Two dedicatory epigrams from the Anthology

From book 6 of the Anthology. These 'anathematic' poems are written as if to accompany votive offerings, set up in temples to thank the god for ensuring safety or success. The first takes the perspective of a fisherman; the second, of a mercenary, thanking Apollo. Readers might well mentally place the second poem at the temple of Apollo in his aspect as patron of mercenaries, ‘Apollo Epicurius’, at Bassae in Arcadia.

4 

LEONIDAS
The curving hook, long rods, and horsehair line;
The baskets that hold fish; the wicker trap
Woven to catch them, that the netsmen found
To cage the wanderers beneath the sea;
Sharp trident, too, Poseidon’s weaponry;
The pair of oars from off his little boat.
These Diophantus, fisherman, presents
As tribute to the patron of his craft,
The relics of the trade he used to ply. 

9 

MNASALCAS
This arrow-pouring quiver, and this bow,
Phoebus, are hung as offerings to you
From Promachus. His feathered arrows, no:
Mortals hold those: they hold them in their hearts,
Murderous gifts to strangers in the fray.

Long escarpment, misty valleys

The few acres of Julius Martial, more blissful than the gardens of the Hesperides, sit on the long escarpment of the JANICULAN...

The opening lines of Martial 4.64 seem pretty clear: we're nowhere near Monte Mario. Instead and straightforwardly we are on the Janiculan ridge, that beauty-spot where, to this day, Romans love to promenade and take the evening air. To have a villa here, serene above the smoke and noise pollution of the city below, is to live the dream -- it always was. And the views are amazing. Two minutes into Paolo Sorrentino's The Great Beauty they kill a tourist, they're that lovely. You really do feel you can see everything, which made it a favourite viewpoint for the panoramic prints of Rome brought back by aristos from the Grand Tour.

It is a long escarpment, and lines 5-8 seem to steer us to the northerly part of it, nearer the Vatican:

The flat summit, a moderate swelling, enjoys serener sky, shining with a light of its own while mist covers the winding valleys.

The northern end gives us plenty of valley for the mist to fill: a big old cleft behind (west), a smaller in front (east), and the broad, flat gap to the north between the Janiculan and Vatican hills. It's no small interval: there was a Circus here in antiquity. The Via Cornelia wound through as well, on its way to Caere.

The obvious problem, though, is that even the northern end of the Janiculan is not where you'd go for a good view of Fidenae, Rubrae, or Anna Perenna. Or any view of them at all. You feel as though you can see everything from the Gianicolo, but actually you can't. We're far too far south.

Monte Mario: the inscription revisited

Before we go any further, in case you may be rusty on the topography of Rome's environs, I recommend checking a topographic map -- such as this excellent interactive one, from the classics department website of Skidmore College in New York State.

You can explore by mousing-over, obviously, but 14 is the Janiculan, and 16 is the Vatican Hill. You will not find Monte Mario here because it is way off to the north of the Vatican, past the top of the page. Remember that; it's important to our story.

The reason I'm blogging about Julius Martial on Monte Mario in the first place, other than generally thinking it is cool that part of an epigram has been inscribed there, is that it takes some arguing to place the villa there.

Here's that inscription again:

And here's how I translated those five lines for the World's Classics:

From here, on the one side, you can see the seven imperious hills and take in all of Rome -- the Alban hills too, and the Tusculans, and every cool spot in the city's orbit; and ancient Fidenae, and little Rubrae,...

The next two lines go "and the fruitful orchard of Anna Perenna that delights in virgins' blood", which might have been a bit much for the twentieth-century city planners (? -- I'm guessing) who had the lines set up. Certainly the spring of Anna Perenna, the location of which is now precisely known (found when excavating an underground car park in 1999), is slap bang in the middle of the field of view from the belvedere terrace. In any case, shorter is better with inscribed epigram. Simonides could have told you that.

The problem is that Martial kicked off the poem by telling us, or seeming to, that his chum's villa is somewhere else entirely...

Striking a deal: two dialogues with sex workers

Two more epigrams from book 5 of the Greek Anthology. One conversation ends in a deal of sorts, though we never hear a price. The dialogue format is unusual, and perhaps influenced by theatre; readers will have needed to stay on their toes, to spot the change of speaker in mid-line.

Philodemus was writing in first-century BC Italy; we know nothing about who wrote the other poem.

