Catullus: Poem 31 "Homecoming" (From Latin)

Poem 31: Homecoming
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Jewel of the headlands, blue eye of the islands
That bow on outspread oceans and on slow
Freshwater lakes to Neptune's rule in silence:
I come to you with pleasure, Sirmio¹.
I hardly yet believe I've left behind
The Asian¹ plains to see you safe at last.
No greater blessing than to feel the mind
Lay down its burden, casting off the past
Journeys' exhaustion, coming back among
The household gods, to the bed for which I longed. 
And this alone repays those many labors. 
Hello, my gorgeous Sirmio! As your man
Is glad, be glad. You too, Lake Garda's wavelets,
Let loose and laugh as only sweet home can.  

Notes:

¹Sirmio, the location of Catullus' country house on Lake Garda.

²Catullus had just returned from Bithynia (modern northeastern Turkey) where he served on the staff of commander Gaius Memmius.

The Original:

Carmen XXXI
Catullus

Paene īnsulārum, Sirmiō, Īnsulārumque
ocelle, quāscumque in liquentibus stāgnīs
marīque vastō fert uterque neptūnus,
quam tē libenter quamque laetus invīsō,
vix mī ipse crēdēns Thȳniam atque Bithȳnōs
līquisse campōs et vidēre tē in tūtō.
Ō quid solūtīs est beātius cūrīs,
cum mēns onus repōnit, ac peregrīnō
labōre fessī vēnimus larem ad nostrum,
dēsīderātōque acquiēscimus lectō?
Hoc est quod ūnum est prō labōribus tantīs.
Salvē, ō venusta Sirmiō, atque erō gaudē
gaudente; vōsque, ō Lȳdiae lacūs undae,
rīdēte quidquid est domī cachinnōrum.

Catullus: Poem 27 "To His Wine-Bearer" (From Latin)

Poem 27: To His Wine-Bearer
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Come boy, and serve me that rich vintage　　

　　The Old Campanian wine.

Pour me a strong drink. With more spirit　　

　　Better this bowl of mine.

Postumia the party-mistress　　
　　Full of more alcohol
Than these drunk grapes, demands as much.　　
　　It is her judgment call.
But you, weak water, great diluter,　　
　　Polluter of the vine,
Come nowhere near my grape-kissed lips　　
　　Nor touch this bowl of mine.
Be sobering with sober men,　　
　　And get out of my sight
For I will drink, and only drink 　　
　　Red Bacchus straight tonight.

The Original:

Minister vetulī puer Falernī,
inger mī calicēs amāriōrēs,
ut lēx Postumiae iubet magistrae
ēbriōsō acīnō ēbriōsiōris.
at vōs quō lubet hinc abīte, lymphae,
vīnī perniciēs, et ad sevērōs
migrāte. Hīc merus est Thyōniānus.

Catullus: Poem 34 "Prayer to Diana" (From Latin)

Poem 34: Prayer to Diana
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Latin

We are unmarried youths and maidens　　
In Diana's strength secure　　
And as befits us, youths and maidens　　
Let us now sing of Her.　　
We sing to You, Latona's daughter, 　　
Great child of greatest Jove
Whose mother gave You birth within　　
A Delian olive grove,
To be the mistress of the mountains　　
and greening woods, to rule
wild hidden hinterlands, the resonant　　
river, the calm deep pool. 
Women in labor crying out　　
call You light-bringer Juno.
But You are Crossroad Trivia too　　
And the light-borrowing Luna. 
In monthly measures you divide　　
The year's course, usher back
The bounty harvest of the farmer　　
Into his rural shack.
By any name you choose be pleased　　
With this our worship. Hold
The Roman Race safe in your strength　　
As once you did of old. 

