Читать книгу Ovid's Erotic Poems - Ovid - Страница 9

BOOK I

I.1

Prepared for war, I set the weapon of my pen
To paper, matching meter, arms, and men
In six feet equal to the task. Then Cupid snatched
A foot away, laughing at lines mis-matched.
I asked him who had made him Master of My Song:	5
“Wild little boy, we poets all belong
To the Muses. You don’t see Venus bear the shield
Minerva wears, or blonde Minerva wield
The lover’s torch. And who would want the woods to yield
To Ceres, or Diana rule the field?	10
Is long-haired Phoebus meant to march on pike parade
While Mars shows how the Aonian lyre’s played?
Your power, boy, runs every single thing in sight,
So why this all-devouring appetite
For more? Or must your writ run clear to Helicon	15
And up each string Apollo plays upon?
My first, fierce line: how well that virgin verse once served me—
Until the simpering second one unnerved me!
But I don’t have the matter for those lighter stresses—
No girl—or boy—with long and comely tresses.”	20
Then I was done, and Cupid fetched an arrow fletched
For me (since on its shaft my name was etched).
He bent that reflex bow of his against one knee,
Saying what burden he had meant for me:
“Receive this barb, my bard.” Well, Cupid is the best	25
Of archers, so that bolt burns in my breast,
While six feet rise and five pronounce my clear decline
In elegiacs. Farewell, epic line.
And bind your golden locks with myrtle from the sea,
Eleven-footed Muse of Elegy.	30

I.2

Because it’s stone, I ask who’s made my bed this way:
Sweet sleep slips off, and sweat-soaked sheets won’t stay.
All night I cannot sleep at all, but toss and turn
Until my bones ache and my muscles burn.
I think I’d know if racking Love tormented me—	5
Unless he hid his arts in secrecy.
That must be it. He’s let it fly, his sneaky dart,
And I’m so weak, he twists it in my heart.
Should I give in—and up? Or fight—and feed the fire?
Surrender, or he’ll pile the pyre higher!	10
(I’ve seen what happens when you flourish one small brand:
Flame leaps. But don’t? It dies out in your hand.)
They whip an ox that fights the yoke and will not pull,
But ploughing’s painless for a docile bull.
The fiercest stallion breaks his mouth on iron bits;	15
The broken filly feels a curb that fits.
So Love will crush that bridling enemy who braves
Him—crush him harder than surrendering slaves.
And Cupid, look: I’m one! Your newest prize says yes,
And puts his hands up. See how I profess	20
Your creed? Your word is law; there is no war. I plead
For peace, so where’s the glory in a deed
Like conquering an unarmed man? No, braid your hair
With myrtle, hitch your mother’s pigeon pair
To Vulcan’s chariot, and in that war car, steer	25
Those doves, as crowds cry out their love and cheer.
And youth that you lead on, those captive girls and boys,
Will make a mighty triumph of your toys.
Myself, your latest spoil, will wear a wound that’s fresh,
Bearing as mind-forged chains what binds the flesh.	30
Good Sense and Shame, their hands bound back by cuff and clamp,
Trudge on with everyone not in Love’s camp.
The crowd that cries your triumph “Io!” cries from fear,
Hands high. Their one great throat gives out that cheer.
Then Frenzy and Delusion follow in your train	35
Forever, and caresses made in vain.
These are your forces that defeat all human foes;
Sans them, you’re just a boy without his clothes.
Oh, how your mother high above will clap, and shower
Your head with roses in your finest hour!	40
You’ll shine like gold, with jeweled wings, gems in your hair.
Your golden self will dazzle all the air.
And we who know you well, know you will leave wound-free
Few souls you fire with your ardency.
Boy Archer, all your arrows are their own. Blind seer,	45
They scorch and singe whatever they come near,
As if you were great Bacchus on the Ganges’ shore,
Whose tigers had been tamed—like doves—for war.
So spare me as a victim in your triumph’s train,
And save your breath to blast some other swain.	50
Extend the kindness cousin Caesar’s smiles exude:
His arms reach out to each new land subdued.

