[Geoff Brock]

Horace, Ode 1.31

What does the poet pray for......to new-enshrined Apollo?
Just what might he wish for,......letting new wine
spill from the saucer?......Not rich Sardinia's
fruit-bearing fields,......not feverish Calabria's
eye-pleasing plow-cattle,......not a whole pile
of goods from the Ganges......of ivory and gold,
not lands slowly swallowed......by the silent Liris
with its stream of soft-flowing,......nearly still waters.
Let them who good fortune......grants use of the grapevine
keep it well-clipped......with the Calenian sickle.
Let the rich merchant guzzle......from golden goblets
the wines that he won......with his Syrian wares.
The gods love that man:......they must, since he manages
to look on the leagues......of the distant Atlantic
and comes back to tell the tale......three times a year.
But as for myself,......if I have mild mallows,
small olives and succory,......that's plenty for supper.
Just keep me healthy, ......happy with what I have,
and, Latona's son, let......my head remain level.
And don't let my dotage......be something disgraceful,
nor let those last years lack......the sound of the lyre.


[original]

Quid dedicatum poscit Apollinem
vates? quid orat de patera novum
fundens liquorem? non opimae
Sardiniae segetes feracis,

non aestuosae grata Calabriae
armenta, non aurum aut ebur Indicum,
non rura, quae Liris quieta
mordet aqua taciturnus amnis.

premant Calenam falce quibus dedit
fortuna vitem, dives ut aureis
mercator exsiccet culillis
vina Syra reparata merce,

dis carus ipsis, quippe ter et quater
anno revisens aequor Atlanticum
inpune. me pascunt olivae,
me cichorea levesque malvae.

frui paratis et valido mihi,
Latoe, dones et precor integra
cum mente nec turpem senectam
degere nec cithara carentem.


[trot]

What will the poet ask of enshrined Apollo? What does he pray for, pouring out fresh liquid from the libation-bowl? Not for rich fields in fertile Sardinia, not for pleasing herds from hot Calabria, not for Indian gold or ivory, not for lands that the silent river Liris is biting away with its calm waters. Let those to whom fortune has given the vine prune it with a Calenian scythe, let the rich merchant drain the Syrian wines he traded his goods for from gold cups; he is the beloved gods themselves, of course, as three or four times a year he revisits the Atlantic sea without punishment. But olives give me my food, as do chicory and light mallows. Let me enjoy what I have and grant me, Latous, strength and an undiminished mind. I beg that I not pass my old age in an unsightly way, or without the lyre.

[Geoff Brock]

What an inspired formal choice: to render Horace’s Alcaic stanzas into English accentual-alliterative verse! The translator’s decision to employ an ancient meter that lies at the root of our poetic tradition recalls Horace’s own decision to adapt Alcaeus’s ancient form to his own time and tongue. And the meter here is, for the most part, quite well handled. There are a few spots where the syntax or the form or the sense seems faintly strained, but these are small infelicities in an otherwise charming translation.

In line 1, for example, I trip ever so slightly on the two prepositions that span the caesura; I wish we could cut one (perhaps: “How shall the poet pray || to new-enshrined Apollo?”). In the next line, I wasn’t fond of the “just,” and the value of “letting” was less immediately clear to me than a phrase such as “as he lets the wine” would have been. Also, I didn’t like encountering the word “new” again so soon; it seemed more significant in the first instance. (Quibble, quibble.)

Most of the lines seem about the right length, and there is a nice rhythmic variability to them—the translator is taking good advantage of the possibilities of the form. In a couple of half-lines, however, I simply could not, try as I might, hear only two major arses (that last word looks wrong, doesn’t it?): line 15 (“and comes back to tell the tale”) and the last line (“nor let those last years lack”). Such bumps, of course, are easily smoothed; possible solutions include: “and returns to tell of it” and “nor my last years lack.”

When I came to the “eye-pleasing plow-cattle,” I confess I wondered for a moment whether Horace’s “herds” would likely have been something else—sheep, say, or goats. But I decided to assume that “plow-cattle” was historically plausible, simply because it’s so ear-pleasing. I’m less pleased by “small” as a modifier for “olives”—it seems odd that the speaker would bother to specify the size of the olives (unless he needed another S word). Perhaps something like this: “olives and succory, || the simplest of suppers.” And I’m displeased by “level” in the antepenultimate line; not being level-headed is one thing, senile dementia is quite another, and I’m not sure the line, as it stands, adequately conveys what’s at stake here: the fear of losing one’s “mente” to old age.

Finally, there are a few instances (“Sardinia’s,” “grants,” “Calenian,” “myself,” etc.) in which the translator seems to be counting as an alliteration a consonant that does not begin an arsis. Most of these don’t trouble me, as I find the consonants in question audible enough, and as every poet has the right to decide how strictly to observe these traditions, which were not after all written in stone. But the word “disgraceful” (stressed of course on the second syllable) in the next-to-last line was an instance where I found myself wanting the consonant to coincide with the arsis, as in the word “dismal” or “dignity.”

On the whole, though, I think the fact that I was moved to fiddle and quibble so much is a sign of how engaging I felt this translation was.

[Peter Coghill]

Wow this is really good.

It is unusual, for me at least, to think of such a quietly toned poem being in alliterative form, being associated for me with blood, battles and bone snapping. As such I quite like that some of the arsis (really? I never knew the word) should be on unstressed syllables. In particular the disgraceful one. I find it softens what could otherwise be an over intrusive form.

On the other hand I would also change line one.

[R. Nemo Hill]

I like small olives, they really are much more modest than the larger ones. Plus the menu, though enjambed, holds together so musically...

mild mallows, small olives and succory

Wonderful, that.

Nemo

[Petra Norr]

I, too, like the "eye-pleasing plow-cattle", and they're right at home in the poem and environment because they'd been around for several thousand years by the time Horace was born.
I enjoy the whole translation. The alliteration doesn't always follow "correct" A-S accentual meter (I think generally there should be more alliteration with the first strong stress of the second hemistich), but what I like about it is that it doesn't fall into anapestic mode throughout, which otherwise seems to happen a lot when trying to write this meter.
I'm not at home with Horace and the classics, but to me the poem seems to suit the meter.

[Allen Tice]

(o),,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

[Maryann Corbett]

Originally Posted by Peter Coghill

It is unusual, for me at least, to think of such a quietly toned poem being in alliterative form, being associated for me with blood, battles and bone snapping.

I've seen this reaction from other people, and it's really unjustified. There's a great deal of peaceful, charming, and very domestic poetry in Old English--the gnomic poetry, proverbs, and riddles.

I'm very fond of this translation. I remember it from the translation board not so long ago, but fortunately I don't remember whose it is, so I can't accidentally spill any beans. My only quibble is the first line, which seems to set me up to expect three beats per half line, so that I'm slow to catch on that the form is alliterative verse. Even if an additional line were required to get in all the concepts, I'd try to cut that down. But it's only one out of many pleasures. Like Nemo, I think the small olives are a nice touch.