Catullus 51
translated by James Michie
To me he seems godlike, in my eyes even
More than Divine (if that’s not sacriligious),
The man who sits beside you all day gazing,
Hearing all day
Your musical laughter. Dazed by love, he loses
The use of all his senses. Oh, the moment,
I see you, Lesbia, my voice, throat-strangled,
Withers away.
My tongue lies paralysed, subtle sensations
Of fire snake through my limbs, my ears are deafened
By thier own noise, and, as for eyes, dense darkness
Blindfolds them both.
Sloth is your enemy, your disease, Catullus;
You revel in it, crave it, and adore it.
By what else were great kings and flourishing cities
Ruined but sloth?
Ille mi par esse deo videtur,
ille, si fas est, superare divos,
qui sedens adversus identidem te
spectat et audit
dulce ridentem, misero quod omnis
eripit sensus mihi: nam simul te,
Lesbia, aspexi, nihil est super mi
vocis in ore,
lingua sed torpet, tenuis sub artus
flamma demanat, sonitu suopte
tintinant aures, gemina et teguntur
lumina nocte.
Otium, Catulle, tibi molestum est:
otio exsultas nimiumque gestis:
otium et reges prius et beatas
perdidit urbes.
This one suggested by our wine critic and noted linguist Oliver Nicholson. After this, we promise no more Latin. Ok, maybe one more on April 30 which will be a fitting commentary on the reason we love poetry.
Leave a Reply