Latin Epic -Opening- Translated by A Z Foreman - Poems Found in Translation

Poems Found in Translation: “Lucan: Defeat at Pharsalus (From Latin)” plus 1 more Lucan: Defeat at Pharsalus (From Latin) Posted: 23 Oct 2015 01:41 PM PDT Another excerpt from that unhinged epic of grotesque splendor, Lucan's Civil War. This short passage from book 7 shows Lucan's poignancy and goriness. At the end of this section, he has one of his more lofty anti-authoritarian (I won't say "republican") moments, and we get a refraction of what reads, to me at least, like a growing resentment at Caesarism and Neronian absolutism. The Defeat at Pharsalus (7.617-46) By Lucan Translated by A.Z. Foreman 　　When all a world is dying, it is shameful to squander tears on countless deaths, to track individual destinies and ask whose guts each kill-stroke skivered, whose feet trampled his own intestines spilled across the ground, who looked his enemy in the face while forcing  the sword out of his throat with dying breath; who crumpled at the first strike, who stood tall as his hacked limbs fell round him, who allowed the javelin to run him clean through, whom the spear pinned wriggling to the plain, whose blood  exploded from his veins into the air drenching an enemy combatant's armor, who speared his brother's breast then kicked away the severed head to pick the kin corpse clean, who mutilated his own father's face with such demented rage to convince watchers the man he'd butchered wasn't his own parent. 　　No single death deserves its own lament, No time to mourn the individual.   Pharsalus was unlike all prior battles' catastrophes. There Rome fell with men's fates, here with entire peoples'. Soldiers died there but here whole nations perished. Here blood streamed from Greek, Assyrian and Pontic veins, which might have congealed on the field in one cross-ethnic scab, but for a huge deluge  of Roman gore.  　　　　　　　　In that unholy battle upon the stinking plains of Thessaly, the peoples all sustained a deeper wound   than their own era could endure. Much more than life and safety were lost there. We were made prostrate for eternity. Every age  that suffers slavery fell to those swords. 　　But what did grandsons and great-grandsons do to deserve birth in an autocracy? Were ours the blades that fell with fear? Did we snivel behind our shields and hide our throats? The penalty of others' cowardice  is hung around our necks today.  　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　O Fortune,  since then you've only given us more tyrants! Why not at least give us a chance to fight? The Original: Bellum CÄ«vÄ«le 7.617-46 Mārcus Annaeus LÅ«cānus Impendisse pudet lacrimās in fÅ«nere mundÄ« mortibus innumerÄ«s, ac singula fāta sequentem quaerere lÄ“tiferum per cuius vÄ«scera vulnus exierit, quis fÅ«sa solō vÄ«tālia calcet,                 ōre quis adversō dÄ“missum faucibus Ä“nsem expulerit moriÄ“ns animā, quis corruat ictus, quis steterit dum membra cadunt, quÄ« pectore tÄ“la trānsmittant aut quōs campÄ«s affixerit hasta, quis cruor Ä“missÄ«s perrÅ«perit āera vÄ“nÄ«s                 inque hostis cadat arma suÄ«, quis pectora frātrÄ«s caedat et, ut nōtum possit spoliāre cadāver, abscÄ«sum longÄ“ mittat caput, ōra parentis quis laceret nimiāque probet spectantibus Ä«rā quem iugulat nōn esse patrem. Mors nÅ«lla querellā               digna suā est, nÅ«llōsque hominum lÅ«gÄ“re vacāmus. Nōn istās habuit pugnae Pharsālia partÄ“s quās aliae clādÄ“s: illic per fāta virōrum, per populōs hÄ«c Rōma perit; quod mÄ«litis illic, mors hÄ«c gentis erat: sanguÄ«s ibi flÅ«xit Achaeus,                 Ponticus, Assyrius; cÅ«nctōs haerÄ“re cruōrÄ“s Rōmānus campÄ«sque vetat cōnsistere torrÄ“ns. Maius ab hāc aciÄ“ quam quod sua saecula ferrent vulnus habent populÄ«; plÅ«s est quam vÄ«ta salÅ«sque quod perit: in tōtum mundÄ« prōsternimur aevum.                 