Callimachus: The Nerd of Alexandria

 After the completion of the Oedipus at Colonus, the group chose to take an 'interregnum' before starting the Hippolytus of Euripides. In this period the group is studying Callimachus' Epigrams. This involves a changes in meter and in dialect. For more than a thousand lines, the meter has been iambic trimeter admixed with the complex yet partly predictable meters of the Chorus. The meter of epigrams, however, is elegiac couplet, a topic which this blog has addressed in previous posts. For those who might not be familiar with the elegiac couplet in Greek literature, it might be best compared to a limerick - a poem of predictable pattern but not constrained to the frivolity of the latter. A couplet, as one might guess from the name, has two lines. The first is a dactylic hexameter similar to that of epic poetry. The second is a pair of two and a half feet, of which the second must be two dactyls and the beginning of a foot. That consistency drives home the identity of the couplet as a unit. The end of the unit must reinforce the nature of the poetry. In longer works, such as epic poetry, extending to hundreds or thousands of lines, there may be exceptions; but if there were such in a poem of six lines, the irregularity could be construed as poor composition. 

The matter of length raises a different matter: the form is called a couplet because it is short. The minimum length of a couplet is two lines. There is no specific maximum length, but the form implies brevity, especially in the Callimachean school of aesthetics, where a big book is a bad book. This limitation of space drives a further phenomenon, that of the hapax legomenon. There is less room for description in a shorter form of poetry, nor does Callimachus deem it desirable, so references must be brief and potent. A word or phrase in such poetry invokes an entire scene of Homer or Hesiod. Critically, this invocation only works if the audience has what one would call today media literacy. The circumstances in the epigram may be different in way subtle or gross from the passage so invoked, but this method only works if the original source is known. There was no annotated Aeschylus in the era of Callimachus!

The other change is that of dialect. For those who start Greek from Attic, which is most learners, they may know the rule about etas and alphas after vowel and rho, but they may not realize that Attic's rule is a sign of incomplete linguistic change which the Ionic dialect fulfilled (whether or not Zeus was involved). It is a minor difference which does not affect meter. The next difference does affect meter. The adjective for singular you in Attic is 'sos'. In Ionic it is 'teos'. Even without extensive linguistic training, it is easy to note that the first is one syllable, while the second is two. In a meter as constricted as elegiac couplet, this difference has an oversize impact. The first may be short or long and therefore combined with a suitable element as the poet desires, but the second must be a pyrrhic if the second syllable is short and an iamb if the second syllable is long. In The Ionic option, that means one syllable of flexibility down!

Sophocles' Oedipus at Colonus: The Anti-Iliad

 Recently our Greek group finished reading Oedipus at Colonus, the last, posthumously produced, play of the tragedian Sophocles of Colonus (this is the famous Sophocles, but the specification is relevant here). The 'trilogy' of Theban plays known today is not a true trilogy, but rather three individual plays from three trilogies from a tragedian who has a deep attachment to the Theban Cycle. Not only are these plays separate, but it is impossible to tell for certain where they fit into the cycles of their respective trilogies. 

One may, nonetheless, form opinions about such matters. It seems likely that the Oedipus at Colonus is the last of its trilogy. The correspondence of the agedness of the protagonist and the playwright, who fittingly did not live to see the premier performance, is one piece of evidence. The Oedipus at Colonus is also heavy on the talking, even for a Greek tragedy. The choice of protagonist and setting, in the Grove of the Kindly Ones forces the other characters to come to Oedipus rather than mingling freely. Each of Oedipus' male relatives come to him as petitioners as if he were already apotheosized. Oedipus fills the prophetic role usually reserved for Tiresias in Theban material. Oedipus undergoes apotheosis at the end, thereby removing himself from any following plays - this apotheosis prompted one of our group to describe the Oedipus at Colonus as the anti-Iliad, since Achilles' arc in that work involves his realization that, no matter how mighty he is, no matter his lineage, he is nonetheless mortal. Oedipus, in contrast, becomes more and more aloof from mortal concerns as the Oedipus at Colonus continues, culminating in his ascent in status to a hero cult, the level accorded to those below the falling angel and above the rising ape. The details surrounding this apotheosis are not always clear in their symbolism, but this is to be expected of a ritual which ends a play that frequently enjoins reverent silence. 

