My Video: And The Night of Exile- by Roman Poet Ovid- Translated by A.Z. Foreman- Poems in Translation

I am very sorry for this, but this has been a very grey and dreary day without much cheer -- a world more and more uncertain and a city in mourning mood for various reasons...

There have been funerals and a hideous Polar Vortex is on the way, the Mayor has issued warnings...my retired cop cousin and his wife are chilly in Florida! But still happy to be there for the moment anyway, Chicago is really getting it

I had my doubts about showing this poor man, but, there is he was, in my path, coming back on the rather glitzy part of Columbus Avenue..


Was I expecting "The Twelve Days of Christmas?"

Well, there is still the Day of the Three Kings and Orthodox celebrations...

Oh well. "To Everything, there is a season."Let's just accept this time and get past it...

My Video, "First Snowfall of Winter"-- ( Edited Together-- my first attempt at editing, by the way)

http://youtu.be/LsWPWkPSNvU

I thought of putting lively Reggae music on it or something cheery-seasonal, but as I said, that just does not seem right..

"To everything, there is a season"-- and the season right now is not one to dance or be joyous

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,\ 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to\ 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination\ 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,\ 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder\ 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit\ 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few\ 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't\ 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed\ 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.\ 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this\ 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,\ 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline \ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,\ 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,\ 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded\ 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,\ 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.\ 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,\ 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,\ 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.\ 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.\ 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,\ 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think\ 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing\ 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,\ 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,\ 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,\ 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,\ 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever\ 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,\ 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.\ 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug\ 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow\ 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.\ 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal\ 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping\ 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me\ 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,\ 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.\ 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal\ 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,\ 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,ã\ 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,\ 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,\ 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming\ 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's \\ Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,\ 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent\ 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States

People are going about their business in Manhattan, but there is something very somber and sad in the air, you can FEEL the cold closing in ( EXTREME cold weather is on its way and the Mayor has officially issued all sorts of warnings).

I really have my doubts about showing this vulnerable homeless man in the gathering dark and snow on otherwise the somewhat glitzy strip of Columbus Avenue that runs North and then stops in the cold projects ; the Projects have heat, I hope ( we have heat but our hot water situation is tricky tonight and there are drafts despite all my best efforts to insulate my apartment) --

What is this, St. Lucy's Day - 2? I thought we would be singing still "The Twelve Days of Christmas" maybe? I know the Hispanics are still waiting for their Three Kings Celebration ( a saw a Puerto Rican woman buying more toys and deep discount decorations at Rite Aid)-- and the Orthodox aren't finished.

Maybe after the Polar Vortex had passed on Thursday-- it has been worse in other places and I worry about my friends up in the hills of Vermont--

My retired cop cousin and his wife are in Florida, and they write "It's getting chilly here, but nothing like back in the Chicago area,"-- I hope they can just stay there for a reasonable time yet--

The story that goes with this poem is very said too, which you may know...the man who wrote the wonder "Arts of Love" and other wonderful works in exile on the Black Sea by whim of a Roman Emperor..

Finally, to really get this sense of gloom out of my system, I am including a video here, "The First Snowfall 2015":

