IN GIRUM IMUS NOCTE ET CONSUMIMUR IGNI

Death and The Maiden: an Acrostic

Bethany W Pope (1995)

The poet’s acrostic project involves “four deconstructed acrostic sestinas, twenty-four double-acrostic sonnets, and an acrostic specular. The story is orphic.” This is the acrostic specular at the centre of her project.
Death and The Maiden: an Acrostic
In the house of Death pain and pleasure are one. Never mind the face he wears; those bare sockets, that sharp grin. Grasp him, hard. Push against those jutting hip bones. In this tangle of sheets (scented with sex and rot) Reason dissolves like bone in acid, revealing something else Under the mask. There is something beautiful, Madness, perhaps, or possibly truth. In the joyful agony of this moment a revelation blooms. Muscles crowd in to cover the bone. Naked, Under a sheen of silk and lily-dew, Skeletal hands clutch fat, round paps. Nearing the threshold of something unspeakable, Open your eyes; behold your lover. Tension Contorts the fibers of your heart. Trembling limbs threaded together; a blissful arrhythmia. Even Death can learn the pleasure of a shudder. Even Death can learn the pleasure of a shudder. Trembling limbs threaded together; a blissful arrhythmia Contorts the fibers of your heart. Open your eyes. Behold your lover; tension. Nearing the threshold of something unspeakable, Skeletal hands clutch fat, round paps. Under a sheen of silk and lily-dew, Muscles crowd in to cover the bone. Naked In the joyful agony of this moment, a revelation blooms. Madness, perhaps, or possibly truth. Under the mask there is something beautiful. Reason dissolves like bone in acid, revealing something else. In this tangle of sheets (scented with sex and rot) Grasp him, hard. Push against those jutting hip bones; Never mind the face he wears. Those bare sockets; that sharp grin. In the house of Death pain and pleasure are one.
IN GIRUM IMUS NOCTE ET CONSUMIMUR IGNI
In Mortis aede mel dolor, fel gaudium. Ne terreant te rictus, orbes, os grave: Grande prehendas, pelvis ossa comprimas. Instat libido putris in linis odor. Recincta mens ut ossa aceto: ostenditur, Ut excidit persona, pulchritudinis Merum, et furoris, veritatis omina. In his doloris gaudiis mens certior: Miscentur ossi muscula et nuda omnia: Udis sub ortus palliis cum lilio Surgunt papillae quas premunt durae manus. Nefanda sunt propinqua: vade ad limina! Orbes recludens ipsum amatorem vide! Cordis toros contorquet incitatio. Tremunt beati ardoris artus artubus. Et Mors voluptatem tremoris excipit. Et Mors voluptatem tremoris excipit. Tremunt beati ardoris artus artubus. Cordis toros contorquet incitatio. Orbes recludens ipsum amatorem vide! Nefanda sunt propinqua: vade ad limina! Surgunt papillae quas premunt durae manus. Udis sub ortus palliis cum lilio Miscentur ossi muscula et nuda omnia: In his doloris gaudiis mens certior: Merum, et furoris, veritatis omina, Ut excidit persona, pulchritudinis. Recincta mens ut ossa aceto ostenditur. Instat libido putris in linis odor. Grande prehendas, pelvis ossa comprimas. Ne terreant te rictus, orbes, os grave: In Mortis aede mel dolor, fel gaudium.
Death And The Maiden

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Doggerel by a Senior Citizen

Categories
Latin

From: Doggerel by a Senior Citizen

W.H. Auden (1907-73)

Dare any call Permissiveness An educational success? Saner those class-rooms which I sat in, Compelled to study Greek and Latin.
Doggerel by a Senior Citizen
Latin by Timothy Adès: profuit, heu! puero discenda licentia nulli: sanius, heu! linguae, Graece, Latine, tuae.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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A Subaltern’s Love Song

A Subaltern’s Love Song

Sir John Betjeman (1906-84)

