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Like a Fawn
My son and I saw two deer on the Sewanee bike-path this morning, and it reminded me of a Horatian ode. We were barreling along when a doe crossed far ahead of us. As we got closer, a younger deer suddenly appeared and, seeing us, scrambled after its mother. We laughed and pedaled on, but a few Latin lines began to buzz around in my head.
Now I love Horace, as do most classicists, and one of my married colleagues has even referred to him as “the other man in her life.” As it happens, though, I don’t teach him all that often, and when I do, it’s usually the “greatest hits” in translation. But the poem that came to mind on the bike-path–Ode 1.23, Vitas Hinuleo– is an old friend, so to speak, one I recall studying in high school. In fact, my senior year, I won a medal for my translation of it.
I no longer have the medal, and I can barely remember my version of it. A few of my lines were coming back to me on the bike, though, and making me wince. At any rate, Horace’s poem is below, with a translation following, and after that, some cursory discussion.
Horace, Odes 1.23
Vitas hinuleo me similis, Chloe,
Quaerenti pavidam montibus aviis
Matrem non sine vano
Aurarum et silvae metu.
Nam seu mobilibus veris inhorruit
Adventus foliis, seu virides rubum
Dimovere lacertae,
Et corde et genibus tremit.
Atqui non ego te tigris ut aspera
Gaetulusve leo frangere persequor:
Tandem desine matrem
Tempestiva sequi viro.
Like a Fawn
Like a fawn you avoid me, shy Chloe, a young one
alongside her mother, astray in the hills,
whom the rustle of leaves or the sight of a lizard
in the first flush of spring is enough to give chills.
Both your knees and your heart are for some reason trembling.
You presume me a predator, falsely, and hide
as though from a lion, and run to your mother,
yet you’re ready for love and should come from her side.
One of the things I have always liked about Horace is the way he creates these interesting personae in even his shortest poems. The speaker here has his eye on Chloe and is filled with unconvincing reassurances about his intentions. He likens her to a young deer seeking a mother’s protection, and only half-heartedly denies his own comparison to a beast of prey. In the Latin, Atqui non ego te tigris ut aspera / Gaetulusve leo frangere persequor more literally means “And I, not like a tiger or Gaetulian lion, chase to break you.” Yikes. Even the simple natural images of the wind in the leaves and skinks in the shrubs are suspect. Springtime simply seems spooky in Chloe’s world.
I feel fairly certain that none of this was brought out in my high school Latin class, and if it had been, I am equally certain I was incapable of understanding it. But beneath Horace’s charming imagery, this courtship poem has an unmistakable predatory quality. I was glad to have a reason to re-visit the poem. “Animals are good to think with,” as Claude Lévi-Strauss once said.
Posted in Boston, Poetry, Sewanee
8 Comments
“Naked We Stand on the Naked Ground”
I have been cleaning out my office and found this item among some papers I had inherited when I became chair. It is poem about Statius’ Thebaid by my former colleague and well-loved Sewanee Classics professor, Bill Bonds. It is scrawled on the torn-off corner of an old mimeographed quiz.
Naked we stand on the naked ground
Under the naked sky.
Shining with naked sword in hand,
No one but you and I.Naked they lie on the naked earth;
The heavens are naked of gods.
Naked at last, their armor gone
Clutching the naked clods.
If you don’t know the Thebaid, let me just say it is a rhetorically sophisticated and completely bleak epic from the time of the tyrannical emperor Domitian. Bill spelled out his thoughts more fully in a scholarly article (“Two Combats in the Thebaid,” Transactions of the American Philological Association, Vol. 115 [1985], pp. 225-235). In fact, I found Bill’s poem among his notes for this article. If you knew Bill, you will understand why this brilliant and unsentimental work appealed to him.
Posted in Classics, Military, Poetry, Sewanee
6 Comments
Protected: Concerning Flowers and Soldiers
Posted in Classics, Emblems, Military, Mythology, Statues & Monuments, Trees & Flowers
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Leda in the News
In connection with a recent auction at Sotheby’s, there’s a piece on the arte10 website today about the colored steel panels of Leda and the Swan that pop artist Roy Lichtenstein made for the bathroom in gazillionaire Gunter Sachs’s penthouse in 1968. It’s a lot more decorous than the depiction of the myth by Derrick Santini that London police took exception to last month, claiming it “condoned bestiality, which [is] an arrestable offence.” You can look it up and decide for yourself. Also in April, a stolen Renaissance oil painting of the same subject by Lelio Orsi was returned by U.S. Homeland Security to Italy. It had previously sold at auction for $1.6 million but I have to say that I like Lichtenstein’s Leda better than this one, too.
Posted in Classics, Mythology
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The Hills of Sewanee
The Hills of Sewanee
Sewanee Hills of dear delight,
Prompting my dreams that used to be,
I know you are waiting me still to-night
By the Unika Range of Tennessee.
The blinking stars in endless space,
The broad moonlight and silvery gleams,
To-night caress your wind-swept face,
And fold you in a thousand dreams.
Your far outlines, less seen than felt,
Which wind with hill propensities,
In moonlight dreams I see you melt
Away in vague immensities.