VÄ«ncitur hÄ«s gladiÄ«s omnis quae serviet aetās. Proxima quid subolÄ“s aut quid meruÄ“re nepōtÄ“s in rÄ“gnum nāscÄ«? PavidÄ“ num gessimus arma tÄ“ximus aut iugulōs? AliÄ“nÄ« poena timōris in nostrā cervÄ«ce sedet. Post proelia nātÄ«s                 sÄ« dominum, FōrtÅ«na, dabās, et bella dedisses. Lucan: Opening to his Epic on the Civil War (From Latin) Posted: 23 Oct 2015 01:33 PM PDT I have recently finished reading (for the first time in its entirety) Lucan's unfinished epic Bellum Civile "The Civil War." I found it extraordinary. When I had finished, I wanted to translate the entire thing. Though I quickly realized that I hadn't the time or the resources to do so without the task taking several years. So I have selected a few excerpts from the Bellum Civile that I think read well on their own, and have added these to my translation queue. Starting with this part here from the poem's opening. You can see a list of the planned excerpts on my table of contents. Opening to his Epic on the Civil War (1.1-82)  By Lucan Translated by A.Z. Foreman 　　I sing of war, far worse than civil war, waged in the nasty fields of Thessaly,　　 of crime gone legal, of a powerful state　　 that disemboweled itself with victory's sword,　　 of family front lines1; how when the pact　　 of tyranny imploded, all the forces　　 of a concussed world clashed in combat, leaving　　 a nation guilty of abomination;　　 the citizen who marched against the city,　　 the Roman spear faced with the Roman spear.　　 　　Countrymen! What insanity was this? This orgy of sick swords! Did you enjoy it,　　 treating barbarian peoples that detest us　　 to a spectacle of savage Roman bloodsport,　　 when you by all rights should have been despoiling　　 proud Parthia of her Italian trophies2　　 in fit retaliation? Why so willing　　 to wage entropic wars that stood no chance　　 of triumph, while killed Crassus' grisly ghost3　　 roamed unavenged abroad? ã€€ã€€ 　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Can you conceive how much land, how much sea might have been ours　　 through the Roman blood that Roman blades have squandered - ã€€ã€€ where Day's sun rises, where Night stows her stars,　　 where southern midday seethes in scorching hours,　　 where rigid Winter that no Spring can thaw　　 fetters the Scythic sea4 in chains of ice, ã€€ã€€ by now we'd have the wild Armenians　　 and the Chinese beneath our potent yoke,　　 as well as that race (if there even is one)　　 that knows the secret of the Nile's true source5. ã€€ã€€ Then, if you still so lust for heinous warfare　 once you've wrenched all the world to Latin law,　 only then, Rome, may you take up the sword ã€€ of suicide. Not while you have enemies.　  ã€€ã€€Now in Italy's cities walls are crumbling, the buildings teetering half-demolished, ramparts ã€€ã€€ reduced to huge heaps of wrecked rock, the houses   ã€€ã€€ have no one to guard them. Only the odd squatter　　 wanders the ancient emptied cities' streets.　　 Now Italy's countryside is overrun  ã€€ã€€ã€€ with brambles, her soil unploughed for year on year,　 no hands left for the work the fields cry out for. ã€€ It wasn't you, fierce Pyrrhus6, nor the savage　　 Hannibal who achieved such devastation.  ã€€ã€€ No, foreign steel could not gore us like this.       ã€€ã€€ The deepest wounds are dealt by citizen swords. ã€€ã€€ 　　But if the Fates could find no other way　　 to gift us Nero7, if an everlasting　　 kingdom cost the gods dear, if Jupiter　　 the Thunderlord could hold no throne on high　　 before a war with vicious worldborn Giants,　　 then, gods, I'll not complain. The hideous crimes　　 and rank abominations were all worth it. ã€€ã€€ So heap Pharsalia's dread fields high with corpses,　　 glut the brute Punic ghost with Latin blood,　　 let the final combat clash at fateful Munda.　　 