I.3

Love, give me justice. Make my heart’s thief love me, or…
Make her the one I’ll live forever for.
No, that’s too much to ask. Just let her let me love,
And hear my prayers, O Venus up above.
Accept me for a man who’ll be your lifelong servant;	5
Take one who in your faith will be observant
Despite the fact my family name’s not old or fine,
And though it’s just a knight who “wrote” our line.
Perhaps our family can count its fields and ploughs,
And parsed-out pennies are all it allows	10
Me. Phoebus, though, and Bacchus, and the Muses, and
Amor, deliver me into your hand.
I’ll offer you the greatest trust, love free from stain,
And proper modesty—all clean and plain.
I am no ladies’ man who jumps from horse to horse,	15
Some circus rider, but will stay the course
Spun out by Clotho through the years—their whole, long thread—
And die with you beside me at my bed.
You only need to give yourself to be my theme
To see that what I write’s worth your esteem.	20
Recall those other famous women: she who turned
Bovine; and one a swan left not quite spurned;
That girl who went to sea with what just seemed a bull
(Her virgin hands held horns to push and pull)?
Oh, we’ll be sung that way throughout the world forever—	25
Two names that earth and time will never sever.

I.4

Your husband’s coming to our feast? That same repast
I’m praying will turn out to be his last?
So I must see my darling like some common guest;
Watch any banquet hanger-on caressed.
Shall someone else, some man, grow warmer in my place,	5
Arms round your neck in casual embrace?
No wonder that the wedding of Atrax’s daughter
Drew both those men and half-men to the slaughter!
But not for me some Centaur’s home; my members mean
To have you like a man’s. That’s plainly seen.	10
So memorize what you must do (don’t give the South
Wind or the East these words fresh from my mouth):
Arrive before him. As to why, I cannot say:
What could we do? Come early anyway.
Then when he lies down on the couch, go modestly,	15
But brush against my foot in secrecy.
And watch my subtle looks, my eyes, communicate;
Catch all my hints … and then reciprocate.
Arch words that make no sound will speak from silent brows.
Observe my hands; in wine, they’ll trace my vows.	20
When you are thinking of our hungry, errant hands,
Finger your cheeks as if with blushing brands.
Or if you’re harboring against me some complaint,
Tug gently on your earlobe as a feint.
My darling, when I speak and you approve the sound,	25
Then smile … and twirl one of your rings around.
Hands down like those in prayer, palm the banquet table …
To wish him all the curses you are able.
The wine he stirs for you, let your husband drink—take heed!
Then whisper your choice to the ganymede.	30
The cup that’s been refilled, I’ll take and drink from first,
Sipping from where your lips have quenched their thirst.
If he should offer you some dainty that he’s tasted,
Refuse your husband’s food; let it be wasted.
Don’t let him throw his arms around your slender shoulder	35
Or draw you to that chest hard as a boulder.
Make sure his nimble fingers never find your breast.
Don’t let him kiss you—this above the rest!
Just let his lips touch yours and I’ll stand up and swear
They’re mine, revealing my love then and there.	40
But these are open torts; the robe you wear, my dear,
Hides things that fill me with a cold, blind fear.
Don’t let your thigh touch his; don’t let his brush your leg.
Your soft foot touch his rough one? No, I beg!
I fear so much because I’ve boldly done it, too.	45
See how my own acts act like rack and screw,
So often have we two too fast made sweetest haste,
Beneath unfastened robes, to touch and taste.
Do as I say, not as we do: lest someone think
So, let your tell-tale cloak slip off and slink.	50
Keep urging him to drink, not kiss. There, draw the line.
And while he drinks, in secret add more wine.
Then when he’s been put down in just this vinous sleep,
Pure chance will show the counsel we’re to keep.
When you get up to go and everybody rises,	55
Get thronged about—and wait for my surprises.
(You’ll find me in that crowd, or else be found by me:
Touch any part of me you cannot see.)
But what’s the use? All this is only good for hours,
Then night will ban me from you with its powers.	60
At night your husband locks you in, and I, half gone
In grief, will stand outside your door till dawn.
Cold iron door! That man will kiss—and rub and paw!
With you, what’s love with me, with him is law.
But give against your will—you can—as if coerced.	65
Show him a deaf, dumb Venus at her worst.
Give him no pleasure, if my words have any weight;
If not, please don’t be pleased at any rate.
But come what may, tomorrow, say in constancy
You gave him nothing you have given me.	70