The Original:

Dīānae sumus in fide　　
puellae et puerī integrī:　　
Dīānam puerī integrī　　
puellaeque canāmus.
ō Lātōnia, maximī       　　
magna prōgeniēs Iovis,　　
quam māter prope Dēliam　　
dēposīvit olīvam,
montium domina ut forēs　　
silvārumque virentium        　　
saltuumque reconditōrum　　
amniumque sonantum:
tū Lūcīna dolentibus　　
Iūnō dicta puerperīs,　　
tū potēns Trivia et nothō es        　　
dicta lūmine Lūna.
tū cursū, dea, mēnstruō　　
mētiēns iter annuum,　　
rūstica agricolae bonīs　　
tēcta frūgibus explēs.    
sīs quōcumque tibi placet　　
sāncta nōmine, Rōmulīque,　　
antīquē ut solita es, bona　　
sōspitēs ope gentem.

Catullus: Poem 2 "The Sparrow" (From Latin)

Poem 2: The Sparrow
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Sparrow, my dear beloved's darling pet
Which she would pet, and fondle in her lap
Or tease with one slight finger's poke, provoking
You to peck her back with mordant beak.
Many's the time when my beloved, beaming
Girl has a mind to turn to you for comfort,
Hoping, I think, to find escape from sorrow
Or something to relieve her of that ardor. 
If only I could play the way she plays 
With you, and have release from roiling passion.

The Original:

Passer, dēliciae meae puellae,
quīcum lūdere, quem in sinū tenēre,
cui prīmum digitum dare appetentī
et ācrīs solet incitāre morsūs,
cum dēsīderiō meō nitentī
cārum nesciō quid lubet iocārī
et sōlāciolum suī dolōris,
crēdō ut tum gravis acquiēscat ārdor:
tēcum lūdere sīcut ipsa possem
et trīstīs animī levāre cūrās!

Catullus: Poem 34 "Promises, Promises" (From Latin)

Poem 34: Promises, Promises
By Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Latin

My girl says there's no one she'd rather wed
　　　 Than me. "Not even Jupiter"
Says she. The things a woman says in bed
　　　 To please her lover are secure
As any contract scribbled out on air. 　
Or you could find a sea, and write it there. 　

The Original:

Nūllī sē dīcit mulier mea nūbere mālle　
　quam mihi, nōn sī sē Iuppiter ipse petat.　
Dīcit: sed mulier cupidō quod dīcit amantī,　
　in ventō et rapidā scrībere oportet aquā　

Catullus: Poem 85 (From Latin)

Poem 85
By Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

I hate and love. You probably want to know why I do.
I do not know. But I do feel. I'm being cut in two. 

The Original:

Ōdī et amō. Quāre id faciam, fortasse requīris.
nēsciō, sed fierī sentiō et excrucior.

Catullus: Poem 46 (From Latin)

Poem 46: Springrise
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

Now spring retrieves the warm heart of the year,
as equinoctial blusters of the heavens
are hushed at last in Zephyr's tender breezes.
Catullus, time to leave the plains of Troy
and the rich lands of sweltering Nicaea:
Off now, to the famed cities of the Agaean!
The mind is fluttering with wanderlust, 
These eager feet cannot stay still, and dance.
So now it is farewell to dear companions
who from a faraway home set out together,
whom several roads now separately return. 

The Original:

Carmen 46

Iam vēr ēgelidōs refert tepōrēs
iam caelī furor aequinoctiālis
iūcundīs Zephyrī silēscit aureīs.
Linquantur Phrygiī, Catulle, campī
Nīcaeaeque ager ūber aestuōsae:
ad clārās Asiae volēmus urbēs.
Iam mēns praetrepidāns avet vagārī,
iam laetī studiō pedēs vigēscunt.
Ō dulcēs comitum valēte coetūs,
longē quōs simul ā domō profectōs
dīversae variē viae reportant.

Catullus: Poem 7 "How Many Kisses" (From Latin)

How Many Kisses
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

My Lesbia, you want to know how many
kisses would be enough to satisfy?
As many as the many grains of sand
in silphium-rich Cyrene, which lie
between the shrine of Jupiter in heat
and the most sainted sepulchre of Battus. 
As many as the stars in still of night
watching the furtive lovemakings of men.
Only to get from you that many kisses
would satisfy your aching, mad Catullus,
a number far beyond the reckonings
of busybodies or the tongue most jealous.

