Intumuit

avoid-teenage-pregnancy

Huc usque, me miseram!
rem bene celaveram
et amavi callide.
res mea tandem patuit,
nam venter intumuit,
partus instat gravide.
hinc mater me verberat,
hinc pater improperat,
ambo tractant aspere.
sola domi sedeo,
egredi non audeo
nec inpalam ludere.
cum foris egredior,
a cunctis inspicior,
quasi monstrum fuerim.
cum vident hunc uterum,
alter pulsat alterum,
silent, dum transierim.
semper pulsant cubito,
me designant digito,
ac si mirum fecerim.
nutibus me indicant,
dignam rogo iudicant,
quod semel peccaverim.
quid percurram singula?
ego sum in fabulo
et in ore omnium.
ex eo vim patior,
iam dolore morior,
semper sum in lacrimis.
hoc dolorem cumulat,
quod amicus exulat
propter illud paululum.
ob patris sevitiam
recessit in Franciam
a finibus ultimis.
sum in tristitia
de eius absentia
in doloris cumulum.

(Carmina Burana 126)

Until now, poor wretched me,
I’d concealed things well,
and loved cunningly.
Finally, my secret’s out,
for my belly’s swollen up,
showing I’m pregnant and soon due.
On one side my mother beats me,
on the other my father yells at me,
both of them are hard on me.
All alone I sit at home;
I daren’t go out
and amuse myself in public.
If I go outdoors,
everybody looks at me
as if I were a monster.
When they see my belly,
one pokes the other,
and they’re silent till I’ve gone past.
People always nudge each other,
point at me with a finger
as if I’d performed a marvel;
Criticize me with nodding heads,
think I should be burnt on the pyre,
just because I’ve sinned once.
Why should I tell each little thing?
I’m the subject of a story;
I’m in everybody’s mouth.
Because of him I suffer this abuse.
I’m so miserable I’m dying.
I’m always in tears.
And this adds to my troubles,
that my lover’s gone off
because of that trifle.
On account of his father’s rage,
he’s taken off to France
right out of the country.
I’m lonesome
because of his absence.
What a pile of trouble I’ve had!
(tr. Anne L. Klinck)

Anasuramenēn

thigh

Δοκεῖ δὲ ἡ τοῦ Νηλέως θυγάτηρ ἀσελγὴς γενέσθαι καὶ ὑπό τινος τῶν βαρβάρων φθαρῆναι. τῷ δὲ Νηλεῖ τοῦ θεοῦ εἰπόντος τὴν θυγατέρα δείξειν, ὅπου δεῖ κτίζειν, ἀποβάντων αὐτῶν εἰς Μίλητον ἀνασυραμένην τοὺς μηροὺς εἰπεῖν· “τίς θέλει μοι συνουσιάσαι;” συνεὶς δὲ ὁ πατὴρ αὐτῆς τὸ λόγιον ἐκεῖ κατῴκησε.
(Scholia in Lycophronem, Alex. 1385)

The daughter of Neleus seems to have become licentious, and to have been corrupted by someone of the barbarians. When a god said that the daughter would point out to Neleus where it was necessary to found [a settlement], they went away to Miletus, and she, revealing her thighs, said: “Who wants to have sexual intercourse with me?” The father, having understood her declaration, founded the colony there. (tr. Ann Suter)

Thesmophoria

Francis Davis Millet, Thesmophoria, 1894-97
Francis Davis Millet, Thesmophoria (1894-97)