46 

PHILODEMUS 

Good day. Good day to you. And what’s your name?
What’s yours? No need for deeper questions yet.
The same to you. And don’t you have a man?
I do — whoever wants me. How about
Dinner with me tomorrow? If you like. 
Good! What’s your rate? You needn’t pay up front.
That’s odd. Just pay me what you think I’m worth,
After you’ve slept with me. You’re very fair.
What’s your address? I’ll send word. Take this down.
What time will you arrive? The time you like.
I’d like it right now. Well then; lead the way. 

101 

ANONYMOUS 

Hello, young miss. Hello back. Who’s your friend?
What’s it to you? I have something in mind.
My mistress. Any chance… What do you want?
Tonight. What’s in it for her? Golden coin.
Well, you’re in luck. This much. I take it back.

Three erotic epigrams from the Greek Anthology

As some readers will already know, this year I'm starting out on a new project, to translate a fairly big selection of epigrams from the Greek Anthology.

Thus far I've worked through a sample from Book 1, the Christian epigrams. Chronologically the most recent, they are placed first in the Anthology because it was assembled in and for a Christian world (Byzantium, some time round about the year 1000). I'm now moving on to the start of Book 5, the heterosexual love poems.

Setting out, I thought I would try a mix of prose (like with Martial) and blank verse. Here is my first attempt at the first four poems from the selection I've picked out. I hope you enjoy them.

1[CEPHALAS’ PROEM]
Kindling in young men’s hearts a heat intense and erudite, I shall make Love the master of my speech: for He it is who makes young men’s torches blaze.

2ANONYMOUS
Sthenelais, city-burner, of steep price,
Whose utterance is gold to those who yearn — 
My dream laid her beside me through the night
Until sweet daybreak, all without a bribe.
No more I’ll beg for favour from that girl
From overseas, nor weep at my own fate:
I’ll sleep, and sleep will grant me my desire. 

4
PHILODEMUS
The silent lamp, complicit partner in 
The things we mustn’t speak of carelessly:
Philaenis, make it drunk with drops of oil.
Then take your leave: for Love alone desires
No living witness; close the jointed door.
And you, dear Xantho… But the lover’s bed
Well knows what Aphrodite has in store. 

5
STATYLLIUS FLACCUS
A silver lamp am I, and Flaccus’ gift
To faithless Napē, faithful witness to
Her night-time loves: I gutter by the bed,
Watching the young girl’s versatile disgrace.
Flaccus, these sore concerns keep you from sleep:
Though we are parted, we are both ablaze.

Living Martial's Best Life

The trouble with Julius Martialis is, he's...too perfect.

4.64, the poem we're on about, is actually his first definite appearance in the Martialverse (though there's a 'Julius' in 1.15 and 3.5 whom most readers will thereafter take to be him in retrospect). And already Martial feels right at home in his fabulous hilltop villa: "You will think the place is yours", he assures the reader (tuam putabis, 26). In the books that follow, Julius and the poet are the best of friends: they hang out together, put the world to rights (5.20). The wealth differential means nothing; they're two peas in a pod. The dedication of book 6 to 'Martialis, dear to me above all men' (in primis mihi care Martialis, 6.1.1) could as well be a self-dedication.

This is all very flattering, which would be one reason to think Julius Martialis is a real person in the world outside the text as well -- that is, Martial is cosying up to a mate, as he does with Pliny. But...the name. JULIUS MARTIAL. Really? Julius' name is forever on the poet's tongue (3.5), which of course it would be, because it's also the poet's own. Martial's books are making Julius as famous as Martial himself, in the same way:

toto notus in orbe Martialis (1.1.3) 

quae cantaberis orbe nota toto (7.17.10)

Everyone (except me) translates Martialis' name as 'Martialis' -- but M. Valerius Martialis, the poet, we call 'Martial'. It's been important to keep the two apart. A while back I suggested that JULIUS MARTIAL is a kind of running gag; his name marks him out as an aspirational alter ego, the man of wealth and taste that Martial dreams of one day becoming if he plays his cards right... but never, ever will.

It's still an idea I like, but the Monte Mario stuff actually makes me doubt it more than I used to, for a weird reason that we'll get onto one of these days.

For now, back to that inscription...

'Julius Martial'...really?

Before we get any further into the Monte Mario thing, I should confess that I've always had my doubts about Julius Martialis.

Like the Greek poets he took as his model, Martial puts a lot of probably-made-up people into his epigrams, with metrically convenient names that are often comically (in)appropriate to their role in the satirical scenario. Postumus, for instance, and Galla, and Cinna/Cinnamus, are there to set up the punchlines and take the falls. Someone has to be, and there was no profit in making real enemies. Martial's readers are in on the trick; he makes jokes about it (e.g. Epigram 3.11).