Add to those massacres, O Caesar Nero, ã€€ã€€ starvation at Perugia, Mutina's hardships,　　 the armada overwhelmed at lethal Leucas　　 and blood of slave-wars under Etna's slopes ã€€ã€€ ablaze. Rome owes so much to civil war　　 as all was done to bring us you, O Caesar.　　 　　And when your reign is done for, when you seek　　 the stars at last, with reveling in the sky,　　 you will be more than welcome in heaven's palace ã€€ã€€ on any seat you choose. Whether you want　　 to seize Jove's scepter, or Apollo's blazing　　 chariot to circle earth with roving fire,　　 the world won't fear the transference of suns.  ã€€ã€€ All gods will yield their place to you, and Nature　　 will let you choose which god to be, and where　　 in the cosmos to rule from. Only do not　　 set your throne cold up in the Arctic North　　 nor at the polar opposite where skies　　 turn sweltering around the Southern vertex.　　 Your star would look on Rome with sidelong light.　　 If you put all your weight on either side ã€€ã€€ of the unbounded ether, the sky's vault　　 would buckle in your gravity's great moment.   ã€€ã€€ Stay rather at the midpoint of the heavens　　 keeping the spheres in equilibrium.　　 And let that stretch of sky stay clear and blue,　　 let not one cloud ever stand in Caesar's way.　　 That day, let humankind sheathe all its swords　　 to take care of itself, and every nation　　 love every other. Peace shall flutter proud　　 over the earth, and shut forevermore　　 the iron temple-gates of two-faced war.   ã€€ã€€ But you're a force of heaven to me already　　 and if you breathe your genius through my breast　　 giving me visionary strength of verse,　　 why would I trouble that old god who stirs ã€€ã€€ the mysteries of Delphic seers, or call ã€€ã€€ Bacchus from sacred Nysa? I need nothing　　 but Nero to give life to Roman song.　　 　　And now my spirit moves me to set forth the cause of great events. The mind has opened　　 before me an enormous task, to tell　　 what drove a people mad, drove them to arms　　 of battle, and drove peace out of the world.   　 　　It was that jealous nemesis, the chain　 of fate, the law that nothing stays on top　　 for long, the hard fall of the mighty: Rome　　 had grown too great for her own self to bear. ã€€ã€€ 　　It was as it will be when the final hour　　 that ends the cycles of the universe,　　 sunders the cosmic structure and all things　　 are regressed to primeval chaos: burning　　 stars will shoot straight into the ocean, earth　　 refusing to lie flat fling all the waters　　 up and away, the moon turn to her brother　　 demanding rule of daylight, tired of driving　　 her chariot in waxing, waning orbit. ã€€ã€€ And the whole broken universe's machine ã€€ã€€ in discord will overthrow the rule of nature.　　 　　Great things implode upon themselves. This limit　　 of growth the gods ordain for all success.　　 Notes: 1 - Pompey and Caesar were not merely fellow citizens, but kinsmen related by marriage. 2 - The "Italian trophies" were the Roman standards lost to the Parthians by Crassus at the battle of Carrhae (in what is today southeastern Turkey) in 53 BC. 3 - Crassus had been killed at Carrhae. 4 - i.e. the Black Sea 5- the question of where the source of the Nile lay was a subject of speculation, and even exploration, for Romans. Seneca in book six of his Natural Questions informs us of an expedition that had been sent to Ethiopia to gather information on, among other things, the Nile's spring.  6- Pyrrhus of Epirus, a Greek king and general who invaded Italy in 280 BC. 7 - The question of whether the eulogy of Nero in this section is sincere or not is an old one, as it has proven hard for many readers, ancient and modern, to take at face value. My brief perusal of the staggeringly extensive scholarly literature on this passage suggests that the question remains far from settled.    