Post by Deleted on Sept 30, 2015 21:03:53 GMT 8
Hi, Folks!
Below is my translation of a very famous poem written by the Roman Catullus (84-54 BC). It concerns Attis, a young man who becomes a priestess of Cybele. This being such a well-known poem, if you want to look for other translations on the net, you’ll have no trouble finding them. You’ll find, too, that translations vary a great deal. Latin is a bizarre language, and if you take it at face value, it’s often hard to see what it means. Therefore, you’re often forced to “interpret” what you’re reading, and of course interpretations will vary greatly. So I don’t pretend that my translation is authoritative. If you find another one you like better, that’s OK, you won’t hurt my feelings.
A few notes for those who, unlike me, are living in the present and thus may not be too familiar with ancient goings-on:
Cybele = an ancient mother goddess
Phrygia = region in west central Asia Minor
Gallae = priestesses of Cybele
Maenads = ecstatic female worshippers, generally associated with Bacchus, in this case with Cybele
Ida, Dindymus = mountains in Phrygia
(As a final aside, we might note the ancient Romans' view of male homosexuality. They saw it as more or less OK as long as a man was playing the male role. If he played the female role, that was seen as a perversion. Thus, Julius Caesar was often taunted for his dallying with the King of Bithynia in return for certain favors because of the submissive role he played. But he was certainly adaptable: he was commonly referred to as “every woman’s man and every man’s woman”. As regards the Roman view of transgenderism, I’ve never come across any information that would allow me to comment on that.)
When Attis, having sailed the deep seas in his swift boat,
Hastily, eagerly alights among the Phrygian groves
To approach the goddess’s dark haunts crowned with forests,
Goaded there to raging madness, his mind a fog,
With a sharp flint he excises the weight of his loins;
And seeing his frame left without manhood,
The soil of that land stained with still fresh blood,
At once she takes up the light drum in her snow-white hands—
Your drum, Cybele, our Mother—and the instruments of your rites,
Her soft fingers thumping the taut bull-hide,
While, trembling, she calls out to her companions:
“Come, Gallae, let us go together to Cybele’s deep groves;
Let us go, the wandering troop of the Lady of Dindymus.
For like exiles seeking foreign shores,
Following my lead, my path as my companions,
You have endured the fierce waves, the stormy seas,
And in hatred of Venus have unmanned your bodies.
Go forth now, in ecstasy, to gladden our Mistress’s heart.
Banish all doubt from your dull minds: together follow me
To Cybele’s Phrygian abode, to the goddess’s Phrygian woods
Where the cymbal’s voice rings out, where the drums resound,
Where the flute-player sounds the bass on his curved reed,
Where the Maenads fiercely toss their ivy-wreathed heads,
With shrill ululations enacting the holy rites,
Where the goddess’s faithful range in a frenzy,
Exuberantly perform her sacred dance.”
Thus cried Attis, that woman-apparent, to the company,
While they, finding voice, set to howling in turn.
The light drum bellowed, the hollow cymbals rang out,
And the chorus sped off to the green slopes of Ida.
Attis, racing on, struggling on, gasping for breath,
Accompanied by the drum, led them through dark groves,
Like an untamed heifer trying to throw off the yoke,
While the Gallae in haste followed their swift-footed leader—
Till fainting from their labors, to Cybele’s abode
They came, dropped straight off to sleep with no thought for food.
Unremitting Sleep, as weariness overcame them, closed their eyes,
And the raging fury in their hearts was stilled in sweet rest.
But when the golden-faced Sun with its radiant eyes
Lit up the white sky, the hard soil, the wild sea,
Drove away night’s shadows with its clattering chariot,
Then Sleep, as Attis woke, swiftly retreated,
Was welcomed to the haven of Pasithea’s bosom.
By restful sleep her driving folly dismissed,
Within her heart Attis reviewed her deeds,
With clear mind saw the destiny they had shaped;
Then, her thoughts in turmoil, she returned to the shore.
There, viewing the broad sea, her eyes full of tears,
In piteous tones she sadly addressed her homeland:
“O land of my birth, o land of my origins,
From which I, wretch that I am, fled, like a slave
From his master, to wander among Ida’s groves,
To dwell amid the snows in a den like a beast,
In folly seeking refuge in their cold lairs,
Where now, in what parts, will I search for you, my homeland?