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,　　　 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to　　　 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination,　　　 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,　　　 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder　　　 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit　　　 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few　　　 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't　　　 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed　　　 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.　　　 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this　　　 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,　　　 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,　　　 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,　　　 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded　　　 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,　　　 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.　　　 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,　　　 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,　　　 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.　　　 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.　　　 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,　　　 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think　　　 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing　　　 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,　　　 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,　　　 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,　　　 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,　　　 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever　　　 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,　　　 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.　　　 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug　　　 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow　　　 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.　　　 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal　　　 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping　　　 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me　　　 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,　　　 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.　　　 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal　　　 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,　　　 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,　　　 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,　　　 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,　　　 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming　　　 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's body　　　 　　　Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,　　　 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent　　　 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,　　　 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to　　　 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination,　　　 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,　　　 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder　　　 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit　　　 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few　　　 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't　　　 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed　　　 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.　　　 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this　　　 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,　　　 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,　　　 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,　　　 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded　　　 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,　　　 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.　　　 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,　　　 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,　　　 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.　　　 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.　　　 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,　　　 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think　　　 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing　　　 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,　　　 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,　　　 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,　　　 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,　　　 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever　　　 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,　　　 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.　　　 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug　　　 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow　　　 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.　　　 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal　　　 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping　　　 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me　　　 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,　　　 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.　　　 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal　　　 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,　　　 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,　　　 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,　　　 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,　　　 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming　　　 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's body　　　 　　　Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,　　　 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent　　　 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,　　　 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to　　　 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination,　　　 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,　　　 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder　　　 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit　　　 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few　　　 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't　　　 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed　　　 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.　　　 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this　　　 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,　　　 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,　　　 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,　　　 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded　　　 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,　　　 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.　　　 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,　　　 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,　　　 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.　　　 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.　　　 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,　　　 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think　　　 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing　　　 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,　　　 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,　　　 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,　　　 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,　　　 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever　　　 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,　　　 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.　　　 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug　　　 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow　　　 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.　　　 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal　　　 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping　　　 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me　　　 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,　　　 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.　　　 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal　　　 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,　　　 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,　　　 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,　　　 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,　　　 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming　　　 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's body　　　 　　　Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,　　　 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent　　　 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,　　　 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to　　　 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination,　　　 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,　　　 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder　　　 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit　　　 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few　　　 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't　　　 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed　　　 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.　　　 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this　　　 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,　　　 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,　　　 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,　　　 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded　　　 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,　　　 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.　　　 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,　　　 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,　　　 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.　　　 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.　　　 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,　　　 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think　　　 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing　　　 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,　　　 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,　　　 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,　　　 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,　　　 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever　　　 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,　　　 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.　　　 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug　　　 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow　　　 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.　　　 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal　　　 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping　　　 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me　　　 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,　　　 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.　　　 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal　　　 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,　　　 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,　　　 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,　　　 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,　　　 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming　　　 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's body　　　 　　　Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,　　　 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent　　　 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,　　　 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to　　　 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination,　　　 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,　　　 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder　　　 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit　　　 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few　　　 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't　　　 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed　　　 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.　　　 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this　　　 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,　　　 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,　　　 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,　　　 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded　　　 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,　　　 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.　　　 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,　　　 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,　　　 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.　　　 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.　　　 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,　　　 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think　　　 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing　　　 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,　　　 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,　　　 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,　　　 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,　　　 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever　　　 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,　　　 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.　　　 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug　　　 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow　　　 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.　　　 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal　　　 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping　　　 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me　　　 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,　　　 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.　　　 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal　　　 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,　　　 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,　　　 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,　　　 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,　　　 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming　　　 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's body　　　 　　　Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,　　　 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent　　　 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,　　　 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to　　　 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination,　　　 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,　　　 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder　　　 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit　　　 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few　　　 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't　　　 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed　　　 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.　　　 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this　　　 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,　　　 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,　　　 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,　　　 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded　　　 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,　　　 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.　　　 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,　　　 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,　　　 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.　　　 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.　　　 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,　　　 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think　　　 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing　　　 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,　　　 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,　　　 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,　　　 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,　　　 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever　　　 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,　　　 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.　　　 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug　　　 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow　　　 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.　　　 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal　　　 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping　　　 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me　　　 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,　　　 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.　　　 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal　　　 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,　　　 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,　　　 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,　　　 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,　　　 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming　　　 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's body　　　 　　　Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,　　　 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent　　　 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States