In my considered view, tempting though it may be to see it in retrospect (and in the context of the later books of the Bellum Civile) as a form of ironic or grossly satyrical double-talk, this seems unlikely. First of all, if it was actually understood as gross satire by its original audience, then how could Nero, who was assuredly part of that audience, fail to notice? Nero was many things, but he was no idiot. Nor was Lucan, which is why it strains credulity to imagine him satirizing an eccentric autocrat literally to his face. And readings of certain lines as satirizing Nero's corpulence, among other things, take the later vilifying depictions of Nero's physiognomy at face value for no good reason. The contrast between this eulogy and the condemnation of Caesars found in later parts of the Bellum Civile, may be more reasonably explained (if explanation is really needed) by the fact that Lucan's opinion of Nero changed over time, from being a favored poet, to having his works banned, to ultimately participating in a failed attempt on Nero's life. While it may seem out of place in a poem like this, the eulogy itself isn't unusual for Roman poetry. Similar specimens of panegyric effusion may be found elsewhere in Roman literature, including Statius' praise for Domitian, and some of Virgil's most famous passages lauding Augustus. (Parts of Virgil here are strongly echoed, or subverted if you prefer, including this passage from the Georgics, and this passage from the Aeneid.) Indeed I suspect that part of why Virgil's praise for Augustus has seemed easier to take and appreciate for what it is, is posterity's high esteem for the latter, whereas Nero has become synonymous with imperial excess, cruelty and abuse of power and so the idea of someone like Lucan praising him didn't sit well with later readers. Moreover, leader-praise of this kind is also quite common in autocratic regimes more generally. One notes how frequently and how effusively court poets throughout the medieval world, whether in Valencia, Aachen, Aleppo, Shiraz, Delhi or Cháng'ān, directed their talents toward the praise of the local Rei Virtuós. (See this poem by Jordi de Sant Jordi for an excellent example.) More recent examples of the same phenomenon abound in poetry written in Francoist Spain, Fascist Italy, Nazi Germany, Tsarist Russia, Stalin's Soviet Union, Niyazov's Turkmenistan, Baathist Iraq and a number of modern Arab monarchies.   Some of the enduring appeal of this passage is that Lucan even as he praises Nero (as he may have been expected to do) retains his integrity as an artist. What modern readers of this poem may not fully appreciate is that the eulogy does not need to be insincere or ironic to have subtext. The horrors of civil war that made Nero, and the entire Julio-Claudian dynasty, possible are thrust in the listener's face. The responsibility that lies on Nero is immense, in view of what he cost. Behind the statement that Nero was worth it, may lurk the implication that Nero had better prove he was worth it or that he ought to appreciate at what cost his power comes. The fact that Nero is portrayed as the blessèd source of inspiration for a poem about bloodshed and civil war may also suggest a different subtext still. Indirect tactics like this are also not hard to come by in laudatory verse addressed to autocrats. Scholars of Arabic and Persian panegyric have long understood that not all extravagant flattery is hollow, servile or sycophantic. Sometimes the only way to tell a ruler what they don't like hearing is to say it in the form of a compliment. The Original: Bellum CÄ«vÄ«le I.1-82 Mārcus Annaeus LÅ«cānus 　　Bella per Ä’mathiōs plÅ«s quam cÄ«vÄ«lia campōs iÅ«sque datum scelerÄ« canimus, populumque potentem in sua victrÄ«cÄ« conversum vÄ«scera dextra, cognātāsque aciÄ“s, et ruptō foedere rÄ“gnÄ« certātum tōtÄ«s concussÄ« vÄ«ribus orbis in commÅ«ne nefās, Ä«nfÄ“stÄ«sque obvia signÄ«s signa, parÄ“s aquilās et pÄ«la minantia pÄ«lÄ«s. 　　