A Subaltern’s Love Song
Miss J Hunter Dunn, Miss J Hunter Dunn, Furnish'd and burnish'd by Aldershot sun, What strenuous singles we played after tea, We in the tournament - you against me! Love-thirty, love-forty, oh! weakness of joy, The speed of a swallow, the grace of a boy, With carefullest carelessness, gaily you won, I am weak from your loveliness, Joan Hunter Dunn. Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, How mad I am, sad I am, glad that you won. The warm-handled racket is back in its press, But my shock-headed victor, she loves me no less. Her father's euonymus shines as we walk, And swing past the summer-house, buried in talk, And cool the verandah that welcomes us in To the six-o'clock news and a lime-juice and gin. The scent of the conifers, sound of the bath, The view from my bedroom of moss-dappled path, As I struggle with double-end evening tie, For we dance at the Golf Club, my victor and I. On the floor of her bedroom lie blazer and shorts And the cream-coloured walls are be-trophied with     sports, And westering, questioning settles the sun On your low-leaded window, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn. The Hillman is waiting, the light's in the hall, The pictures of Egypt are bright on the wall, My sweet, I am standing beside the oak stair And there on the landing's the light on your hair. By roads 'not adopted', by woodlanded ways, She drove to the club in the late summer haze, Into nine-o'clock Camberley, heavy with bells And mushroomy, pine-woody, evergreen smells. Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, Miss Joan Hunter Dunn, I can hear from the car-park the dance has begun. Oh! full Surrey twilight! importunate band! Oh! strongly adorable tennis-girl's hand! Around us are Rovers and Austins afar, Above us, the intimate roof of the car, And here on my right is the girl of my choice, With the tilt of her nose and the chime of her voice, And the scent of her wrap, and the words never said, And the ominous, ominous dancing ahead. We sat in the car park till twenty to one And now I'm engaged to Miss Joan Hunter Dunn.
A Subaltern’s Love Song
Filia Venanti, castris te finxit Apollo,     tinxit et aere artus, pinxit et arte genas. strinximus undecima clavas (pila pellitur!) hora,     altera tu vehemens, strenuus alter ego! tu superas pueros motu, cita qualis hirundo:     laetor, inops puncti; ter, quater ipsa notas. risisti, pariter secura ac sedula victrix:     conficior forma, pulchra Atalanta, tua. filia Venanti, Venanti filia nostri,     palma tua est: uror, laetor, amore feror! conditur in prelum capulo modo clava tepente,     sed mea me victrix (stat coma!) semper amat. tendimus ad patrem. Venanti euonymus albet;     fundimus incepta, qua casa, verba via; porticus excepit zephyris; nova nuntiat aether;     iuniperus tilia tingitur, apta bibi. sub thalamo lucet maculoso semita musco;     calda aqua mi resonat; conifer hortus olet. papilione agitor duplici: fas cingere collum!     haud aequi petimus, qua pila parva, choros. at tua braca chlamysque iacent, thalamique renidet     pariete lacteola plurima palma pilae. sol tetigitque trabem tingitque, Atalanta, fenestram:     occidit, exquirens quid tibi fata parent. Niliacae splendent species in pariete pictae:     aula micat taedis: nos rota parva manet. quernus ubi gradus est, ibi sum; laqueata supersunt,     crine refulgenti qua, mea vita, nites. autumno petimus - lora ipsa dat - aere turbam,     quo nemore, aedilis, non tua cura via est! venimus in vicum sero multum aere sonantem;     boleti et viridi germine pinus olent. filia Venanti, Venanti filia nostri,     sistimus: ingeminat coeptus in aure chorus. tibia nil cessans! perfecta crepuscula campi!     laetor, Amazoniam me tetigisse manum. undique circumstant bigae, procul undique currus;     clam nos sub grato culmine noster habet: naribus incurvis capior vocisque canore:     unica mi laevo dextra puella sedet. ecquid haruspicii vetat adfectare choreos?     fragrat odor pallae: conscia lingua tacet! quattuor in curru sub nocte remansimus horas,     tempore et ex illo sponsa Atalanta mihist.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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I Don’t Know Which Direction the Wind is Blowing

Categories
Latin

I Don’t Know Which Direction the Wind is Blowing

Xu Zhimo (1897-1931)