Poems Found In Translation: “Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)” Ovid: The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 (From Latin)  Posted: 03 Jan 2015 08:53 PM PST In 8 AD, Ovid was exiled from Rome by Caesar Augustus for unknown reasons ostensibly (as Ovid claimed) having to do with a mistake he made and a poem he wrote. This poem is a (clearly immensely stylized) retelling of that night. The Night of Exile, Tristia 1.3 By Ovid Translated by A.Z. Foreman When once again the mind is filled with shades   ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　Of my final night in dear sweet Rome, Recalling the night I gave up so much I cherished,　　　 　　　A tear even now begins to flow. Dawn was at hand. By Caesar's fiat I had to　　　 　　　Depart for the frontier, come day.1 I'd found no time to prepare, nor inclination,　　　 　　　My will was lulled by long delays. I had not bothered with slaves, or choice of attendants,　　　 　　　Nor clothes, nor the gear an exile needs, Stunned as one struck by a bolt of Jove's own thunder　　　 　　　Who survives, unconscious that he still breathes. But when sheer force of grief blew that fog off my spirit　　　 　　　And at last my stricken senses returned, Before leaving, I had last words with the grieving few　　　 　　　Friends I still had of the many that were. I wept in the arms of my wife who wept still harder. 　　　Tears streaked those cheeks that didn't deserve this. My daughter, faraway in Africa couldn't　　　 　　　Be told what fate I would now endure. Wherever I turned: more moaning, mourning. It seemed　　　 　　　A funeral with no moment of silence. My wife, my son and slaves all grieved my passing.　　　 　　　Each nook had its tears. A house fell crying. To gloss the small with the grand: Troy looked like this　　　 　　　When it fell that night in Aeneas' eyes.2 Now all was still. Not a stir of dog or man,　　　 　　　As Lady Moon rode her nightly way. And in her beams I watched the Capitoline ã€€ã€€ã€€ 　　　So near my home, but near in vain, And cried "High Powers who dwell in that citadel,　　　 　　　Temples I'll see no more with my eyes, Gods of my Rome that I must now abandon,　　　 　　　Farewell now and for all of time! Though I now take up the shield while already wounded　　　 　　　Yet lift hate's burden from this exile. And tell that Godly Man3 what error snared me,　　　 　　　That he not think my failing a crime, That my exile's architect feel all that you know.　　　 　　　With godhead appeased, no grief is mine." Such was my prayer to the gods. My wife's were many,　　　 　　　Sobs choking her every word apart. Disheveled she fell before our family shrine,　　　 　　　Pressed trembling lips to the cold dead hearth, And poured great prayer to no avail for her husband.　　　 　　　For our household gods were no longer ours. The fast-ebbing night left no time for further delay.　　　 　　　The Star-bear was wheeling round his axis. What could I do? I'd held off for love of my country,　　　 　　　But this night had been decreed my last. Oh the times I told my friends "Why hurry? Think　　　 　　　Where to, and where from you're rushing me!" The times I lied to myself and others, swearing　　　 　　　I'd picked a proper hour to leave. Thrice did I cross the threshold, thrice turned back,　　　 　　　The power of intention slowing my feet. Often I'd say goodbye and go back to talking,　　　 　　　Then once again kiss all goodbye. Often I'd give the same self-deluded instructions,　　　 　　　Then back to my loved ones turned my eyes. At last I said "Why rush? It's Scythia4 I leave for,　　　 　　　And Rome I leave. Two reasons to stay. I live, yet my living wife is denied me forever　　　 　　　With my sweet household, its loyal members, And all the attendants I loved as would a brother,　　　 　　　Hearts bound to mine in a Thesean5 faith! This may be my last chance to embrace them ever.　　　 　　　