Θεσμοφορία ἑορτὴ Ἑλλήνων μυστήρια περιέχουσα, τὰ δὲ αὐτὰ καὶ Σκιρροφορία καλεῖται‎. ἤγετο δὲ κατὰ τὸν μυθωδέστερον λόγον, ὅτι‎, ὅτε‎ ἀνθολογοῦσα ἡρπάζετο ἡ Κόρη ὑπὸ τοῦ Πλούτωνος, τότε κατ‎’ ἐκεῖνον τὸν τόπον Εὐβουλεύς τις συβώτης ἔνεμεν ὗς καὶ συγκατεπόθησαν τῷ χάσματι τῆς Κόρης‎· εἰς οὖν τιμὴν τοῦ Εὐβουλέως ῥιπτεῖσθαι τοὺς χοίρους εἰς τὰ χάσματα τῆς Δήμητρος καὶ τῆς Κόρης‎. τὰ δὲ σαπέντα τῶν ἐμβληθέντων εἰς τὰ μέγαρα κάτω ἀναφέρουσιν ἀντλήτριαι καλούμεναι γυναῖκες καθαρεύσασαι τριῶν ἡμερῶν καὶ καταβαίνουσιν εἰς τὰ ἄδυτα καὶ ἀνενέγκασαι ἐπιτιθέασιν ἐπὶ τῶν βωμῶν‎· ὧν νομίζουσι τὸν λαμβάνοντα καὶ τῷ σπόρῳ συγκαταβάλλοντα εὐφορίαν ἕξειν‎. λέγουσι δὲ καὶ δράκοντας κάτω εἶναι περὶ τὰ χάσματα, οὓς τὰ πολλὰ τῶν βληθέντων κατεσθίειν‎· διὸ καὶ κρότον γίνεσθαι, ὁπόταν ἀντλῶσιν αἱ γυναῖκες καὶ ὅταν ἀποτιθῶνται πάλιν τὰ πλάσματα ἐκεῖνα, ἵνα ἀναχωρήσωσιν οἱ δράκοντες, οὓς νομίζουσι φρουροὺς τῶν ἀδύτων‎. τὰ δὲ αὐτὰ καὶ Ἀρρητοφόρια καλεῖται καὶ ἄγεται τὸν αὐτὸν λόγον ἔχοντα περὶ τῆς τῶν καρπῶν γενέσεως καὶ τῆς τῶν ἀνθρώπων σπορᾶς‎. ἀναφέρονται δὲ κἀνταῦθα ἄρρητα ἱερὰ ἐκ‎ στέατος τοῦ σίτου κατεσκευασμένα, μιμήματα δρακόντων καὶ ἀνδρείων σχημάτων‎. λαμβάνουσι δὲ κώνου θαλλοὺς διὰ τὸ πολύγονον τοῦ φυτοῦ‎. ἐμβάλλονται δὲ καὶ εἰς τὰ μέγαρα οὕτω καλούμενα ἄδυτα ἐκεῖνά τε καὶ χοῖροι, ὡς ἤδη ἔφαμεν, καὶ αὐτοὶ διὰ τὸ πολύτοκον εἰς σύνθημα τῆς γενέσεως τῶν καρπῶν καὶ τῶν ἀνθρώπων οἷον χαριστήρια τῇ Δήμητρι, ἐπειδὴ τοὺς Δημητρίους καρποὺς παρέχουσα ἐποίησεν ἥμερον τὸ τῶν ἀνθρώπων γένος‎. ὁ μὲν οὖν ἄνω τῆς ἑορτῆς λόγος ὁ μυθικός, ὁ δὲ προκείμενος φυσικός‎. Θεσμοφορία δὲ καλεῖται, καθότι θεσμοφόρος ἡ Δημήτηρ κατονομάζεται τιθεῖσα νόμους ἤτοι θεσμούς, καθ’ʼ οὓς τὴν τροφὴν πορίζεσθαί τε καὶ κατεργάζεσθαι ἀνθρώπους δέον‎.
(R-Scholia to Lucian, Hetairikoi Dialogoi 2.1)

