Love and Luxury Flashcards
Catullus 1 Summary
Rhetorical question - who is the collection addressed to
Singles out Cornelius - for seeing value in his bad poetry
Admires him for explicating italian history into 3 monographs
taught by jupiter and intense
Asks him to keep book for himself
Asks goddess to make his little book last for more than one age
Catullus 2 Summary
Addresses a songbird - love of his sweetheart’s
describes them playing, holding the bird in her lap
gives her finger
teases the bird
almost questions why his lover enjoys playing so much
wishes to play with his lover as she plays with her bird - torments his soul
Catullus 3 Summary
The bird is dead - mourns to venus and the cupids and whoever else is charming
girl loved the bird more than her own eyes
compared with honey and makes comparison with mother / daughter
again in her lap
now journey to underworld
curses the forces of hell for taking bird and making his lover cry
Catullus 4 Summary
Concerns a retiring ship that was once the fasted and best - very human - described speaking, flying and with palms (oars)
lists all the places the ship went: adriatic, cyclades, rhodes
recalls that the ship was once a tree in a leafy forest - would communicate with rustling leaves
ship was famous even as a tree
once in water - directed by jove - never worried it wouldn’t make it home
now retired - dedicated to the gods - particularly Castor and Pollux
Catullus 5 Summary
First Lesbia poem - implores her not to value opinion of old men (monetary - penny)
Live their short lives until eternal night of death
asks for her kisses to the point of losing count and the wicked and jealous with not be able to call them to account for them
Catullus 6 Summary
Catullus complains to Flavius that he never talks about his lover so he must be ashamed of her because she looks unhealthy
From the garlands and perfume on his bed he knows flavius does have sex with her - made the bed squeaky
something about flavius’ thighs
catullus asks to know about them so he can write about them
assumes Flavius is hiding something - must be that she’s ugly
Catullus 7 Summary
Addresses Lesbia - how many of your kisses are enough
Lybian sand grains - bearing Cyrene from the oracle of Jupiter to the tomb of Battus
more than the stars
uncountable number, evil tongue bewitch
Catullus 8 Summary
Catullus implores himself to stop being an idiot because the relationship is over
looking back on how great their love once was (blazing sun)
lesbia did not wish for the things he desired and doesn’t desire him at all now
says a madman should not desire her anymore
Catullus tells himself to be strong and stop persuing lesbia
wonders who he will love
says farewell to her -
wonders whether she will be sad
Cvi dono lepidum novum libellum arido modo pumice expolitum? Corneli, tibi: namque tu solebas meas esse aliquid putare nugas, iam tum cum ausus es unus Italorum omne aevum tribus explicare chartis doctis, Iuppiter, et laboriosis. quare habe tibi quicquid hoc libelli, qualecumque; quod, o patrona virgo, plus uno maneat perenne saeclo.
To whom am I to present my pretty new book, freshly smoothed off with dry pumice-stone? To you, Cornelius: for you used to think that my trifles were worth something, long ago, when you took courage, you alone of Italians, to set forth the whole history of the world in three volumes, learned volumes, by Jupiter, and laboriously wrought. So take and keep for your own this little book, such as it is, and whatever it is worth; and may it, O Virgin my patroness, live and last for more than one century.
Passer, deliciae meae puellae, quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere, cui primum digitum dare appetenti et acris solet incitare morsus cum desiderio meo nitenti carum nescio quid lubet iocari, credo ut, cum gravis acquiescet ardor, sit solaciolum sui doloris, tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem et tristis animi levare curas!
Sparrow, my lady’s pet, with whom she often plays whilst she holds you in her lap, or gives you her fingertip to peck and provokes you to bite sharply, whenever she, the bright-shining lady of my love, has a mind for some sweet pretty play, in hope, as I think, that when the sharper smart of love abates, she may find some small relief from her pain—ah, might I but play with you as she does, and lighten the gloomy cares of my heart!
Lvgete, o Veneres Cupidinesque, et quantumst hominum venustiorum. passer mortuus est meae puellae, passer, deliciae meae puellae, quem plus illa oculis suis amabat: nam mellitus erat suamque norat ipsam tam bene quam puella matrem; nec sese a gremio illius movebat, sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc ad solam dominam usque pipiabat. qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum illuc, unde negant redire quemquam. at vobis male sit, malae tenebrae Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis: tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis. o factum male! o miselle passer! tua nunc opera meae puellae flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.
Mourn, ye Graces and Loves, and all you whom the Graces love. My lady’s sparrow is dead, the sparrow my lady’s pet, whom she loved more than her very eyes; for honey-sweet he was, and knew his mistress as well as a girl knows her own mother. Nor would he stir from her lap, but hopping now here, now there, would still chirp to his mistress alone. Now he goes along the dark road, thither whence they say no one returns. But curse upon you, cursed shades of Orcus, which devour all pretty things! Such a pretty sparrow you have taken away. Ah, cruel! Ah, poor little bird! All because of you my lady’s darling eyes are heavy and red with weeping.