Martial also includes a lot of real people. Flattering epigrams were currency in the give-and-take of elite Roman friendship (amicitia). So, Martial wrote nice things about Pliny the Younger (Epigram 10.20), and Pliny did at least one nice thing for him -- covered his relocation expenses, when he moved back to Spain (Letters 3.21). Pliny was super-rich, Martial was witty and talented: friendship, yes, but also fair trade. Favours from the Emperor were all the more worth courting, and the hardworking and moral 'Domitian' of the first nine books of epigrams is Martial's best (and surely, increasingly confident) guess at what Domitian would like to read about himself. A gift of literature could help build the personal brands of addressee and poet alike.

Within the complex, messy world of Martial's sprawling serial fiction -- 'the Martialverse', as Francesca Sapsford termed it, drawing on the coinages of cult-media fandom around serial television drama ('the Xenaverse', 'the Buffyverse') -- Postumus and Pliny are equally real. In this virtual world of text, Postumus is a jumped-up chancer, and Pliny is eloquent and studious, and both these things are equally true; just as, for instance, it is absolutely true that Sherlock Holmes lives at 221B Baker Street, London. As long as the Holmesverse endures, Sherlock Holmes will always make his home on Baker Street.

This is unproblematic. It only gets tricky if you insist on tracking down, or indeed making, a 221B on 'our' Baker Street, in the larger and even messier universe outside the fiction. Similar things are true of Martial's Rome, but with the complication that many of its inhabitants are biographically real persons.

Worse: some of the poet's named characters are-and-aren't real, or are real off and on. Take for instance his 'Catullus': sometimes definitely the famous Republican poet whom Martial talks up as his role-model and best excuse, sometimes clearly not the poet, and sometimes... ISH. Any index that sets out a 'Catullus 1' and 'Catullus 2', and claims to be able to tell you which is which, is weaving strange fictions of its own.

What first worried me about Julius Martialis was his name (continued)...

Martial on Monte Mario

A kilometre or so to the north and west of the Vatican, the tallest hill in Rome's neighbourhood, Monte Mario, overlooks the bend in the Tiber that cups on its far bank the modern district of Flaminio. Tucked under its flank is the Fascist-era sports complex of Foro Italico (originally Foro Mussolini; every would-be Roman Emperor wants a Forum with his name on it).

Suburban development has nibbled at the far side of the hill, but the upper slopes are pleasant parkland; the steeper, Rome-facing flank is a nature reserve and favourite beauty spot. At the summit, accessible by road (traditionally a lovers' lane -- it's even called Vialetto degli Innamorati ), is a perfectly nice-looking cafe-restaurant (sadly long closed), a panoramic terrace, and...Martial.

A marble slab bears five lines from epigram 4.64:

In my World's Classics translation, this runs:

From here, on the one side, you can see the seven imperious hills and take in all of Rome -- the Alban Hills too, and the Tuscans, and every cool spot in the city's orbit; and ancient Fidenae, and little Rubrae...

Martial is admiring the view from the suburban villa of his wealthy best friend, Julius Martialis; but is it this view? What is this poem doing here, and why these five lines in particular (out of thirty-six)? In the next few blog posts I'll do my best to unpick it.

CONTINUED...

Enter the Greeks!, with two sympotic epigrams

2020 update: both of these will be in the book, but underwent changes along the way — back in early 2019 I was just starting to feel my way. All the translations in the book are in verse.

Original post follows:

..............................

A few days ago I emailed a proposal to OUP for a new translation of select epigrams from the Greek Anthology for the World's Classics, to complement my selection from Martial. I'm very excited about it and I hope they bite.

One big difference, if neither I nor they see sense, will be that some of the translations are into blank verse. This isn't something I had in mind before; versions just started popping into my head as I worked through the Loeb, making my selection.

Here are a couple from the first, 'sympotic' section of Book 11, my old doctoral stomping-ground. I have no idea if they're any good or not; I'm a complete novice at stuff like this.

11.8

ANON

The myrrh, the garlands — don’t hang those on columns, 

don’t throw that on the pyre: your cash goes nowhere. 

For instance, send them my way: I’m still living. 

You can’t get ashes drunk; you’ll just get mud. 
And corpses aren’t big drinkers anyway.

11.17

NICARCHUS

Stephanus used to beg and market-garden, 

but got his lucky break, and now he’s loaded. 

And right away he’s “Philostephanus” — 

“Stephanus” with four letters on the front. 

Next moment he’ll be “Hippocratippiades”, 

or push the boat out: “Dionysiopeganodorus”. 
But down the market, he’s still Stephanus.