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Poems from the Classical Greek of
ASKLEPIADES
first published in the Penguin version of the
Greek Anthology, edited by Peter Jay
The
numbers at the end of each piece, e.g. 5.19 (688), indicate the book and
poem-number in the Anthology and (in brackets) the poem-number in Jay’s
presentation for Penguin Classics.
These
pieces have no titles, so the menu below is of first lines.
Bitto
and Nannion do not
By
her fresh flower Didyme
Get
us some...
Great
is a drink of snow
I
am Drink, carved
I
hold Archeanassa
I
touched up sexy Hermione
Leave
the rags, you tiny lusts
Night
long and wintry
Nikarete’s
face, sweetly moistened
Snow,
hail and smut the sky
Stay
off from me, wild sea
Stay,
my tendrils, where hung
The
pampered Philaimon has stabbed me
This
is Erinna’s sweet work
Three
times before you, lamp
To
you, Kypris, Lysidike
You’re
saving it? What for
1
Three
times before you, lamp,
Heraklea
swore
to
come. She does not.
If,
lamp, you’re a god,
abash
the liar: when
she’s
playing inside
with
a lover, die,
provide
no glow. (5.7)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
2
Snow,
hail and smut the sky;
dazzle
and thunder;
toss
over the country
your
smoky gloom.
Kill
me and I’ll give in;
but
let me breathe,
though
through worse than this,
and
I’ll have my fling.
I
am goaded by the god
who
was your lord, golden
Zeus,
when he thrust you
in
the brass cell. 5.64(66)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
3
You’re
saving it? What for?
In
the underworld
you’ll
acquire no one
to
enjoy you, girl.
Lovemaking’s
for the living.
Past
Styx we shall
as
bones and urn-meal,
virgin,
sprawl. 5.85(58)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
4
Stay,
my tendrils, where hung
over
these french doors.
But
be in no hurry
to
moult your leaves.
I
have showered you with tears—
lover’s
eyes are showers.
But
when these doors
swing
open and he
appears,
rain me upon
his
head, that my tears
may
be drunk by at least
his
yellow hair. 5.153(67)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
5
Nikarete’s
face, sweetly moistened
by
her desires
and
frequently shown
at
her gabled window,
was
dried by Kleophon
at
her door below
and,
dear Kypris, his eyes’
sweet
blue-bright lightning. 5.153(59)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
6
I
touched up sexy Hermione.
She
had on a belt
that
had on it pied
brilliances—
gold
letters, Kypris,
in
all saying, ‘Love me
and
forget it hurts
that
others have me.’ 5.158(60)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
7
The
pampered Philaimon has stabbed me.
The
wound might not
be
plain, but the pain
drips
from my fingers.
I’ve
had it, I’m gone, I’m done for.
Nodding
off, I trod
on
a petite amie
and
I brushed death. 5.161(62)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
8
Great
is a drink of snow
to
men parched by summer.
Great
the spring breeze
to
a sailor when
winter’s
gone. But greater
is
the one sheet upon
two
lovers as they
venerate
Venus. 5.169(57)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
9
To
you, Kypris, Lysidike
has
offered her spur,
gold
prick once fixed
to
a sweet leg’s ankle.
Many
inverted studs
were
disciplined—
her
own thighs never
reddening,
she
so
lightly rode. She finished
course
without spur,
so
this gold gear hangs
at
your portico. 5.169(63)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
10
Get
us some...
—where
is the man?
And
five lots of roses.
What’s
that? Not enough?
You
say we’ve no cash? Then we’re done for.
Won’t
someone torment
this
Lapith? He’s a crook,
not
a factotum.
You’ve
done nothing wrong? Oh, no?
Bring
the books.
And
Phryne: the counters.
Of
all the thieves!
Five
drachmas for wine?
A
sausage, two?
Oysters?
What! Salmon?
Honeycombs?
We’ll
add these up later.
Now
go to Aischra’s
the
perfumery.
Get
five silver jars.
Say
to my credit I have
made
love to her
five
times in a row
with
my bed as witness. 5.181
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
11
Night
long and wintry,
the
Pleiades half-set.
Outside
her door
I
pace, wet through,
seared
by an agonising
white-hot
prong—
not
love but lust
for
her, deceiver. 5.189(77)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
12
Bitto
and Nannion do not
desire
to come
to
Aphrodite
conventionally
but
get themselves off
the
other way. Not very nice.
Don’t
you hate these swervers
from
your bed, Kypris? 5.207(64)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
13
By
her fresh flower Didyme
seduced
me. I melt
like
wax in the fire,
just
staring at her.
If
she is black, what then?
So
is charcoal—but that,
once
kindled, shines
like
an opened rose. 5.210
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
14
This
is Erinna’s sweet work,
not
a lot indeed
being
by a girl
of
nineteen, but stronger
than
that of others. If death
had
not come so soon
who
would have had
so
great a name? 7.11
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
15
I
hold Archeanassa
the
Kolophon
fille
de joie in whose very
wrinkles
sits love.
You
lovers who plucked her fresh youth’s
passion-flower
in
its first blaze—
what
a fire you endured! 7.212
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
16
I
am Drink, carved
by
a skilled hand, carved
amethyst,
stone
new
to the image,
Cleopatra’s
object, sacred.
On
a queen’s hand
even
the goddess
of
drink should abstain. 7.752(78)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
17
Stay
off from me, wild sea,
two
coffins’ lengths,
and
seethe and whine
with
all your might.
But
if you do sack the grave
of
Eumares, me,
you’ll
find nothing real,
just
dirt and bone. 7.284(74)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
18
Leave
the rags, you tiny lusts,
of
my heart whatever,
let
me rest these at least
for
God’s sake or
gash
no more with arrows
but
thunderclap.
So!
Make me utterly
clinker,
ash.
So,
so, you tiny lusts, lash me, wrung
with
grief—if I
may
have such a little,
or
any, gift. 12.116(69)
(translated
by Alan Marshfield)
(back)
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