Quis furor, ÅŒ cÄ«vÄ“s, quae tanta licentia ferrÄ«? Gentibus invÄ«sÄ«s Latium praebÄ“re cruōrem cumque superba foret Babylōn spolianda trophaeÄ«s                 AusoniÄ«s umbrāque errāret Crassus inultā bella gerÄ« placuit nÅ«llōs habitÅ«ra triumphōs? 　　Heu, quantum terrae potuit pelagÄ«que parārÄ« hōc quem cÄ«vÄ«lÄ“s hausÄ“runt sanguine dextrae, unde venit TÄ«tān et nox ubi sÄ«dera condit                 quāque diÄ“s medius flagrantibus aestuat hōrÄ«s et quā brÅ«ma rigÄ“ns ac nescia vÄ“re remittÄ« astringit Scythicō glaciālem frÄ«gore pontum! Sub iuga iam SÄ“rÄ“s, iam barbarus isset AraxÄ“s et gÄ“ns (sÄ«qua iacet) nāscentÄ« cōnscia NÄ«lō.                 Tum, sÄ« tantus amor bellÄ« tibi, Rōma, nefandÄ«, tōtum sub Latiās lÄ“gÄ“s cum mÄ«seris orbem, in tÄ“ verte manÅ«s: nōndum tibi dÄ“fuit hostis. 　　At nunc sÄ“mirutÄ«s pendent quod moenia tÄ“ctÄ«s urbibus Ītaliae lāpsÄ«sque ingentia mÅ«rÄ«s                 saxa iacent nÅ«llōque domÅ«s cÅ«stōde tenentur rārus et antÄ«quÄ«s habitātor in urbibus errat, horrida quod dÅ«mÄ«s multōsque inarāta per annōs Hesperia est dÄ“suntque manÅ«s poscentibus arvÄ«s, nōn tÅ«, Pyrrhe ferōx, nec tantÄ«s clādibus auctor                 Poenus erit: nÅ«llÄ« penitus dÄ“scendere ferrō contigit; alta sedent cÄ«vÄ«lis vulnera dextrae. 　　Quod sÄ« nōn aliam ventÅ«rō fāta NerōnÄ« invÄ“nÄ“re viam magnōque aeterna parantur rÄ“gna deÄ«s caelumque suō servÄ«re TonantÄ«                 nōn nisi saevōrum potuit post bella gigantum, iam nihil, ÅŒ superÄ«, querimur; scelera ipsa nefāsque hāc mercÄ“de placent. DÄ«rōs Pharsālia campōs impleat et PoenÄ« saturentur sanguine mānÄ“s, ultima fÅ«nestā concurrant proelia Mundā,                 hÄ«s, Caesar, PerusÄ«na famÄ“s Mutinaeque labōrÄ“s accÄ“dant fātÄ«s et quās premit aspera classÄ“s Leucās et ardentÄ« servÄ«lia bella sub Aetnā, multum Rōma tamen dÄ“bet cÄ«vÄ«libus armÄ«s quod tibi rÄ“s ācta est. 　　　　　　　　　　TÄ“, cum statiōne perācta               astra petÄ“s sÄ“rus, praelātÄ« rÄ“gia caelÄ« excipiet gaudente polō: seu scÄ“ptra tenÄ“re seu tÄ“ flammigerōs PhoebÄ« cōnscendere currÅ«s tellÅ«remque nihil mÅ«tātō sōle timentem igne vagō lÅ«strāre iuvet, tibi nÅ«mine ab omnÄ«                 cÄ“dÄ“tur, iÅ«risque tuÄ« nātÅ«ra relinquet quis deus esse velÄ«s, ubi rÄ“gnum pōnere mundÄ«. Sed neque in Arctōō sÄ“dem tibi lÄ“geris orbe nec polus āversÄ« calidus quā vergitur AustrÄ«, unde tuam videās oblÄ«quō sÄ«dere Rōmam.                 Aetheris immÄ“nsÄ« partem sÄ« presseris Å«nam, sentiet axis onus. LÄ«brātÄ« pondera caelÄ« orbe tenÄ“ mediō; pars aetheris illa serÄ“nÄ« tōta vacet nÅ«llaeque obstent ā Caesare nÅ«bÄ“s. Tum genus hÅ«mānum positÄ«s sibi cōnsulat armÄ«s                 inque vicem gÄ“ns omnis amet; pāx missa per orbem ferrea belligerÄ« compÄ“scat lÄ«mina IānÄ«. Sed mihi iam nÅ«men; nec, sÄ« tÄ“ pectore vātÄ“s accipiō, Cirrhaea velim sÄ“crÄ“ta moventem sollicitāre deum Bacchumque āvertere Nȳsā:                 tÅ« satis ad vÄ«rÄ“s Rōmāna in carmina dandās.       Fert animus causās tantārum exprōmere rÄ“rum, immÄ“nsumque aperÄ«tur opus, quid in arma furentem impulerit populum, quid pācem excusserit orbÄ«. Invida fātōrum seriÄ“s summÄ«sque negātum                 stāre diÅ« nimiōque gravÄ“s sub pondere lāpsus nec sÄ“ Rōma ferÄ“ns. 　　　　　　　　　　　SÄ«c, cum compāge solÅ«tā saecula tot mundÄ« suprÄ“ma coÄ“gerit hōra antÄ«quum repetÄ“ns iterum chaos, ignea pontum                 astra petent, tellÅ«s extendere lÄ«tora nōlet excutietque fretum, frātrÄ« contrāria Phoebe Ä«bit et oblÄ«quum bÄ«gās agitāre per orbem indignāta diem poscet sibi, tōtaque discors māchina dÄ«volsÄ« turbābit foedera mundÄ«.                 In sÄ“ magna ruunt: laetÄ«s hunc nÅ«mina rÄ“bus crÄ“scendÄ« posuÄ“re modum.