The Original: 

Quaeris, quot mihi bāsiātiōnēs
tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.
Quam magnus numerus Libyssae arēnae
lāsarpīciferīs iacet Cyrēnīs
ōrāclum Iovis inter aestuōsī
et Battī veteris sacrum sepulchrum;
aut quam sīdera multa, cum tacet nox,
fūrtīvōs hominum vident amōrēs:
tam tē bāsia multa bāsiāre
vēsānō satis et super Catullō est,
quae nec pernumerāre cūriōsī
possint nec malā fascināre linguā.

Catullus: Poem 32 "Entreaty to a Call-girl" (From Latin)

Poem 32: Entreaty to a Call-Girl 
By Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

I beg you, be a sweetheart Ipsitilla,
my darling, my experienced beauty, call me
over to join your nap this afternoon,
and if you're willing, do me this huge favor:
Don't let some other client lock the door,
resist the urge to try and cruise the streets,
but stay at home and get yourself prepared
for nine successive screws - a fuckathon. 
If you'd have me at all, the time is now.
I'm on my back in bed, digesting lunch,
and my junk's jutting through my cloak and tunic. 

The Original:

Amābō, mea dulcis Ipsitilla,
meae dēliciae, meī lepōrēs,
iubē ad tē veniam merīdiātum.
Et sī iusseris, illud adiuvātō,
nē quis līminis obseret tabellam,
neu tibi lubeat forās abīre,
sed domī maneās parēsque nōbīs
novem continuās futūtiōnēs.
Vērum sī quid agēs, statim iubētō:
nam prānsus iaceō et satur supīnus
pertundō tunicamque palliumque.

Catullus: Poem 33 (From Latin)

Sometimes I like seeing just how much obscene Catullan wit can survive in modern English, when Roman notions of sexuality and gender (particularly when it comes to homosexual behavior) could not be more foreign to most readers- or at least those readers who have never been to prison. (That's not a joke. Really. What I've read about prison sexuality, though it is obviously not an exact parallel, seems to have more in common with Roman guy-on-guy dynamics than anything else.)

Poem 33: Hand to mouth
By Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Latin in reconstructed classical pronunciation

O greatest of all grabbers at the bathhouse,
Vibennius and his son, that little bitch!
Father whose hand is as rapacious
As his boy's asshole is voracious!
Why don't you two leave town, and head for hell
Now that the whole town knows of daddy's thefts,
And you, son, have no chance of any buyer
Paying one penny for those hairy buttcheeks.

The Original:

Ō fūrum optime balneāriōrum
Vībennī pater et cinaede fīlī
Nam dextra pater inquinātiōre
Cūlō fīlius est vorāciōre:
Cur nōn exilium malāsque in ōrās
Ītis, quandoquidem patris rapīnae
Nōtae sunt populō et natēs pilōsās
Fīlī, nōn potēs asse vēnditāre.

Catullus: A Brother's Tears (From Latin)

During a journey to Bithynia in what is now northwest Turkey, Catullus visited the grave of his brother. There, he made the traditional gift to the dead which consisted in his time of wine, milk, flowers and honey.

Brotherly Tears
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original Latin

I've trekked through many a nation, weathered many an ocean,
And come at last for this last rite of passing,
To offer you, dead brother, the last gifts of the living,
To speak in vain at your unspeaking ashes
Since bitter Chance has barred me, stole you to a shade,
Poor brother, cruelly taken from my life.
So now in sorrow, now in custom of our fathers
I bring these meager offerings of mine,
Small gifts damp with a brother's tears. Take them, and this
Now and forevermore: hello, goodbye.

The Original:

Carmen CI

Multās per gentēs et multa per aequora vectus
adveniō hās miserās, frāter, ad īnferiās,
ut tē postrēmō dōnārem mūnere mortis
et mūtam nēquīquam alloquerer cinerem.
Quandoquidem fōrtūna mihi tētē abstulit ipsum.
Heu miser indignē frāter adēmpte mihi,
nunc tamen interea haec, prīscō quae mōre parentum
trādita sunt trīstī mūnere ad īnferiās,
accipe frāternō multum mānantia flētū,
atque in perpetuum, frāter, avē atque valē.