The Thesmophoria is a festival of the Greeks that includes mysteries and is also called the Skirrophoria. It was celebrated according to the more mythical account because, when Kore was snatched by Plouton as she was gathering flowers, a certain swineherd named Eubouleus was tending pigs in the same place and they were swallowed up by Kore’s chasm. Therefore in honour of Eubouleus piglets are thrown into the chasms belonging to Demeter and Kore. And the rotting [remains] of them, after they have been thrown down into the megara (lit. ‘great halls’), are brought up by women called ‘drawers’, who have stayed pure for three days and who go down into the aduta (‘innermost sanctuaries’) and, after they have brought them up, set them on the altars. They believe that whoever takes some of these and mixes them in with his seed-corn will get an abundant crop. They also say that there are snakes down in the chasms, which eat much of what is thrown down. And on that account they clap their hands, whenever the women draw [up the rotted piglets] and whenever they put the moulded objects back again, in order that the snakes, which they consider guards of the aduta, might move away. These same things are also called Arrhetophoria and are celebrated in the same fashion for the birth of the seed and the engendering of human beings. And also brought up there [or ‘on this occasion’] are holy objects which cannot be named, which are prepared from dough made of grain and resemble snakes and male forms. And they get pine-branches because the plant is so productive [of fruit]. Those things and the piglets (these too because of their fertility) are thrown into the socalled megara, the aduta, as we said already, to symbolize the generation of crops and of men, as thank-offerings, as it were, to Demeter, since by supplying her crops she civilized the human race. The account of the festival given above is the mythical one, but the one just mentioned is the natural explanation. It is called the Thesmophoria because Demeter bears the name Thesmophoros, since she establishes laws and rites (thesmoi), in accord with which men must work and get their nourishment. (tr. Colin Austin & Stuart Douglas Olson)

Defensor

Arnold Böcklin, Der Krieg, 1896
Arnold Boecklin, Der Krieg, 1896

Tristes nunc populi, Christe redemptor,
pacem suppliciter cerne rogantes,
threnos et gemitus, cerne dolorem,
maestis auxilium desuper affer.

dire namque fremens, en, furor atrox
gentis finitimae arva minatur
saeve barbarico murmure nostra
vastari, perminens ut lupus agnum.

defensor quis erit, ni prius ipse
succurras miserans, auctor Olympi?
humano generi crimina parcas,
affectos venia dones amare.

Abram praesidio perculit olim
reges quinque tuo, conditor aevi,
haud multis pueris nempe parentem
prostratis reducens hostibus atris.

Moyses gelidi aequora ponti
confidens populum torrida carpens
deduxit, refluens undaque hostem
extemplo rapiens occulit omnem.

trecentisque viris Amalecitas
deiecit Gedeon iussus adire,
oppressum populum vindice ferro
liberavit ope fretus opima.

haec tu, cunctipotens, omnia solus,
in cuius manibus sunt universa,
in te nostra salus, gloria in te,
occidis iterum vivificasque.

maior quippe tua gratia, Iesu,
quam sit flagitii copia nostri,
contritos nec enim maestaque corda,
clemens, vel humiles spernere nosti.

salva ergo tua morte redemptos,
salva suppliciter pacta petentes,
disrumpe frameas, spicula frange,
confringe clipeos bella volentum.

iam caelum gemitus scandat amarus,
iam nubes penetret vox lacrimarum
vatum, contritio plebis anhela;
salvator placidus, iam miserere.

(Anonymous, Tempore belli hymnus in supplicatione)

Christ Redeemer, Your people are sorrowful,
see how they in supplication beg for peace,
hear their groans and lamentations, mark their anguish,
bring succour to the afflicted from on high.

For, lo, raging fearfully the cruel fury
of the neighboring people threatens to destroy
our fields, savagely, with barbarian roar,
like the wolf that slays the lamb.

Who will be our protector, Lord of Olympus,
if You don’t come to our aid first in Your pity?
Forgive the human race its transgressions,
grant Your love to those You touch with Your grace.

With Your assistance Abraham once smote
five kings, o creator of the universe,
overthrowing the malicious foe and
returning to but few children their father.

Moses, relying on You, led his people
through the dried up waters of the frigid sea,
and the waves, flowing back, forthwith
dragged off and covered every enemy.

Gideon too, ordered to attack the Amalekites
with three hundred men, defeated them
with his vengeful sword and freed his oppressed people,
relying on Your ample support.

All this You did alone, omnipotent one,
You who hold the universe in Your hands.
In You lies our salvation, in You our glory,
whether you kill us or bring us back to life.