My eyes desire to cast their glance on you
While for a brief moment this madness has left my mind.
Far from home, will I be driven into these woods?
Am I banished from homeland, estates, friends and parents,
From the forum, the wrestling-school, the stadium, the gymnasium?
Woe to you, my soul, you will never cease to lament.
What shape can there be which I have not taken on?—
Boy, adolescent, young man, now woman,
I, the pride of the gymnasium and the glory of the wrestling-school.
My hall was crowded, my threshold gave warm welcome,
My house was decked with garlands of flowers,
I had to quit my bedroom with the rising sun.
Can I bear to be the handmaid of gods and Cybele’s slave-girl?
Will I be a Maenad, a fraction of myself, an unmanned man?
Will I dwell on cold Ida, green Ida buried in snow?
Will I live my life among Phrygia’s tall peaks
With the forest-dwelling doe and the woodland-roaming boar?
Oh now do I grieve, now do I repent of what I have done.”
As these moans flew from her rosy lips
To carry this shocking news to the goddess’s twin ears,
Cybele released her lions, the terror of flocks,
From their yoke, spurring the left-hand one on thus:
“Come now!” she cried, “Go forth boldly, and drive her to a frenzy,
That thus frenzied she may return to these groves,
She who so blithely would ignore my commands.
Whip up your tail, take its lashes on your back,
Let all the land resound with your roar,
Shake your brawny neck and your ruddy mane!”
Thus ominously spoke Cybele and let loose the leash.
The beast roused himself, drove himself to full speed,
Rushed forth, roared, crashed through the bush with his mighty paws.
And when to the wet, gleaming shore he came
And spied Attis, so frail, beside the shining sea,
He attacked—and drove her wildly into the wild woods,
Where ever after she lived as her Mistress’s slave-girl.
Ah, Goddess, great Goddess, Cybele, Lady of Dindymus,
Mistress, grant that this madness remains far from my house!
Drive others to a frenzy, drive others to madness!
Below is my translation of a very famous poem written by the Roman Catullus (84-54 BC). It concerns Attis, a young man who becomes a priestess of Cybele. This being such a well-known poem, if you want to look for other translations on the net, you’ll have no trouble finding them. You’ll find, too, that translations vary a great deal. Latin is a bizarre language, and if you take it at face value, it’s often hard to see what it means. Therefore, you’re often forced to “interpret” what you’re reading, and of course interpretations will vary greatly. So I don’t pretend that my translation is authoritative. If you find another one you like better, that’s OK, you won’t hurt my feelings.
A few notes for those who, unlike me, are living in the present and thus may not be too familiar with ancient goings-on:
Cybele = an ancient mother goddess
Phrygia = region in west central Asia Minor
Gallae = priestesses of Cybele
Maenads = ecstatic female worshippers, generally associated with Bacchus, in this case with Cybele
Ida, Dindymus = mountains in Phrygia
(As a final aside, we might note the ancient Romans' view of male homosexuality. They saw it as more or less OK as long as a man was playing the male role. If he played the female role, that was seen as a perversion. Thus, Julius Caesar was often taunted for his dallying with the King of Bithynia in return for certain favors because of the submissive role he played. But he was certainly adaptable: he was commonly referred to as “every woman’s man and every man’s woman”. As regards the Roman view of transgenderism, I’ve never come across any information that would allow me to comment on that.)
When Attis, having sailed the deep seas in his swift boat,
Hastily, eagerly alights among the Phrygian groves
To approach the goddess’s dark haunts crowned with forests,
Goaded there to raging madness, his mind a fog,
With a sharp flint he excises the weight of his loins;
And seeing his frame left without manhood,
The soil of that land stained with still fresh blood,
At once she takes up the light drum in her snow-white hands—
Your drum, Cybele, our Mother—and the instruments of your rites,
Her soft fingers thumping the taut bull-hide,
While, trembling, she calls out to her companions:
“Come, Gallae, let us go together to Cybele’s deep groves;
Let us go, the wandering troop of the Lady of Dindymus.