Catullus: Poem 5 (From Latin)

Poem 5: Kiss Counting
By Gaius Valerius Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

It's time we live and let love, Lesbia,
Knowing the rumors of the scandalized
Gray-headed men worth less than any penny!
The sun gone down can rise again to day:
but when our short and final light is done
we will go down into a dawnless slumber.
So serve a thousand kisses up to me.
A hundred and a thousand and a hundred.
Don't you dare stop. Another thousand. Hundreds.
Then scramble them all with me into a hot mess
Beyond our power to sort, and so protect us
From evil eyes that jealous jerks would give us
If ever they got all our kisses straight.

The Original:

Vīvāmus mea Lesbia, atque amēmus,
rūmōrēsque senum sevēriōrum
omnēs ūnius aestimēmus assis!
sōlēs occidere et redīre possunt:
nōbīs cum semel occidit brevis lūx,
nox est perpetua ūna dormienda.
dā mī bāsia mīlle, deinde centum,
dein mīlle altera, dein secunda centum,
deinde ūsque altera mīlle, deinde centum.
dein, cum mīlia multa fēcerīmus,
conturbābimus illa, nē sciāmus
aut nē quis malus invidēre possit,
cum tantum sciat esse bāsiōrum

Catullus: Poem 105 (from Latin)

Poem 105: A Prick Named Dick
By Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the original in a reconstruction of what Classical Latin sounded like
Click to hear me recite this translation in English

There once was a prick named Dick¹
Who climbed Parnassus too quick,
But the Muse with a scoff
Just jerked him straight off
With a pitchfork. He broke like a stick.

Note: -¹- i.e. Mamurra, one of Catullus' long-standing rivals, also apparently a really bad poet.

The Original:

Mentula cōnātur Pipleium scandere montem.
Mūsae furcillīs praecipitem eiciunt.

Catullus: Poem 16 "Pedicabo Ego Vos" (From Latin)

Poem 16
By Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman
Click to hear me recite the Latin in a reconstruction of late classical pronunciation

I'll fuck you up the ass and down the throat,
Anal Aurelius and facial Furius,
For deeming me indecent and effete,
A pansy author writing small soft verses.
A goodly poet's life must needs be pious,
But it's unnecessary in his verses.
Lines lie unspiced, unwanton and unwitty
Until they get indecent, with small, soft
Ticklings enough to stoke the nether needs
Not in young boys, but aged and bushy-backed
Men with arthritis of the crotch. You read
The thousand kisses from one woman packed
In my tight lines, and call me girl? Take note:
I'll fuck you up the ass and down the throat.

The Original:

Pēdīcābō ego vōs et irrumābō
Aurēlī pathice et cinaede Fūrī.
quī mē ex versiculīs meīs putāstīs
quod sunt molliculī parum pudīcum.
nam castum esse decet pium poētam
ipsum, versiculōs nihil necesse est
quī tum dēnique habent salem ac lepōrem
Sī sint molliculī ac parum pudīcī
et quod prūriat incitāre possint
nōn dīcō puerīs sed hīs pilōsīs
quī dūrōs nequeunt movēre lumbōs
Vōs quod mīlia multa bāsiōrum
lēgistis male mē marem putātis.
Pēdīcābō ego vōs et irrumābō

Catullus: Poem 75 (From Latin)

Poem 75
By Catullus
Translated by A.Z. Foreman

My mind's been laid so low through no fault but yours,
Has lost so much of itself through duty to you
That I can't like you, not for the best you could be,
Nor cease to love you, not for the worst you could do.

The Original:

Hūc est mēns dēducta tuā mea Lesbia culpā
atque ita sē officiō perdidit ipsa suō
ut iam nec bene velle queat tibi sī optima fīās
nec dēsistere amāre omnia sī faciās