For Your grace, Jesus, is greater
than the multitude of our sins:
merciful one, You know not how to scorn
the remorseful, the despairing or the humble.

So save those whom by Your death You have redeemed,
save those who beg You to keep Your promises,
shatter the spears, crush the arrowheads,
and break the shields of those who lust for war.

Let our bitter plaint ascend to heaven,
let the tearful voice of the prophets and
the breathless repentance of your people penetrate
the clouds; peaceful saviour, have pity on us!

(tr. David Bauwens)

Choreusō

Old-Man-Dances-Crutches

Ἐγὼ γέρων μέν εἰμι,
νέων πλέον δὲ πίνω·
κἂν δεήσῃ με χορεύειν,
Σειληνὸν ἐν μέσοισι
μιμούμενος χορεύσω
σκῆπτρον ἔχων τὸν ἀσκόν·
ὁ νάρθηξ δ’ οὐδέν ἐστιν.
ὁ μὲν θέλων μάχεσθαι
παρέστω καὶ μαχέσθω.
ἐμοὶ κύπελλον, ὦ παῖ,
μελίχρουν οἶνον ἡδὺν
ἐγκεράσας φόρησον.
ἐγὼ γέρων μέν εἰμι,
<νέων πλέον δὲ πίνω>
(Anacreontea 47)

I am an old man, but I drink more than the youngsters; and if I have to dance, I shall imitate Silenus and dance in the middle of the ring, with my wine-flask as my support since my fennel-stick is useless. If anyone wants a fight, let him come over here and fight. Mix the sweet honied wine and bring me the cup, boy. I am an old man, but I drink more than the youngsters. (tr. David A. Campbell)

Gunaikerastria

boda-de-lesbianas-BenjaminMadeira-com

[Σαπφὼ τὸ μὲν γένος] ἦν Λεσβία, πόλεως δὲ Μιτ]υλήνης, [πατρὸς δὲ Σκαμ]άνδρου, κα[τὰ δέ τινας Σκα]μανδρωνύ[μου· ἀδελφοὺς δ’]ἔσχε τρεῖς, [Ἐρ]ίγυιον καὶ Λά]ριχον, πρεσβύ[τατον δὲ Χάρ]αξον, ὃς πλεύσας ε[ἰς Αἴγυπτον] Δωρίχαι τινι προσε[νεχθε]ὶς κατεδαπάνησεν εἰς ταύτην πλεῖτα. τὸν δὲ Λάριχον <νέον> ὄντα μᾶλλον ἠγάπησεν. θυγατέρα δ’ἔσχε Κλεΐν ὁμώνυμον τῇ ἑαυτῆς μητρί. κ[α]τηγόρηται δ’ ὑπ’ ἐν[ί]ω[ν] ὡς ἄτακτος οὖ[σα] τὸν τρόπον καὶ γυναικε[ράσ]τρια. τὴν δὲ μορφὴν [εὐ]καταφρόνητος δοκεῖ γε[γον]ένα[ι κα]ὶ δυσειδεστάτη[[ν]], [τ]ὴν μὲν γὰρ ὄψιν φαιώδης [ὑ]πῆρχεν, τὸ δὲ μέγεθος μικρὰ παντελῶς. τὸ δ ́αὐτὸ [συ]μβέβηκε καὶ περὶ τὸν […..]ν ἐλάττω [..] γεγον<ότ>α [ ……………]..ην
(P. Oxy. 1800 fr. 1)

Sappho was a Lesbian by birth, of the city of Mytilene. Her father was Scamander or, according to some, Scamandronymus, and she had three brothers, Erigyius, Larichus and Charaxus, the eldest, who sailed to Egypt and associated with one Doricha, spending large sums on her; Sappho was more fond of the young Larichus. She had a daughter Cleis, named after her own mother. She has been accused by some of being irregular in her ways and a woman-lover. In appearance she seems to have been contemptible and quite ugly, being dark in complexion and of very small stature. The same is true of (Alcaeus ?) who was smallish . . . (tr. David A. Campbell)