And, far away, I still can feel
Your mystery that ever speaks
Of vanished things, as shadows steal
Across your breast and rugged peaks.
O, dear blue hills, that lie apart,
And wait so patiently down there,
Your peace takes hold upon my heart
And makes its burden less to bear.
— George Marion McClellan (1860-1934)
From The Path of Dreams, Louisville: John P. Morton Co., 1916
Reprinted in The Book of American Negro Poetry, ed. James Weldon Johnson. New York: Harcourt Brace, 1922.
I will admit that I have never heard of this poem before, much less read it. This astounds me. McClellan’s reference to “The blinking stars in endless space, / The broad moonlight and silvery gleams,” touches closely on an observation of my own made recently and yet, I swear, I only saw the poem two days ago.
Who was George Marion McClellan (pictured above)? Here’s what the Poetry Foundation website has to say about him:
Born in Belfast, Tennessee, the minister, teacher, writer, and poet George Marion McClellan received a BA and an MA from Fisk University and a bachelor of divinity from Hartford Theological Seminary. He married Mariah Augusta Rabb in 1888 and served as a minister in a Nashville, Tennessee, Congregational church from 1892 to 1894.
After his time as a minister, McClellan pursued a career as a teacher and principal at schools in Louisville and Los Angeles. A difficult period in his personal life followed the death of one of his sons and was further complicated by financial difficulty, marital conflict, and a sense of alienation fostered by a society divided sharply along racial lines.
McClellan’s poetry, composed from the 1880s onward, shows a sensitive ear to meter and rhyme and addresses religion, nature, and romantic love while only occasionally revealing an emotional struggle against racial discrimination. He is perhaps best remembered for his blank-verse epic, “The Legend of Tannhauser and Elizabeth.”
McClellan published two collections of poetry: Poems (1895), which was retitled Songs of a Southerner in 1896, and The Path of Dreams (1916). A favorable review of his work, comparing his skill to that of Paul Laurence Dunbar, appeared in the New York Times after his poetry was included in a 1901 exhibit at the Pan-American Exposition.
African-American poetry of this period is surely no forté of mine, but if anybody knows more about McClellan, I’d be interested to hear.
Postscript, September 2017. Still no real reaction to this post. A little further digging: At the end of the introduction of his first collection of privately-printed poems (a section called “Race Literature”), McClellan writes,
Aside from the history of our emancipation and the hardships of our enslavement, of what subjects have we to sing to make a literature peculiarly native to us? To produce a Negro literature, we must have time to produce song-material, as well as singers. In this little attempt of mine I have not tried to sing Negro songs purely, but songs of beautiful landscapes, wherever I have seen them, and felt song-inspired by them, or of touches of human loves and feelings, as I have felt them. McClellan, George Marion. Poems (Nashville: A.M.E. Church Sunday School Union, 1895) 10
The poem to the Hills of Sewanee is evidently among those he was song-inspired to write.
Venus, Vulcan, Mars, and Joe
Aphrodite was married to Hephaestus, but carried on a long-standing affair with Ares. Neither god was happy, of course, with the idea of the goddess being with the other. What are we to make of it? On the one hand, there is great sympathy for the husband, and Homer, in Odyssey Book 8, has him triumph over the adulterous couple. And yet, as Dryden wrote memorably, “None but the brave deserve the fair.”
It is an archetypal arrangement for the ages, to my mind. The question is not what makes the best sense for Venus, but rather, what can she see in the guy who isn’t me? As Joe Jackson asked, is she really going out with him?
Posted in Classics
3 Comments
Currency & Current Events
“If Greece leaves the euro, the most likely interim currency is the existing euro overprinted with a Greek delta symbol (for ‘drachma’), or possibly with a corner clipped.” So speculated yesterday’s Independent. The intentional defacing, or rather “re-facing,” of currency is not new. In ancient Greece, states would often “overstrike” the coinage of another so as to make a claim on it.
The reasons for overstriking were numerous. It might be intended to restrict export of the currency and so keep it in the local economy. It might also help to raise revenue in a cash-strapped state, or to devalue a currency for the purpose of improving rates of exchange. And, of course, overstriking also could make a powerful political statement.
To the side is a fifth-century Athenian tetradrachm found in Egypt. (You will recognize the owl on the reverse as the model for the reverse of the Greek-issued one-euro coin above) What’s interesting is the symbol on Athena’s cheek on the heads-side of the coin. It is a “countermark” of the hieroglyph nefer, meaning “good” or “beautiful.” In the period preceding the establishment of Ptolemaic rule in Egypt, Athenian tetradrachms and their imitations were the only recognized form of money. The Egyptian authorities had “recoined” this tetradrachm to validate it as legal tender in their state. Such coins go for great amounts at auction now.
It could take weeks for the Greek government to produce a new drachma if they, in fact, exit the Eurozone in the chaotic fashion that is apparently in the offing. The provisional coin of the realm, then, will probably be some sort of “drachmatized” Euro. While these would lose at least half their value at the moment of official overstriking, future collectors no doubt would pay a lot for them.
Posted in Birds, Classics, Emblems, Numismatics
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