Best make the most of what remains." Then I turned and left my words unfinished to hug　　　 　　　Each of my loved ones. No delay. But as I spoke and we wept, the Star of Morrow　　　 　　　Had risen bright, but boding bane. I was ripped asunder as if I'd lost a limb.　　　 　　　Something of me was torn away, As Mettus6 when steeds avenging his betrayal　　　 　　　Were driven apart, and tore him in half. My kinfolk then in a climax of clamorous weeping　　　 　　　Beat bare breasts with grieving hands. And when at last I was leaving, my poor wife clasped me　　　 　　　With one last desperate, tear-drenched plea: "They can't tear you away. Let us go together,　　　 　　　As exile and exile's wife. Take me! Your journey is mine. There's room for me at an outpost.　　　 　　　I'll make small weight on your ship at sea, You, exiled by Caesar's wrath, and I by loyal　　　 　　　Love. Let love be a Caesar to me."7 So she tried as she had tried before to convince me,　　　 　　　And yielded only to practical need.8  I went a corpse without procession, in rags,　　　 　　　Hair strewn about my unshaven cheeks. I'm told she fainted from grief, mind plunged in dark,　　　 　　　And fell half-dead right there in our house. When she came round, with disheveled dust-fouled hair,　　　 　　　Staggering up from the cold hard ground, She wept for herself, for a house abandoned, screaming　　　 　　　Her stolen man's name time after time, Wailing as though she'd witnessed our daughter's body　　　 　　　Or mine, upon the high-stacked pyre; And longed for death, to kill the horror and hardship,　　　 　　　Yet out of regard for me she lived. Long may she live! And in life give aid to her absent　　　 　　　Love, whose exile the Fates have willed.  Notes: 1 - The original Latin literally reads "depart from the farthest boundaries of Ausonia." Ausonia, originally a Greek term for a particular region in southern Italy, is a literary archaism used in Greek and Latin poetry to refer to all of Italy. (Compare English poetic use of "Hellas" for Greece, or "Cathay" for China.) For Ovid it would have had strong associations with the Aeneid, as it is frequently used there as a term for Italy as a storied "promised land" sought by the exiled Aeneas. Ovid in exile is using a term for Italy which implies distance and unattainability, as well as longing. 2 - This is the most overt, but not the only, indication in this poem that Ovid perceives his exile as a kind of reverse-Aeneid. Throughout the poem, there are a great many linguistic and thematic echoes, subtle and not, of Virgil. Though the precise instances need not all detain the Anglophone reader, it is worth noting that the entire poem borrows from the language and rhetorical toolkit of epic, including the disjointed narrative structure, to treat a deeply personal matter, which epics typically do not. 3 - "Godly Man" i.e. Caesar Augustus 4 - Ovid's exile was not actually in Scythia, but