Phaselvs ille quem videtis, hospites, ait fuisse navium celerrimus, neque ullius natantis impetum trabis nequisse praeterire, sive palmulis opus foret volare sive linteo. et hoc negat minacis Hadriatici negare litus insulasve Cycladas Rhodumque nobilem horridamque Thraciam Propontida, trucemve Ponticum sinum, ubi iste post phaselus antea fuit comata silva: nam Cytorio in iugo loquente saepe sibilum edidit coma. Amastri Pontica et Cytore buxifer, tibi haec fuisse et esse cognitissima ait phaselus; ultima ex origine tuo stetisse dicit in cacumine, tuo imbuisse palmulas in aequore, et inde tot per impotentia freta erum tulisse, laeva sive dextera vocaret aura, sive utrumque Iuppiter simul secundus incidisset in pedem; neque ulla vota litoralibus deis sibi esse facta, cum veniret a mari novissime hunc ad usque limpidum lacum. sed haec prius fuere: nunc recondita senet quiete seque dedicat tibi, gemelle Castor et gemelle Castoris
The pinnace you see, my friends, says that she was once the fleetest of ships, and that there was never any timber afloat whose speed she was not able to pass, whether she would fly with oar-blades or
with canvas. And this (says she) the shore of the blustering Adriatic does not deny, nor the Cyclad isles and famous Rhodes and the wild Thracian Propontis, nor the gloomy gulf of Pontus, where she who was afterwards a pinnace was formerly a leafy forest: for on the height of Cytorus she often rustled with talking leaves. Pontic Amastris and Cytorus green with box, my galley says that all this was and is well known to thee; she says that from her earliest birthtime she stood on thy summit, in thy waters first dipped her blades, and thence over so many riotous seas brought her owner, whether the breeze from left or right invited, or Jove came down astern on both sheets at once; and that no vows to the gods of the shore had been made for her when at the last she was sailing from the sea even to this limpid lake.
But these things are past and gone; now she rests in old age and retired leisure, and dedicates herself to thee, twin Castor, and to thee, Castor’s twin.
Vivamus, mea Lesbia, atque amemus, rumoresque senum severiorum omnes unius aestimemus assis. soles occidere et redire possunt: nobis, cum semel occidit brevis lux, nox est perpetua una dormienda. da mi basia mille, deinde centum, dein mille altera, dein secunda centum, deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum dein, cum milia multa fecerimus, conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus, aut nequis malus invidere possit, cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.
Let us live, my Lesbia, and love, and value at one farthing all the talk of crabbed old men.
Suns may set and rise again. For us, when the short light has once set, remains to be slept the sleep of one unbroken night.
Give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred, then
another thousand, then a second hundred, then yet another thousand, then a hundred. Then, when we have made up many thousands, we will confuse our counting, that we may not know the reckoning, nor any malicious person blight them with evil eye, when he knows that our kisses are so many.
Flavi, delicias tuas Catullo, ni sint illepidae atque inelegantes, velles dicere, nec tacere posses, verum nescio quid febriculosi scorti diligis: hoc pudet fateri. nam te non viduas iacere noctes nequiquam taciturn, cubile clamat sertis ac Syrio fragrans olivo, pulvinusque peraeque et hic et illic attritus, tremulique quassa lecti argutatio inambulatioque. nil perstare valet, nihil tacere. cur? non tam latera ecfututa pandas, ni tu quid facias ineptiarum quare quicquid habes boni malique, dic nobis, volo te ac tuos amores ad caelum lepido vocare versu
Flavius, if it were not that your mistress is rustic and unrefined, you would want to speak of her to your Catullus; you would not be able to help it. But (I am sure) you are in love with some unhealthy-looking wench; and you are ashamed to confess it. For that you are not spending nights on your own the bed, vainly dumb, cries out aloud, perfumed as it is with garlands and Syrian scent, as do the dents right and left on the bolster, and the chattering and shuffling of the rickety bed when shaken. It’s no use standing fast in denial, no use being silent. You ask why? Well, you wouldn’t present such a debauched sight unless you were up to some fancy capers. Well then, whatever you have to tell, good or bad, let me know it. I wish to call you and your love to the skies by the power of my merry verse.
Qvaeris, quot mihi basiationes tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque. quam magnus numerus Libyssae harenae lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis, oraclum Iovis inter aestuosi et Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum, aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox, furtivos hominum vident amores, tam te basia multa basiare vesano satis et super Catullost, quae nec pernumerare curiosi possint nec mala fascinare lingua.
You ask how many kissings of you, Lesbia, are enough for me and more than enough. As great as is the number of the Libyan sand that lies on
silphium-bearing Cyrene, between the oracle of sultry Jove and the sacred tomb of old Battus; or as many as are the stars, when night is silent, that see the stolen loves of men,—to kiss you with so many kisses, Lesbia, is enough and more than enough for your mad Catullus; kisses, which neither curious eyes shall count up nor an evil tongue bewitch.