One could argue that the many speeches of Theban partisans in the Oedipus at Colonus are a way of setting up the conflicts and this is therefore the first of its trilogy. In that case, the shadow of the Colonus would hang over the participants in the coming war. This is less likely than the above for two reasons. The first is that Sophocles had already written the angry aftermath of conflict in Antigone, the earliest of his extant Theban plays. The more mature approach of Oedipus Tyrannus, the chronologically middle play, suggests that Sophocles, as playwright, was writing the plays according to his aging and increase in understanding rather than the internal chronological order of the Theban Cycle. The last trilogy, therefore, would focus on the last days of Oedipus just as Sophocles is declining, although perhaps not as much as his sons and heirs might wish. The second reason is that Sophocles is a Colonus lad himself, possessing a great interest in the cycle around the hero. The other two surviving plays are set at Thebes, but the shrine is at Colonus. The playwright's last work should end where he began.

Seven Lines for Book the Seventh

Tu quoque litoribus nostris, Aeneia nutrix

aeternam moriens famam, Caieta, dedisti;

et nunc servat honos sedem tuus ossaque nomen

Hesperia in magna, siqua est ea gloria, signat.

At pius exsequiis Aeneas rite solutis,

aggere composito tumuli, postquam alta quierunt

aequora, tendit iter velis portumque relinquit.

- Aen. 7.1-7

 Book Seven is the more Iliadic latter half of the Aeneid, the portion just past the sections required for grades; in this way it is much like Doctor Seuss' On Beyond Zebra. The first four lines form an epigram. Aeneid Book Seven is a beginning, just not the beginning. As a beginnig, it must observe the conventions of that position, at least in part.

The first line of Book Seven violates the standard pattern of the ending of the dactylic hexameter line by ending in two spondees rather than a dactyl and spondee. The end of a line is an important location for identifying the meter of a poem; without establishing and reconfirming the predetermined meter, poetry devolves into elevated prose. Such a break in the standard pattern here, therefore, in such a prominent position, must have a purpose. Virgil establishes this intentionality in line five, which not only carries the right pattern of dactyl and spondee, but even contains the phrase rite solutis "after they had been done properly." Thus the Watsonian sense of proper funeral rites and the Doylist of continuing the narrative are resolved.

The first four lines of Book Seven form two couplets, since the couplet is the appopriate number of lines for the epigrammatic tradition. The first of these couplets in composed of the first two lines, These lines are an invocatio, an invocation of Aeneas' nurse Caieta, hitherto unmentioned and probably eponymous with a local coast feature. The Roman and the Greeks loved words, but to say that they understood linguistics would be lie. The first line begins with tu quoque "thou also," suggesting that addressee as someone known to the original audience. The spondaic conclusion of the line, Aeneia nutrix "nurse of Aeneas," further supports a known identity. Yet this nurse, Caieta, has not received a single mention in the preceding six books! The nurse of Aeneas appears posthumously like that of Dido, but at least she recieves a name, like that of Anna! Caieta's death provides eternal fame. This contrast is mortality is fitting in the transition between Book Six, in which Aeneas spent most of his time in the Underworld with the Sibyl, and the rest of Book Seven, in which he has returned to the upper world. The mention of a mortal rather than an immortal indicates that this is not true invocatio, which would require a goddess, Muse, or august patron close to the divine. On a more grammatical angle, the phrase litoribus nostris is probably either locational with an elided preposition or else a direct object of dedisti. Also note the alliterative alternation of a and n in nostris Aeneia nutrix/aeternam.

The preferred alliteration in the second couplet switches out a for s. The second couplet also switches from second person to third and from perfect tense to present. The bones of Caieta now receive honor in Italy. It is notably, however, that the word for Italy is the poetic synonym Hesperia and the form of honor is archaic honos. Both could be the result of internal and line-initial alliteration and assonance, but honor and Italia would fit the meter equally well. The final portion of the funerary epigram contains an element of memento mori in siqua est ea gloria "if this is any kind of glory." This sentiment is appropriate for a funerary epigram, but it also indicate the vacillation of the hero Aeneas, who continually turns over matters in his mind, whether or not the other Trojans know.