Latin Version by Timothy Adès
I don’t know Which direction the wind is blowing - I am in a dream, In the dream’s gentle wave lingering. I don’t know Which direction the wind is blowing - I am in a dream, Her tenderness, my fascination. I don’t know Which direction the wind is blowing - I am in a dream, Sweetness is the glory of the dream. I don’t know Which direction the wind is blowing - I am in a dream, Her betrayal, my depression. I don’t know Which direction the wind is blowing - I am in a dream, Heartbroken in the gloom of the dream. I don’t know Which direction the wind is blowing - I am in a dream, Dimness is the glory of the dream.
I Don’t Know Which Direction the Wind is Blowing
nescioquo tendunt venti: vagor incola somni.   undulat ut somnus, lene liquore moror. nescioquo tendunt venti: vagor incola somni.   quippe puella bonast: captor et allicior. nescioquo tendunt venti: vagor incola somni.   dulcedo, somni gloria magna mei! nescioquo tendunt venti: vagor incola somni.   tristitiam tradit falsa puella mihi. nescioquo tendunt venti: vagor incola somni.   in somni tenebris torqueor, excrucior. nescioquo tendunt venti: vagor incola somni.   caligo, somni gloria maesta mei!

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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My Latin version

Adlestrop

Edward Thomas (1878-1917)

Adlestrop
Yes. I remember Adlestrop— The name, because one afternoon Of heat the express-train drew up there Unwontedly. It was late June. The steam hissed. Someone cleared his throat. No one left and no one came On the bare platform. What I saw Was Adlestrop—only the name And willows, willow-herb, and grass, And meadowsweet, and haycocks dry, No whit less still and lonely fair Than the high cloudlets in the sky. And for that minute a blackbird sang Close by, and round him, mistier, Farther and farther, all the birds Of Oxfordshire and Gloucestershire.
My Latin version
non mihi mente tuum cadit indelebile nomen, ~~Selda, ubi inassueta compede currus iter sisterat. excelso tempestas torrida sole, ~~deficiens mensis Junius, alta dies. sibilat aere vapor, purgat mala gutture tussis; ~~nullus homo venit limine, nullus abit. solum, Selda, tuum nomen, tu portus amoene, ~~nil aliud visumst! herba humilisque salix et grandes salices, ulmaria pendula filis ~~flos redolens, foeni plurima congeries, arida, sola, nitens, immota ut in aere nubes ~~exiguae; gaudes voce propinqua brevi tu, merula! et procul hinc, ubi iam nebulosior aer, ~~pinnati numerant carmina grata chori, argutae volucrum quot habes, Oxonia, turbae, ~~quot regio Glevi Nervia condit aves.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Sea Fever

John Masefield (1878-1967)

Sea Fever
I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.   I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.   I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life, To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife; And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover, And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.
quo sitis ire mihi, nihil est nisi pontus et aer. ~~ nave petam celsa sidere fisus aquas! vela tremant, sonet Eurus, agat vis torva gubernum, ~~sit nova pulla dies, acre vapore mare. exagitant clarae surgenti gurgite voces: ~~Tethyos infaustum iussa negare deae! hoc satis est: canis moveantur nubibus aurae, ~~spuma volet ventis, carmine mergus ovet. me, Neptune, iuvant via mergi parsque balaenae, ~~ vita peregrini, saevior Eurus acu. sint mihi sermones hilares comitisque cachinni, ~~et, cum res fuerit, somnia amoena, sopor.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Asinus - The Donkey

The Donkey

G. K. Chesterton (1874-1936)

The Donkey
When fishes flew and forests walked    And figs grew upon thorn, Some moment when the moon was blood    Then surely I was born. With monstrous head and sickening cry    And ears like errant wings, The devil’s walking parody    On all four-footed things. The tattered outlaw of the earth,    Of ancient crooked will; Starve, scourge, deride me: I am dumb,    I keep my secret still. Fools! For I also had my hour;    One far fierce hour and sweet: There was a shout about my ears,    And palms before my feet.
Asinus - The Donkey
errabant sylvae, pecus et squamosa volabat,    fructus erat sento ficus opima vepri, deinde cruentata surrexit imagine luna:    scilicet in tali tempore natus ego. en asini deforme caput, damnosa querela,    auris inassueto devia pinna loco! me gentem Stygia illudens fabricavit Erinys,    quattuor in pedibus quot properamus iter. ille ego, terrarum lacer et miserabilis exsul:    haeret in antiquo mens mea prava modo. verberer, esuriam, illudar: tamen usque tacebo:    quicquid secreto novimus, usque latet. o stulti! mihi enim fuit et mirabilis hora,    una fuit dudum dulcis et acris item: namque resultavit multorum clamor in aures,    et tetigit nostros plurima palma pedes.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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My Old Man Said ‘Follow the Van...’

