iCarmina

You will dine well at my house, my Fabullus,
in a few days (if the gods favor you),
and if you bring with you a great and good
dinner, not without a pretty girl
and wine and wit and laughs for all.
I say: if you bring these, our charming one,
you will dine well—for the little purse
of your Catullus is full of cobwebs.
But in return you will receive wonderous love
or something that is more elegant and more delightful:
for I will give you an oil, which the Venuses
and Cupids gave to my girl,
and when you smell it, you will ask the gods
to make you all nose, Fabullus.

To whom do I dedicate this charming slim volume,
just now polished with dry pumice stone?
To you Cornelius, for you were accustomed to think
that my scribblings were something.
When already at the same time, you, only Italian,
dared to explain the whole history in three scrolls,
learned, by Jupiter, and weighty!
Hence have it for yourself whatever this little book is,
and whatever you like, so that, oh patron maiden,
may it last for more than one longlasting age.

Eros shook my soul like the wind
attacking trees on a mountain.

[translated by Peter Saint-Andre]

Deathless Aphrodite on your lavish throne,
Enchantress, daughter of Zeus: I beg you, queen,
Do not overpower my soul with heartaches
   and hard troubles,

But come here, if ever at another time
Having heard my voice you paid me attention
And leaving the golden house of your father
   you came to me,

Yoking your horse and chariot: gorgeous swift
Sparrows carried you over the coal-black earth,
Thickly whirling their feathers through the midst of
   heaven’s ether.

Swiftly they arrived, and you, O blessed one,
Smiling with your immortal face, you asked for
What I suffered, and why again I call you
And what in my maddened soul I desire most
To happen to me: what dearest one shall I now
Persuade to lead you back to her — who, O Sappho,
   wronged you this time?

For even if she flees, swiftly she will pursue;
And if she does not receive my gifts, she will give;
And if she does not love me, swiftly she will love,
Even against her will. So come to my aid now,
Release me from my grievous cares, fulfill as much
As my heart yearns to be fulfilled: come, be my
   fellow-fighter.

 [translation by Peter Saint-Andre]

You say that the rabbit isn’t cooked, and ask for the whip;
Rufus, you prefer to carve up your cook than your rabbit.

[The best of iCarmina. First published on August 31st]

I love and yet I do not love
I am crazy and I am not crazy

Don’t seek, my friend, we cannot say
what end’s in store for you, for me:
don’t trust in vague astrology.
Better to shoulder what will be,
whether you soon will die, or stay
to watch the shore exhaust the sea.
So drink some wine while your hours flee,
put small trust in posterity,
and prune your hopes — but pluck the day.

[translation by Peter Saint-Andre]

The best of iCarmina. First seen on August 29th.

I am not really keen to wish to please you, Caesar,
Nor to know whether you are black or white.

I am a servant of my Lord Ares,
but I also know well the lovely gift of the Muses

I felt a little ill and called Dr. Symmachus.
But you came with 100 medical students.
One hundred ice-cold hands poked and jabbed me.
I didn’t have a fever, Symmachus, when I called you,
but now I do.

The woman I love says there is no one
she would rather marry than me,
not if Jupiter himself asked her to do so.
She says… but what a woman
says tho her beloved this ought to be
written in wind and running water.