he uses the term in opposition to Rome because of its associations of barbarity, harshness, remoteness, and in short, everything Rome was not. 5 - Theseus' legendary love for his friend PiÌ„rithous had become proverbial by this point. Theseus eventually lost his friend to the underworld, and despite all dedication was unable to rescue him. Ovid's companions cannot go with him into exile. The reference is simultaneously to the depth of attachment, and to how powerless that bond has ultimately proven. 6 - Mettus Fufetius, Alban leader torn to pieces by order of Tullius Hostilius as punishment for treachery. His body was tied to two different chariots which were driven in opposite directions. 7 -The term translated as "loyal love" is pietās. Pietās in Latin is one of those words (like Russian toská or Persian É£ayrat or Portuguese Saudade) which is both readily understood by the language's user and also quite difficult to translate. The closest English word approximation is probably "devotion." It is however devotion not only as a state of being, but as a moral virtue, encompassing ideas of duty, loyalty and selfless love, devotion to one's kin, one's deities, one's countrymen, or the Roman state, and to doing right by them. 8 - Practical need: i.e. she must stay behind to watch over his interests in Rome, and also attempt to help get Ovid's exile rescinded so that he might return. It never was. Ovid never saw his wife, children or hometown again. Original: Cum subit illÄ«us trÄ«stissima noctis imāgō　　　 　     quā mihi suprÄ“mum tempus in Urbe fuit, cum repetō noctem quā tot mihi cāra relÄ«quÄ«, 　     lābitur ex oculÄ«s nunc quoque gutta meÄ«s. Iam prope lÅ«x aderat quā mÄ“ discÄ“dere Caesar 　     fÄ«nibus extrÄ“mae iusserat Ausoniae. Nec spatium nec mÄ“ns fuerat satis apta parandÄ«: 　     torpuerant longā pectora nostra morā. Nōn mihi servōrum, comitis nōn cÅ«ra legendÄ«, 　     nōn aptae profugō vestis opisve fuit. Nōn aliter stupuÄ« quam quÄ« Iovis ignibus Ä«ctus    ã€€  vÄ«vit et est vÄ«tae nescius ipse suae. Ut tamen hanc animÄ« nÅ«bem dolor ipse remōvit,      ã€€et tandem sÄ“nsÅ«s convaluÄ“re meÄ«, alloquor extrÄ“mum maestōs abitÅ«rus amÄ«cōs     ã€€ quÄ« modo dÄ“ multÄ«s Å«nus et alter erant. Uxor amāns flentem flÄ“ns aÌ„crius ipsa tenÄ“bat,    ã€€  imbre per indignās usque cadente genās. Nāta procul LibycÄ«s aberat dÄ«versa sub ōrÄ«s,    ã€€  nec poterat fātÄ« certior esse meÄ«. Quōcumque aspicerÄ“s lÅ«ctÅ«s gemitÅ«sque sonābant,   ã€€   fōrmaque nōn tacitÄ« fÅ«neris intus erat. FÄ“mina virque meō puerÄ« quoque fÅ«nere maerent,  ã€€    inque domō lacrimās angulus omnis habet. SÄ« licet exemplÄ«s in parvÄ«s grandibus Å«tÄ«, 　     haec faciÄ“s Troiae cum caperÄ“tur erat. Iamque quiÄ“scÄ“bant vōcÄ“s hominumque canumque,　 　     LÅ«naque nocturnōs alta regÄ“bat equōs. Hanc ego suspiciÄ“ns et ab hāc Capitōlia cernÄ“ns, 　     quae nostrō frÅ«strā iÅ«ncta fuÄ“re LarÄ«, "NÅ«mina vÄ«cÄ«nÄ«s habitantia sÄ“dibus," inquam, 　     "iamque oculÄ«s numquam templa videnda meÄ«s, dÄ«que relinquendÄ«, quōs urbs habet alta QuirÄ«nÄ«, 　     este salÅ«tātÄ« tempus in omne mihi. Et quamquam sÄ“rō clipeum post vulnera sÅ«mō, 　     attamen hanc odiÄ«s exonerāte fugam: caelestÄ«que virō, quis mÄ“ dÄ“cÄ“perit error, 　     dÄ«cite, prō culpā nÄ“ scelus esse putet. Ut quod vōs scÄ«tis, poenae