Rusticus

Jacques-Louis David, L'amour d'Hélène et Paris, 1788
Jacques-Louis David, L’amour d’Hélène et Paris (1788)

Rusticus indocte si quid dixisse videbor,
da veniam: libros non lego, poma lego.
sed rudis hic dominum totiens audire legentem
cogor Homeriacas edidicique notas.
ille vocat, quod nos psolen, ψολόεντα κεραυνόν
et quod nos culum, κουλεόν ille vocat.
μερδαλέον certe quasi res non munda vocatur
et pediconum mentula merdalea est.
quid? nisi Taenario placuisset Troica cunno
mentula, quod caneret non habuisset opus.
mentula Tantalidae bene si non mota fuisset,
nil senior Chryses quod quereretur erat.
haec eadem socium tenera spoliavit amica,
quaeque erat Aeacidae maluit esse suam.
ille Pelethroniam cecinit miserabile carmen
ad citharam, cithara tensior ipse sua.
nobilis hinc mota nempe incipit Ilias ira:
principium sacri carminis illa fuit.
altera materia est error fallentis Ulixei:
si verum quaeras, hunc quoque movit amor.
hic legitur radix de qua flos aureus exit:
quem cum μῶλυ vocat, mentula μῶλυ fuit.
hic legimus Circen Atlantiademque Calypson
grandia Dulichii vasa petisse viri.
huius et Alcinoi mirata est filia membrum
frondenti ramo vix potuisse tegi.
ad vetulam tamen ille suam properabat, et omnis
mens erat in cunno, Penelopea, tuo:
quae sic casta manes, ut iam convivia visas
utque fututorum sit tua plena domus.
e quibus ut scires quicumque valentior esset,
haec es ad arrectos verba locuta procos:
“nemo meo melius nervum tendebat Ulixe,
sive illi laterum, sive erat artis opus.
qui, quoniam periit, vos nunc intendite, qualem
esse virum sciero, vir sit ut ille meus.”
hac ego, Penelope, potui tibi lege placere,
illo sed nondum tempore natus eram!
(Priapea 68)

No scholar I, but country-bred, so pardon me
If I be crude: trees is my trade, not books, you see.
Yet I know this bloke Homer, for my master proud
Spends all his time out here a-reading him out loud.
I hear, for instance, what we rustics call a prick
Is ‘psolenta kheraunos’ in that chap’s Greek,
And arse is ‘khouleos’, and ‘merdaleos’—’foul’
It means—what you’d expect of prick that’s been in bowel.
If Trojan cock had not brought Grecian cunt such fun,
This Homer fellow’s book could not have been begun.
If bloody Agamemnon’s prick had been less stout,
He’d given old Chryses damn nowt to moan about;
Nor would he then have snatched the maiden from his friend,
And she’d have been Achilles’ own until the end:
Who now upon his Pelethronian lyre must sing
A woeful tune, himself stretched tenser than its string.
And so began the hero’s noble rage, the same
That’s the chief matter of the Iliad’s tale of fame.
The other book’s about Ulysses and his treks,
And, truth to tell, here too the cause of all was sex.
You read about a beauteous blossom, ‘molyhock’,
But when they speak of ‘moly’ they’re really meaning ‘cock.’
What else we read? How Circe—and Calypso too—
Dulichian Ulysses for his fine tool they woo.
Alcinous’ daughter wondered at it next; its size
Was such that leafy bough could not its bulk disguise.
Yet, all the same, to his old woman back he goes:
His mind is in your cunt, Penelope, who chose
To remain true, yet you’d invited many a guest,
So with a crowd of would-be fuckers you were blessed;
The idea being, I dare say, to find out who
Was best at doing it of all that eager crew.
“To firmer member”, says she, “no one could lay claim
Than Ulysses, in strength and skill a master at the game.
I need to know, now he has gone and left no trace,
Which one of you is man enough to take his place.”
I should have been the one, Penelope to fuck
In your mate’s stead. But I was not yet made, worse luck.
(tr. William Henry Parker)