Monday, 21 December 2015

2.26: stringing along a greedy legacy-hunter

Naevia struggles to breathe. She has a hacking cough that sprays phlegm in your lap. And you think you're onto a sure thing? You've missed the point, Bithynicus: Naevia isn't dying, she's leading you on.
The greedy legacy-hunter, solicitously paying court to the elderly and sick (and childless) in the hopes of a generous bequest, is a fixture of Roman satire; Naevia knows exactly what Bithynicus is up to, and is milking the situation for all the attention and goodies she can squeeze out of him. The player, played.

Tuesday, 15 December 2015

2.60: coitus intersectus

Youre fucking the wife of a tribune, Hyllus my boy a man who wears a sword to work. You think the worst that can happen is hell make you his bitch. I wouldnt want to be you. There youll be, balls-deep, and hell lop it off. But thats against the law!Come again? What youre up to, Hyllus is that within the law?

Tuesday, 8 December 2015

2.25: Galla's a tease

You never put out, Galla; but when I ask, you always say you will. If youre going to keep lying, Galla, Ill start asking you to say no.

Thursday, 3 December 2015

Monday, 30 November 2015

Martial 2:8: the trouble with copyists

If odd things in these pages seem unclear, Reader, or dont read like proper Latin, Im not the one who goofed: your copyist screwed them up as he rushed to hit his line-count. But if you think hes not to blame, but mewell, I shall note your lack of taste. But theyre bad.Tell me something I dont know! Yes theyre bad, but I dont see you making better.

Friday, 20 November 2015

Some versions by Ian Dudley

The poet Ian M. Dudley has done a couple of versions of Martial using mine as a starting-point - I really like them:

Wednesday, 18 November 2015

My fourth OUP blog post

Abruptly cut off from his fix of boy-kisses:

Tuesday, 17 November 2015

Last week's OUP blog post

The greatness of the city lies in its amenity; in how it facilitates civilised living. To the city eternal, the city of friendships, where ideas spark and life shines; Athens, Rome, Paris, and wherever you yourselves may be, then, now, and forever.

Tuesday, 10 November 2015

Martial 1.90

I never used to see you in company with men, Bassa; the gossip never gave you a lover. Instead you were always surrounded by women, a mob of them. They did everything for you; no man got close. And so, I admit, I took you for a Lucretia: but shock, horror Bassa, youre a fucker. You dare set cunt to cunt, and your mega-clit fakes manliness. You've invented a crime against nature worthy of a Theban riddle: Theres no man here and yet, adultery.