Caieta's brief appearance is also an indicator, a prefiguration of the many characters who will appear in this half of the Aeneid only to die at the hands of a mightier or more plot-relevant warrior. The manner in which Caieta brought fame to Italy remains unknown.

The next three lines of Book Seven are a series of three clauses related to past actions followed by a generic statement, Their unity can be measured by the alliteration of a in the first words of each line - at, aggere, and aequora - as well as the structure of the three clauses. The first two clauses are ablative absolutes, while the third is a temporal clause with postquam. Aeneas, here given his epithet of pius Aeneas, is the grammatical subject of the main verb relinquit, but the ablative absolutes exclude him and the calming of the sea was not his doing. The final past tense subordinate clause is bound to the main clause in the similarity of postquam alta quierunt and portumque relinquit. Not only do they posess an identical metrical pattern, a similarity insufficient by itself for argument, but they also contain an identical consonant inventory. The only consonant present in the sixth line and absent in the sevent in the s of postquam. Both portions start with p and contain t as the third consonant. The phrases alta quierunt and relinquit are almost anagrams. The -am of postquam is elided according to the rules of Latin poetry, but both lines contain a nasal consonant - n in the former and m in the latter.

The actions in the latter three lines are not just third person, but third person narration in the past leading to the present. Both quierunt and relinquit reinforce the temporal change. Aeneas has performed the rites correctly; he has built the burial mound; the sea has become calm.

The combination of the funeral rites, calm sea, and the sailing forth is a reminder of the opening of the Trojan War, of which the Iliad related a part. Aeneas is a better man than Agamemnon, however, whom his former analogue Odysseus witnesses in his own catabasis. The member of the family for whom Aeneas mourns is his beloved nurse rather than his daughter cruelly deceived. The resulting departure, however, leads to wars for both men.

The first seven lines of Book Seven of the Aeneid are a complex work. The first four lines are a funerary epigram combined with a false invocatio and covert refrences to prior nunrses and mental states, The next tree lines are a tightly composed triplet to move the story to the next point. The use of alliteration and assonance helps to define each section. When both sections come together, the seven lines from a reference to the beginning of the Trojan War, an apposite reference for the Iliadic half of the Aeneid.

Catalectic Converter: An Ode to Dactylic Hexameter

 If you want to read, recite, and interpret dactylic hexameter, the meter of Latin epic poetry, if not the native form, you must first understand how it works. The traditional account is as follows: the name dactylic hexameter tells us about important details for its construction. 'Dactylic' indicates that it is composed of dactyls, a metrical unit of one long followed by two shorts. 'Hexameter' indicates that this pattern repeats six times to create a single line of dactylic hexameter. Yet this sextuple repetition is not reflected in the canonical line of dactylic hexameter, which ends in a spondee, a pair of longs. Most of the feet of the hexameter can change from dactyl to spondee, except the fifth and penultimate. This foot must remain dactylic to reinforce the nature of the meter. Very rarely is this consistency breached and even more rarely at the beginning of a section. If the nature of the meter requires reinforcement, why does the last foot of the hexameter not fulfill this role? The final foot of one line and the initial of the next are often bound by grammatical enjambment. Even the use of an extrametrical syllable to tie them together is not sufficient, since the vowel always undergoes elision. The neophyte Latinist learns that the sixth and last foot is a spondee. The last vowel of the final syllable which is pronounced would be short or long in prose; but it is always treated as long in scansion. Most of the time this default intervention does no harm. Sometimes, however, the natural length of the vowel is significant. 

There is a better way to analyze dactylic hexameter, a way in which a journeyy through complexity creates a more thorough understanding. Dactylic hexameter is not merely dactylic hexameter; it is dactylic hexameter catalectic. What does 'catalectic' mean? Catalexis, and its adjective catalectic, is metrical circumcision, the omission of the last syllable. The identity of the meter as dactylic is confirmed by the spondee rather than a single long syllable, while the placement of the syllable at the end of the line is established by the final long syllable, irrespective of any condition which migh force an otherwise short syllable to be treated as long.

This possibility of long or short, sometimes called 'anceps', at the end of a line of dactylic hexameter is one of the mechanisms to vary a potentially soporific metrical pattern. It is also a reminder that the terms first presented to learners are simplified version of the whole rather than the only way in which one can view such a phenomenon.

