ancient poetry 1

8/13/2019 Ancient Poetry 1

1/24

MELEAGER


2/24

1.

Help! He is gone. That wild boy, Love, has escaped!

Just now, as day was breaking, he flew from his bed and was gone.

Description? Sweetly tearful, talks forever, swift, irreverent,

Slyly laughing, wings on his back, and carries a quiver.

His last name? I dont know, for his father and mother,

Whoever they are, in earth or heaven, wont admit it.

Everyone hates him, you see. Take care, take care,

Or even now hell be weaving new snares for your heart.

But hushlook there, turn slowly. You dont deceive me, boy,

Drawing your bow so softly where you hide in Zenophiles eyes.

(APV.177)

2.

Didnt I tell you, oh soul, Look out, youll be caught,

You silly thing, if you flutter so near her net?


3/24

Didnt I warn you?

And now the trap is sprung.

Why struggle in vain?

Love has tied your little wings,

Sprinkled you with cheap perfume, set you fainting in the fire

And given you, in your thirst, hot tears to drink.

(APXII.132)


4/24

3.

Thats the message, Dorkas, and when youve told it to her

Then tell it to her again, and then again, now hurry.

But wait a minute; hold on there; slowly, my Dorkas, slowly.

Why are you rushing off before youve heard all your instructions?

Say also that Ibut no. Its more manly to be silent.

Dont tell her a goddamn thing. Say only that I--. Tell it all!

All of it Dorkas, all of it! But, Dorkas, why did I send you,

When, look, I have followed after you, all the way to her door?

(APV.182)


5/24

4.

Do you leave the flowers of spring,

The lilies and the rest,

And plant your little sting

In Heliodoras breast

To show that in loves wound,

So deep and terrible,

A sweetness may be found

That makes life bearable?

Oh, please, your news is wasted,

I knew it long ago.

Do you think I have not tasted

Where you, drunkard, linger so?

(APV.163)


6/24


7/24

5.

If anything happens to me,

Kleoboulos my friend,

(For I am not safe

I lie like a curling vine

Flung in the fire of girls)

before you send

My ashes under earth

pour in strong wine,

Then on the drunken urn write,

Hades, know

Love sends this gift to death

And bury me and go.

(APV.172)


8/24

6.

Dawn hateful to lovers, why do you rise so quickly

Beside my bed when I lie with delicious Demo?

Cant you turn round, run back and be night again,

And stop that sweet smiling that pours out poison light?

Once before you did that, when Zeus was enjoying Alcmena.

Oh, learned at running backward! You cant say you dont know how. . .

(APV.172)


9/24

7.

Dawn hateful to lovers, why do you roll so slowly

Around the sad world when under another mans blanket

Demo lies and sheds her god-like heat?

When it was my turn to hold her slender body in my arms

You couldnt wait to hurl your disgusting light in my eyes.

(APV.173)


10/24

8.

Oh Night, and you, kind lamp beside his bed,

No one else was near so you

Were witness to our vows,

He that hed love me,

I, that Id never leave him,

Oh, you remember.

But now he says that vows flow away on the river,

Stay no longer than stay the breaking waves.

And you, oh lamp,

Now you see him lying

In someone elses embrace.

(APV.8)


11/24


12/24

9.

I pray you, Eros, in the name of my muse I pray you,

Oh let me sleep and forget for a while this lust for Heliodora.

My god, I pray by your bow which doesnt know how to shoot

At anyone else but day and night sinks shafts of screams in me!

Alright, no more prayers, you sonofabitch, you wont get away with it.

With my last strength I write this poem for the police

It was love

Love killed me.

(APV.215)


13/24

10.

What I cannot see is how,

From the green wave rising,

Out of water, Oh Aphrodite,

You bred a flame.

(APV.176.5-6)


14/24

PHILODEMUS


15/24

I want no more garlands of white violets, no more lyre playing,

No more wine with cocaine in it, no more Syrian incense burning on the night-table,

No more all night parties that end with a thirsty whore in my bed

No more! I hate these things, they are all driving me mad!

Butgive me garlands of narcissus flowers, and let me play the flute,

Perfume me with saffron, give me wine with amphetamines and hashish,

And mate me, yes, mate me with a virgin.

(APXI.34)


16/24

Already more than half the pages have been torn out of the little book of my life;

Look, girl, already white hairs are sprinkled on my head,

announcing that the age of wisdom is drawing near.

But still all I care about is laughing and drinking and the pleasures of the night;

Still, in my unsatisfied heart, a fire is burning.

Oh, Muses, my guides, write an end to it: Say, Thisgirl, this one here,

Sheis the end of your madness.

(APXI.41)


17/24

ANACREONTEA


18/24

Bring me Homers lyre, yes, bring it,

But leave that string of blood out

Bring a cup of versing rules

Oh and mix some metres in it

I will sing, then Ill be dancing

Not a drop of sense left in me

I will dance to horn and zither

Crying out the cries that wine makes

Bring me Homers lyre, yes, bring it

Oh but take that string of blood out


19/24

In a dream

Anacreon, the singer of Teos,

Looked at me and laughingly addressed me.

And I ran up to him

And embraced him and kissed him.

He was an old man, but beautiful,

Beautiful and fond of wine.

His lips smelled of grapes.

Though he was already old and quaking

Eros led him by the hand.

As he passed by he took the wreath from his head

And gave it to me.

And I stupidly took it

And bound it around my forehead

And ever since


20/24

I have been mad with the sting of love.


21/24

Anacreon,

The ladies say,

You really shouldnt

Act that way;

Look in the mirror,

Your head is bald,

Your cheek is pale,

Youre getting old.

Well, ladies, I say,

I dont know if my hair

Is thick or thin

And I dont care

But the closer to death

I drift each day

The louder must I

Sing and play.


22/24

Here lies Anacreon,

An old man, a wine bibber,

And a lover of boys. His

Harp still sounds in silent

Acheron as he sings

Of the boys he left behind,

Megasthenes, who was so

Graceful, and that passionate

Thracian, Smerdies, and

Bathyllos and Euripile.

The vine tendrils mingle with

His carven beard, and the white

Marble smells of wine and myrrh.


23/24

HORACE


24/24

Leuconoe, why try to know

The future, which cannot be known?

Or what the Assyrian numbers say

Of your fate and my own?

Put it away, dont waste your time,

Winter will come on

And break the lower sea on the rocks

While we drink summers wine.

See, in the white of the winter air

The day hangs like a rose.

It droops down to the reaching hand

Take it before it goes.

(OdesI.11)

ancient poetry 1

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