I.5

One summer afternoon, the sultry day half gone,
I sought my bed to spread my limbs upon,
With half my window opened wide and half shut tight,
Admitting just the softest woodland light—
The faintest gloaming as lord Phoebus starts to go,	5
Or night gives way before the dawn’s faint glow.
(They were the rays in which shy virgins try to hide,
In hopes timidity won’t yield to pride.)
Then came Corinna in her tunic cinched and sheer;
Her fair neck felt her parted hair fall clear.	10
They say Semiramis went to her bed like this,
And Lais, who for countless men meant bliss.
I snatched that tunic from her, and it caused no harm,
But still she fought me for it in alarm.
She fought like one who fought a battle not to win,	15
But struggled weakly, only to give in.
And as she stood, a sweet disorder in her dress,
Her body showed no fault; my eyes said yes.
Such arms I saw and touched—soft, lean and strong, yet fine!
Her round breasts fit two hands—and they were mine!	20
How smooth the rest of her, her legs so soft and lean,
Her waist and thigh as fair as I have seen.
But why describe each charm when every charm I saw
Was lovely, nude? We hugged; I filled with awe.
Who doesn’t know what’s next? Fatigued, we stopped to rest	25
So I might pray, “Make all mid-days so blessed”

I.6

You there! Yes, you—my darling’s doorman-porter-Janus:
Swing back those hinges crying out “Unchain us!”
I don’t ask much—just leave the door ajar a crack
So I can slip in sideways—and get back.
There’s been so much hard love of late that now, I’m thin	5
Enough and light enough to wriggle in.
And that’s what’s taught me how to tip-toe past the guard:
Love’s suffering. Love makes footsteps soft, not hard.
There was a time when every phantom caused me fright;
I was amazed that men went out at night.	10
Then Cupid, with his tender mother, laughed at me.
He whispered, “You’ll get brave; just wait and see.”
And presto! Love walked in. Now, flighty nighttime spirit,
Or knife that threatens doom, I just don’t fear it.
Instead, it’s you I fear, and you’re the one I flatter,	15
Who threatens thunderous ruin and can batter
My heart. Throw back the bolt so you can see me better.
My tears have drenched the door; it can’t be wetter.
You know I carried pleas to her! (You stood there stripped
And trembling, slave, and ready to be whipped.)	20
Now that same grace I won for you, that once prevailed—
Ingratitude!—for me has only failed.
Grant me this favor and you’ll get your wish—and more;
The midnight hours fly; unbar the door.
Cast off the bar and you will lose your chains, I say,	25
Never to be a slave for one more day!
But you won’t hear my bootless prayers, you porter cast
In iron, while the oaken door stands fast.
Remember: towns besieged are towns that bar the door;
So porter, why fear me? We’re not at war.	30
If that’s my lot, think how real foes would suffer more!
The midnight hours fly; unbar the door.
I’ve come with no platoon of pikes and swords to fear.
In fact, I’d be alone if Love weren’t here,
And savage Love’s a god I can’t shake off; I’d stand	35
A better chance of cutting off my hand.
So Love, you see, attends me—and a modest wine
That roils this head crowned with a scent-soaked vine.
Who’d fear such arms? They’re only trifles—nothing more;
The midnight hours fly; unbar the door.	40
Stubborn? Or is it sleep—sleep curse your heart!—that steers
My love-words windward from your mulish ears?
Oh, I remember when I first eluded you;
You watched the stars till twelve, alert and true.
Perhaps some sweetheart sleeps beside you now? If so,	45
Your lot’s a better one than mine, you know.
I’d even welcome shackles and complain no more.
The midnight hours fly; unbar the door.
Am I deceived, or did the door post shake and groan
As hinges turned and made an awful moan?	50
I am deceived! The wind just knocked the door ajar,
Then took my hopes and scattered them afar.
But Boreas, young Orithyia once was yours;
Just think of her—and blast these stone-deaf doors.
The still town’s dew collects; soon night will be no more.	55
The midnight hours fly; unbar the door.
Now if you don’t, with torch and crowbar, I will smash
Your haughty house and turn it into ash.
Night, Love, and Wine all counsel lack of self-restraint:
Night knows no shame and Love and Wine no taint	60
Of fear. But every prayer and threat I’ve tried has failed
To move a man so thick and tightly nailed.
And oh, my darling’s guard: to think that you prevailed,
Who’s better fit to watch and ward the jailed!
Already frosty Lucifer begins to roll;	65
The cock cries “Wake and work!” to every soul.
But you, you wretched garland snatched from off my head,
Lie all night long on stone blocks that are dead.
You’ll be the witness in the morning so she’ll know
I spent this faithful, awful night in woe.	70
And you, you slave: good-bye, and here’s your Parthian prize:
You held, indifferent to this lover’s cries.
Farewell to rigid threshold, post, and beam as well;
You are this servant’s slaves, and never fell.

I.7