King and Consuls

         The passage in Book 6 of the Aeneid where Anchises presents the souls of future Roman kings and consuls (6.809-19) is a reprise and expansion of the initial lines of the Aeneid (1.1-12), thereby connecting Aeneas' foundation with the latter one. The character of Aeneas is distributed among his descendants.

        The base level of comparison is repetition of words used in the opening of the poem, although differing in case and number. Romulus, the first king of Rome (pace Titus Tatius), is excluded from this list because he is mentioned at the end of the Alban line, rather than at the beginning of the Roman. This omission also releases a spot for Brutus, the first consul. The first king, therefore, who is mentioned, is Numa Pompilius. Anchises introduces Numa as the Roman king "primam qui legibus urbem / fundabit," "he who will provide the early city with laws" or "he who will first provide the city with laws." The first two words occur after the caesura, similar to the "qui primus" of the first line of the poem (1.1), but in inverse order. The clause in Book 1 refers to Numa, an immigrant like Aeneas, establishing the rites of the new city. Numa, similar to Aeneas, exists in the dawn of urban history and therefore is "missus in imperium magnum" "sent toward great empire" (6.813) rather than as a witness to that imperial glory. Numa's successor, Tullus Hostilius, provides the martial valor which the aged ("incana menta",grey beard hairs", 6.809) Numa lacks. This absence is reflected in the word "in arma viros" "men to arms" (6.814), which remind the audience of the first words of the poem "arma virumque" "arms and a man" (1.1).  The next king mentioned, Ancus Martius, is "jactantior" "boastful," a comparative - and active - form related to the passive "jactatus" "tossed" of the opening (1.3). This also serves as the moral descent of the kings, since Ancus takes too great a pleasure in "popularibus auris" (?.?), "the ears of the people>" 

        The Tarquins pere et fils are connected to the initial verses by "vis ... superbam" (6.817), which echoes "vi superum" (1.4) in the fourth line. Both words are not directly connected but "vis" is from "volo," the verb of wishing and wanting, while "superbam" is from an adjective meaning "proud" or "arrogant" depending on context. "Vi" is from the word for "force," while "superum" is a word for the gods above. Tarquinius Superbus, were he real, no doubt used the positive meaning of his epithet; he certainly believed his word was law. What one wants and what is just are the same thing! Tarquinius Superbus' downfall came when he violated the laws of the gods by assaulting his cousin's wife as a form of force, and by "vi superum," "the force of the divine," he lost his kingdom. The "animam superbam," "proud spirit" (6.817) belongs to Brutus rather than Superbus, but the audience does not know this until the enjambment, and the negative interpretation suits Superbus. The "animam superbam" of Brutus is that of positive aspect, but Brutus adopts the authority and the emblems thereof of the deposed kings and therefore warrants inclusion on the list of leaders. Brutus, as the first consul, receives his own "primus" (6.819) to echos the first line; his passage also includes a description of the fasces as "saevas securis" "savage axes" (6.819), which serves to connect him with the "saevam iram" of Juno rather than Aeneas, perhaps an odd choice for one who overthrew the previous ruler for daring to trespass the boundary of divine law. The rebellion ("nova bella," 6.820) of Brutus' sons reminds the attentive of "bello passus," "suffering in war" (1.5), but Brutus displays loyalty to gods and country by executing his own blood. The summary of this list of kings and consuls states that "vincet amor patriae laudumque immensa cupido," "love of fatherland and the great desire for praise will conquer" (6.823). Although neither "amor" nor "cupido" are words in the opening lines, they are both names for Venus' godly son, in a context where Venus is not mentioned because only Romulus, here excluded, is of her line.

        It may be going too far to suggest the Aeneas' personality is a conglomeration of the equally mythical kings of Rome, but there are striking parallels. Aeneas, like Numa, brings the gods who bring prosperity to a city which lacks them. Aeneas, like Tullus, will lead his weary travelers into battle. Aeneas, like Ancus, must beware the sway of popular opinion despite his constant doubt and deliberation. Aeneas, like the Tarquins, must resist the temptation to think himself above the gods. Aeneas, like Brutus, must place state above family and familiar affection.

