 9.70: Cicero had a Reason to Lament, You Don’t

“Cicero once said “What customs, what times!”
As Cataline laid out his sinful designs
And when a son and father-in-law met with dread arms
And dyed the ground red with civil blood.
But why do you repeat “What Customs, What times” now
What can displease you now? Caecilianus, what is it?
We have no clash of kings or insanity of sword.
Our customs don’t make you hate your own times,
but your own do, Caecilianus.”

Dixerat ‘O mores! O tempora!’ Tullius olim,
sacrilegum strueret cum Catilina nefas,
cum gener atque socer diris concurreret armis
maestaque civili caede maderet humus.
cur nunc ‘O mores!’ cur nunc ‘O tempora!’ dicis? 5
quod tibi non placeat, Caeciliane, quid est?
nulla ducum feritas, nulla est insania ferri;
pace frui certa laetitiaque licet.
Non nostri faciunt tibi quod tua tempora sordent,
sed faciunt mores, Caeciliane, tui.

Catullus 97: A Reminder to Convention-Goers, Brush Your Teeth! (NSFW)

“Gods spare me! I didn’t believe it mattered at all
Whether I smelled Aemilius’ mouth or ass.
The former’s no cleaner and the latter’s no filthier-
No, I think his ass is cleaner and better
Since it’s lacking teeth. His teeth are six feet long,
with gums just like a rotted cart frame,
Both set upon a jaw hanging open like
The maw of a pissing mule in summer.
He screws many woman and fancies himself charming,
And he is not remanded to a grinding mill and donkey?
How can we think that any woman who touches him
Wouldn’t lick the sick ass of an executioner?”

Non (ita me di ament) quicquam referre putavi,
utrumne os an culum olfacerem Aemilio.
nilo mundius hoc, nihiloque immundius illud,
verum etiam culus mundior et melior:
nam sine dentibus est. hic dentis sesquipedalis,
gingivas vero ploxeni habet veteris,
praeterea rictum qualem diffissus in aestu
meientis mulae cunnus habere solet.
hic futuit multas et se facit esse venustum,
et non pistrino traditur atque asino?
quem siqua attingit, non illam posse putemus
aegroti culum lingere carnificis?

[continue for a NSFW version of the poem]

Continue reading “Catullus 97: A Reminder to Convention-Goers, Brush Your Teeth! (NSFW)”

Callimachus, Epigram 8: Even in Death, Stepmothers are Deadly

“A boy was placing a garland on his stepmother’s grave
Believing that she had softened her ways after death
But the stone leaned and fell and killed the child.
Avoid your stepmother, even in death, first sons!”

Στήλην μητρυιῆς, μικρὰν λίθον, ἔστεφε κοῦρος,
ὡς βίον ἠλλάχθαι καὶ τρόπον οἰόμενος•
ἡ δὲ τάφῳ κλινθεῖσα κατέκτανε παῖδα πεσοῦσα.
φεύγετε μητρυιῆς καὶ τάφον οἱ πρόγονοι.

Catullus 106: Take Care in the Company You Keep (Or, Don’t Be Pretty)

“If you see a pimp out with a pretty boy,
can you help but believe that he wants to sell himself?”

Cum puero bello praeconem qui videt esse,
quid credat, nisi se vendere discupere?

If it walks like a duck…
If the shoe fits…

Archilochus. fr 122.2-4: Nothing is Unexpected (The Eclipse)

 

“Nothing is now unexpected, foresworn and

Nothing amazes since father Zeus the Olympian

Veiled the light to make it night at midday.”

 

χρημάτων ἄελπτον οὐδέν ἐστιν οὐδ’ ἀπώμοτον

οὐδὲ θαυμάσιον, ἐπειδὴ Ζεὺς πατὴρ ᾿Ολυμπίων

ἐκ μεσαμβρίης ἔθηκε νύκτ’, ἀποκρύψας φάος

Pherecrates, fr. 164: Mocking Alcibiades (and then Socrates)

 

 

“It seems that Alcibiades isn’t yet a man but he’s already a husband to all the ladies.”

 

οὐκ ὤν ἀνὴρ γὰρ Ἀλκιβιάδης, ὡς δοκεῖ,

ἀνὴρ ἁπασῶν τῶν γυναικῶν ἐστι νῦν…

 

Pherecrates is another poet of Old Comedy. Making fun of Alcibiades is almost as fun as mocking Socrates

 

Eupolis, fr. 356

 

“I hate Socrates too,

that prattling panhandler

who figured out everything

except where he can get someting to eat.”

 

μισῶ δὲ καὶ Σωκράτην

τὸν πτωχὸν ἀδολέσχην,

ὃς τἆλλα μὲν πεφρόντικεν,

ὁπόθεν δὲ καταφαγεῖν ἔχοι

τούτου κατημέληκεν

 

Ameipsias, Fr. 7 (Diogenes Laertius, 2.27-28)

 

“Socrates, the best of men when there are few and the most foolish among the many:

You have come to see us too? You are brave. Where would you get a cloak?

Your appearance is an embarrassment to cobblers everywhere.”

 

Σώκρατες ἀνδρῶν βέλτιστ᾿ ὀλίγων, πολλῶν δὲ ματαιοταθ᾿, ἥκεις

καὶ σὺ πρὸς ἡμᾶς; καρτερικὸς γ᾿ εἶ. πόθεν ἄν σοι χλαῖνα γένοιτο;

τουτὶ τὸ κακὸν τῶν σκυτότομων κατ᾿ ἐπήρειαν γεγένηται