quoque sentiat auctor:   ã€€   plācātō possum nōn miser esse deō." Hāc prece adōrāvÄ« superōs ego, plÅ«ribus uxor,  ã€€    singultÅ« mediōs impediente sonōs. Illa etiam ante LarÄ“s passÄ«s adstrāta capillÄ«s  ã€€    contigit extÄ«nctōs ōre tremente focōs, multaque in adversōs effÅ«dit verba PenātÄ“s  ã€€    prō dÄ“plōrātō nōn valitÅ«ra virō. Iamque morae spatium nox praecipitāta negābat,    ã€€  versaque ab axe suō Parrhasis Arctos erat. Quid facerem? Blandō patriae retinÄ“bar amōre,    ã€€  ultima sed iussae nox erat illa fugae. Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns aliquō dÄ«xÄ« properante "quid urgÄ“s?    ã€€  vel quō fÄ“stÄ«nās Ä«re, vel unde, vidÄ“." Ä€! QuotiÄ“ns certam mÄ“ sum mentÄ«tus habÄ“re    ã€€  hōram, prōpositae quae foret apta viae. Ter lÄ«men tetigÄ«, ter sum revocātus, et ipse    ã€€ indulgÄ“ns animō pÄ“s mihi tardus erat. Saepe "valÄ“" dictō rÅ«rsus sum multa locÅ«tus,  ã€€    et quasi discÄ“dÄ“ns ōscula summa dedÄ«, saepe eadem mandāta dedÄ« mÄ“que ipse fefellÄ«,   ã€€   respiciÄ“ns oculÄ«s pignora cāra meÄ«s. DÄ“nique "quid properō? Scythia est, quō mittimur," inquam,    ã€€  "Rōma relinquenda est, utraque iÅ«sta mora est. Uxor in aeternum vÄ«vō mihi vÄ«va negātur,    ã€€  et domus et fÄ«dae dulcia membra domÅ«s, quōsque ego dÄ«lÄ“xÄ« frāternō mōre sodālÄ“s,    ã€€  Å mihi ThÄ“sēā pectora iÅ«ncta fidÄ“! dum licet, amplectar: numquam fortasse licÄ“bit   ã€€   amplius. In lÅ«crō est quae datur hōra mihi." Nec mora. Sermōnis verba imperfecta relinquō,    ã€€  complectÄ“ns animō proxima quaeque meō. Dum loquor et flÄ“mus, caelō nitidissimus altō,    ã€€  stÄ“lla gravis nōbÄ«s, LÅ«cifer ortus erat. DÄ«vidor haud aliter, quam sÄ« mea membra relinquam,    ã€€  et pars abrumpÄ« corpore vÄ«sa suō est. SÄ«c doluit Mettus tunc cum in contrāria versōs    ã€€  ultōrÄ“s habuit prōditiōnis equōs. Tum vÄ“rō exoritur clāmor gemitÅ«sque meōrum,    ã€€  et feriunt maestae pectora nÅ«da manÅ«s. Tum vÄ“rō coniÅ«nx umerÄ«s abeuntis inhaerÄ“ns    ã€€  miscuit haec lacrimÄ«s tristia verba meÄ«s: "nōn potes āvellÄ«. Simul hinc, simul Ä«bimus:" inquit,     ã€€ "tÄ“ sequar et coniÅ«nx exulis exul erō. Et mihi facta via est, et mÄ“ capit ultima tellÅ«s:     ã€€ accÄ“dam profugae sarcina parva ratÄ«. TÄ“ iubet Ä“ patriā discÄ“dere Caesaris Ä«ra,    ã€€  mÄ“ pietās. Pietās haec mihi Caesar erit." Tālia temptābat, sÄ«cut temptāverat ante,    ã€€  vixque dedit victās Å«tilitāte manÅ«s. Ä’gredior, sÄ«ve illud erat sine fÅ«nere ferrÄ«,     ã€€ squālidus immissÄ«s hirta per ōra comÄ«s. Illa dolōre āmÄ“ns tenebrÄ«s nārrātur obortÄ«s    ã€€  sÄ“mjanimis mediā prōcubuisse domō, utque resurrÄ“xit foedātis pulvere turpÄ«     ã€€ crÄ«nibus et gelidā membra levāvit humō, sÄ“ modo, dÄ“sertōs modo complōrāsse PenātÄ“s,     ã€€ nōmen et Ä“reptÄ« saepe vocāsse virÄ«, nec gemuisse minus, quam sÄ« nātaeve meumve      ã€€vÄ«disset strÅ«ctōs corpus habÄ“re, rogōs, et voluisse morÄ«, moriendō pōnere sÄ“nsus,    ã€€  respectÅ«que tamen nōn periisse meÄ«. VÄ«vat, et absentem, quoniam sÄ«c fāta tulÄ“runt,   ã€€   vÄ«vat et auxiliō sublevet usque suō. You are subscribed to email updates from Poems Found in Translation To stop receiving these emails, you may unsubscribe now. Email delivery powered by Google Google Inc., 1600 Amphitheatre Parkway, Mountain View, CA 94043, United States