Fred W. Leigh (1871-1924) and Charles Collins (1874-1923)

My Old Man Said ‘Follow the Van...’
‘i, sequere’ inquit erus ‘pantechnicon, impigra cursu.’     plaustrum abiit; veterem constat abisse domum. en sequor, en sequitur passer meus ille canorus,     sed pigra, sed pigro corde soluta vagor, nescio qua. vigili suffecto credere noli!     quae via sit, fallor; fallit adempta domus.
My old man said "Follow the van, And don't dilly dally on the way". Off went the van wiv me 'ome packed in it, I followed on wiv me old cock linnet. But I dillied and dallied, dallied and dillied Lost me way and don't know where to roam. Well you can't trust a special like the old time coppers When you can't find your way 'ome.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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Bons Mots

Hilariores Nugae

Hilaire Belloc (1870-1953)

Translated into Latin by Timothy Adès
Hilariores Nugae
When I am dead, I hope it may be said: “His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.” The accursed power which stands on privilege     (and goes with women, champagne and bridge) Broke - and democracy resumed her reign     (which goes with bridge and women and champagne. Good morning, Algernon: Good morning, Percy. Good morning, Mrs Roebeck. Christ have mercy! I'm tired of love; I'm still more tired of rhyme; but money gives me pleasure all the time.
Bons Mots
umbra, rubens peccator, amer modo versificator. perdidit imperium fatale superbior ordo:     tres aderant comites alea, Bacchus, amor. reddita iam plebis florebat Roma tribunis:     tres aderant comites tessera, vina, Venus. salve, Marce. Mari, salve. Curiatia, salve.     o di immortales, parcite supplicibus ! lassat Amor ; plus Musa ; manet iucundius Aurum.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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For the Fallen

Categories
Latin

For the Fallen

Laurence Binyon

With proud thanksgiving, a mother for her children, England mourns for her dead across the sea. Flesh of her flesh they were, spirit of her spirit, Fallen in the cause of the free. Solemn the drums thrill: Death august and royal Sings sorrow up into immortal spheres. There is music in the midst of desolation And a glory that shines upon our tears. They went with songs to the battle, they were young, Straight of limb, true of eye, steady and aglow. They were staunch to the end against odds uncounted, They fell with their faces to the foe. They shall grow not old, as we that are left grow old: Age shall not weary them, nor the years condemn. At the going down of the sun and in the morning We will remember them. They mingle not with their laughing comrades again; They sit no more at familiar tables of home; They have no lot in our labour of the day–time; They sleep beyond England’s foam. But where our desires are and our hopes profound, Felt as a well–spring that is hidden from sight, To the innermost heart of their own land they are known As the stars are known to the Night; As the stars that shall be bright when we are dust, Moving in marches upon the heavenly plain, As the stars that are starry in the time of our darkness, To the end, to the end, they remain. Poem by Robert Laurence Binyon (1869–1943), published in The Times newspaper on 21st September 1914.
For the Fallen
mater agit grates et honores Anglia reddit, dum gemit occisos trans maris alta suos. hoc genus, hic genius patriae: male passa tyrannos mater, et his eadem causa suprema fuit. funere ab augusto cantatur in aetheris arces nenia; sollemni tympana voce sonant; audimus medio coelestia carmina luctu, et mira in lacrimis gloria luce nitet. ad pugnam egreditur iuvenum cum cantibus agmen; stat robur membris, lucet in ore fides; intrepidique ultro, veniant si milia contra, hostibus adverso comminus ore cadunt. non illos poterit ceu nos vexare senectus, non anni fessis imposuisse notam. illorum memores cernemus condere solem lumen, item prima luce rubere polum. quos nec ridentes cari comitantur amici, nec iamiam retinent mensa, cubile, domus: nec datur his operis nostri pars ulla diurni, sed procul a patriae litore, grata quies. at qua surgit amor nobis, quibus orta profundis spes similis caecae condita fontis aquae, noverit hos penitusque fovens in pectore condet patria, ceu nocti sidera nota, suos. hi, cum nos erimus pulvis, velut astra nitebunt, quae carpent caeli per loca rite vias; sidera uti splendent, ubi nos premit hora tenebris, perpetua haec durat luce corusca cohors.
An homage to Laurence Binyon and to all those who fell in the Great War and in subsequent wars.

Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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