I expected this to be a drag, and to DNF quickly, but something about it kept me intrigued. Like gold panning.
Realistically 98% of what I read was drivel (to me). Yet I have to give it 3 stars because it never became tedious. I can’t explain it.
Notes from commentaries:
- Love poems were inspired by Sappho (brings intimacy to poetry).
- Satires inspired by native Italian skits.
- Mid-length allusive poems inspired by Callimachus, a contemporary of Apollonius who wrote short, dense poetry (instead of epic sagas). Part of movement called neoteric poetry.
Catullus changed expectations of love. That it should be the core focus of a life. That the expectations of pederasty should also apply to heterosexual love - of reciprocity, contracts and sacred friendship
Notes:
Introduction:
The explanation for Catullus' eclipse seems to be - not censorship, as is sometimes suggested - but merely literary taste and a change in fashion. The qualities that the modern age, at least, values in him - his elegant urbanity, his learned Alexandrianism, his passionate emotion - had not appealed to Martial and his contemporaries in the Silver Age.
Instead they admired and promoted him exclusively as a poet of light verse. Before long, he was supplanted by his chief imitator. Why read an old-fashioned and sometimes difficult poet like Catullus, when one could so easily enjoy Martial's smooth and racy epigrams? In any era a poet with few readers soon becomes unavailable. No doubt texts were already becoming scarce in the time of Apuleius and Aulus Gellius, and we can be sure that fewer still were preserved when scribes transferred the works of ancient authors from roll to codex around the fourth century AD.
We know that Catullus made the journey from antiquity to the Renaissance - he arrived, after all - but we do not know how or by what route.
[In Italy] Catullus' sparrow and kiss poems had been popular in antiquity. In the Renaissance they inspired almost as many imitations as the stars and sands invoked as images of innumerability by the poets. There were scores of poems on sparrows and doves and literally hundreds on kisses, including nearly a dozen kiss poems by Pontano as well as the influential Latin kiss cycle (Basia) by the Dutch poet Johannes Secundus (ISII-
36), which inspired still more imitations in both Latin and the vernaculars. Often, the sparrow (or dove) was combined with the kissing theme to speak more or less openly of both homosexual and heterosexual intercourse.
[In England] Modern Catullan poets imitated each other as well as Catullus; by now many of Catullus' themes had been treated so often that they had become part of a general poetic currency. As a consequence, when we find them in English poems, it is not always possible to identify Catullus as the primary model, or even as a model at all
Only Burton saw that Catullus was not a nineteenth-century English gentleman complete with 'boiled shirt, dove-tailed coat, black-cloth clothes, white pocket-handkerchief, and diamond ring'.
By the early twentieth century Catullus had become a full-blown Romantic. In both Symons and Yeats (see Appendix) we find him a passionate lover scornful of the limits of bourgeois society. (The American Catullus at the same period is generally a lighter and more cheerful character, to judge from the translations of Field, Stewart and Adams.) After about 1930 Catullus began to speak in many voices, American and Australian as well as English, and to take on a variety of characters from the austere (Lucas) to the jokey (Copley). Since around 1960 he has become increasingly and sometimes defiantly explicit in his language and hostile in his invective, more devoted to his brother, and correspondingly more cynical about Lesbia - in both his variety and his emotions, a Catullus of our time.
The poems:
[Sir Walter Raleigh]: That Man is (as it were) a little world: with a digression touching our mortalitie... For this tide of mans life, after it once turneth and declineth, ever runneth with a perpetuall ebbe and falling streame, but never floweth againe: our leafe once fallen, springeth no more, neither doth the Sunne or the Summer adorne us againe, with the garments of new leaves and flowers ... of which Catullus, Epigram 53:
The Sunne may set and rise:
But we contrariwise
Sleepe after our short light
One everlasting night.
[Thomas Moore]:
As many stellar eyes of light,
As through the silent waste of night,
Gazing upon the world of shade,
Witness some secret youth and maid
[Leigh Hunt]:
Oh where's the luxury like a loosened heart, When the mind, breathing, lays its load apart,
When we come home again, tir'd out, and spread
The greedy limbs o'er all the wish'd for bed!
This, this alone is worth an age of toil.
Hail, lovely Sirmio! Hail, paternal soil!
Joy, my bright waters, joy: your master's come!
Laugh every dimple on the cheek of home!
[Hugh Macnaghten]:
God send a little son
Stretching soft hands anon
From mother's lap, to greet
Father with infant-sweet
Glimmer of laughter fleet.
[Mary Stewart]:
'Twas yesterday, Licinius mine,
While idling at our nuts and wine,
As gay young bloods think proper,
In sportive vein we teased the Muse
To scribble verses so profuse,
My faith, we scarce could stop her.
And when at last I left the place,
So fired with your rare wit and grace -
Or wine, you say - you dare it? -
I tossed upon my bed all night,
Impatient for the morning light
And you - by Jove, I swear it.
Twas you I longed again to see,
To hear the clever repartee,
The thrust and answer ready,
I rose, my brain half dead for rest,
And scrawled these rhymes that might attest
My hand, at least, was steady.
Then speed the hour, sweet friend of mine, When we shall meet at nuts and wine,
With wit and jest distracting.
And if you scorn a love like this,
Then, oh, beware of Nemesis,
A lady most exacting.
[Robert Clayton Casto]:
... And cast his loins upon the Phrygian shore
and split 'em with a stone,
Attis who once was young and brown,
and at a crossroads of that land
his soft seed tickling the Asian sand
hoisted under his bloody thumb
the timbrel the light mysterious drum
which is the sign of Cybelè
and with his fingers slippery and numb
struck those vacant hollow skins
and piped with white lips mincingly
to that sensual sodality:
…
Up the raw hills where monster images
skim the red woodland and the speckled pine,
he raced those wild anatomies,
the moist she-misters, and they twitched
in service on the grass's lip
all rare with frenzy dancing and divine
until upon a black plateau
where casually the gristled snow
begins to seep
Inspired by Catullus (not translations):
[Thomas Twining]:
Exchanged for Fordham's rustic nook,
The lonely walk, the silent book,
The quiet lane, so grassy green,
Where waddling geese alone are seen,