For like exiles seeking foreign shores,
Following my lead, my path as my companions,
You have endured the fierce waves, the stormy seas,
And in hatred of Venus have unmanned your bodies.
Go forth now, in ecstasy, to gladden our Mistress’s heart.
Banish all doubt from your dull minds: together follow me
To Cybele’s Phrygian abode, to the goddess’s Phrygian woods
Where the cymbal’s voice rings out, where the drums resound,
Where the flute-player sounds the bass on his curved reed,
Where the Maenads fiercely toss their ivy-wreathed heads,
With shrill ululations enacting the holy rites,
Where the goddess’s faithful range in a frenzy,
Exuberantly perform her sacred dance.”
Thus cried Attis, that woman-apparent, to the company,
While they, finding voice, set to howling in turn.
The light drum bellowed, the hollow cymbals rang out,
And the chorus sped off to the green slopes of Ida.
Attis, racing on, struggling on, gasping for breath,
Accompanied by the drum, led them through dark groves,
Like an untamed heifer trying to throw off the yoke,
While the Gallae in haste followed their swift-footed leader—
Till fainting from their labors, to Cybele’s abode
They came, dropped straight off to sleep with no thought for food.
Unremitting Sleep, as weariness overcame them, closed their eyes,
And the raging fury in their hearts was stilled in sweet rest.
But when the golden-faced Sun with its radiant eyes
Lit up the white sky, the hard soil, the wild sea,
Drove away night’s shadows with its clattering chariot,
Then Sleep, as Attis woke, swiftly retreated,
Was welcomed to the haven of Pasithea’s bosom.
By restful sleep her driving folly dismissed,
Within her heart Attis reviewed her deeds,
With clear mind saw the destiny they had shaped;
Then, her thoughts in turmoil, she returned to the shore.
There, viewing the broad sea, her eyes full of tears,
In piteous tones she sadly addressed her homeland:
“O land of my birth, o land of my origins,
From which I, wretch that I am, fled, like a slave
From his master, to wander among Ida’s groves,
To dwell amid the snows in a den like a beast,
In folly seeking refuge in their cold lairs,
Where now, in what parts, will I search for you, my homeland?
My eyes desire to cast their glance on you
While for a brief moment this madness has left my mind.
Far from home, will I be driven into these woods?
Am I banished from homeland, estates, friends and parents,
From the forum, the wrestling-school, the stadium, the gymnasium?
Woe to you, my soul, you will never cease to lament.
What shape can there be which I have not taken on?—
Boy, adolescent, young man, now woman,
I, the pride of the gymnasium and the glory of the wrestling-school.
My hall was crowded, my threshold gave warm welcome,
My house was decked with garlands of flowers,
I had to quit my bedroom with the rising sun.
Can I bear to be the handmaid of gods and Cybele’s slave-girl?
Will I be a Maenad, a fraction of myself, an unmanned man?
Will I dwell on cold Ida, green Ida buried in snow?
Will I live my life among Phrygia’s tall peaks
With the forest-dwelling doe and the woodland-roaming boar?
Oh now do I grieve, now do I repent of what I have done.”
As these moans flew from her rosy lips
To carry this shocking news to the goddess’s twin ears,
Cybele released her lions, the terror of flocks,
From their yoke, spurring the left-hand one on thus:
“Come now!” she cried, “Go forth boldly, and drive her to a frenzy,
That thus frenzied she may return to these groves,
She who so blithely would ignore my commands.
Whip up your tail, take its lashes on your back,
Let all the land resound with your roar,
Shake your brawny neck and your ruddy mane!”
Thus ominously spoke Cybele and let loose the leash.
The beast roused himself, drove himself to full speed,
Rushed forth, roared, crashed through the bush with his mighty paws.
And when to the wet, gleaming shore he came
And spied Attis, so frail, beside the shining sea,
He attacked—and drove her wildly into the wild woods,
Where ever after she lived as her Mistress’s slave-girl.
Ah, Goddess, great Goddess, Cybele, Lady of Dindymus,
Mistress, grant that this madness remains far from my house!
Drive others to a frenzy, drive others to madness!