        The passage of Book 6 in which the Roman leaders are presented is a callback to the very first lines of the epic in exact words, related words, and in theme. The first lines of an epic are its thesis statement; the use of same or similar words in reference to other individuals universalizes the principles, The use of same or similar themes shows that these principles are displayed under diverse circumstances, no matter which mythical era, is inspirational to the real Romans and the real ruler of the Imperium.

Absolutes and Absolutions

            In the sixth book of Virgil's Aeneid, Aeneas the initiate finally reaches his father in the Underworld and is ready to learn the secrets of the cosmos. Aeneas needed no expiation, only the original Hell House exhibition, because he is, as the poet firmly insists, 'pius', The soul of Anchises, Aeneas' father, is contemplating the souls of the purified in a pleasant valley by the River of Forgetfulness. In this holy place, Here Anchises explains the cycle of expiation and rebirth, governed by the One Above All, the Unmoved Mover. This single governing force might seem at odds with the bickering pantheon of the Aeneid, but the trip through the Underworld has already demonstrated this rigidity is not part of the cosmology of the Aeneid. The world is vast and contains many perspectives, from the fading ghosts of the Stygian shores to the eternal torment of the Titans and irredeemable mortals, to the cleansing and reincarnation of reclaimable souls. Neither the Sibyl nor Anchises can claim absolute knowledge; the former received her knowledge from Hecate, of which only a part is revealed to Aeneas, and Anchises, as a virtuous soul, never suffered the torments of expiation.

            There is a possibility that a modern audience might see a monotheist element in Anchises' cosmology. Although this perspective is not entirely wrong, especially from a diachronic, or historical trend, view, the modern sensibility is far more based in dualism than that of the Imperial Roman period. The distance between polytheism and monotheism is not a bright line in the sand, but a continuum. Islam and Judaism are indisputably monotheistic; is Christianity? If it is, which sorts of Christianity does one include? The theological perspective in this portion of the Aeneid is somewhere between henotheism, in which there are many gods, of equal or near equal power ("thou shalt have no other gods beside me") and monotheism ("thou shalt have no other gods besides me"), in which there is one. But then, a cult into which one must be initiated in order to achieve rebirth is unlikely to focus on a plethora of gods; the most likely number is one, and it is unlikely to have more than three. The universalist perspective of Anchises' cosmology is a unifying one, designed to soothe Aeneas' constant anxiety from the continuous conflict in his life and an aspirational one for the future generations of Romans, including those who comprise Virgil's contemporary audience. Jupiter and Juno are currently at odds, but they will reconcile and share patronage of the Roman race; Venus will see her descendent Caesar conquer both lands, lads, and lasses; Neptune will allow his domain to become Nostrum Mare, "Our Sea," to the Romans. Yet  none of this is intended to deny the potency of the Roman pantheon in the preservation of republican and imperial power. The worship of the gods is essential for political stability, but spiritual comfort will be sought more and more in the belief in a unitary power, whether that be Augustus Divus or Sol Invictus.

Hypermetricals False and True: Aeneid Book 6.560-1, 602-3

 The use of hypermetrical verses in Vergil's Aeneid is rare; but when it occurs, one should consider its effect. The Aeneid is written in dactylic hexameter, which consists of dactyls (long-short-short) and spondees (long-long). The last two feet of the hexameter, with rare exceptions, consist of a dactyl and a spondee. In any poetic meter with predetermined line length, it is important that the final feet return to the default pattern. If this were not the case, then it would be challenging to recognize the particular meter. The other component one must consider in a discussion of hypermetrical verse is elision. In Latin poetry, the final vowel or final vowel plus m elides, or disappears, if the next word begins with a vowel or h. The quantity (short or long) of the final vowel is irrelevant. This is the default situation; if it does not occur where one would expect to occur, this is called hiatus. Elision, however, does not occur between the sixth foot of one line and the first foot of the next line. The sentence or thought often connects the sixth and first foot through enjambment, the delay of a critical word until the beginning of the following line; but this is a literary device rather than a sound-based one. A hypermetrical verse is one in which the last vowel of the last syllable in one line elides due to the first word in the next line beginning with a vowel. It cannot be stressed too much that this is not the default situation! The existence of a hypermetrical verse is dependent on the final vowel of the preceding verse rather than the initial vowel of the following verse.

Aeneas' journey through the Underworld in Book 6 features examples of both false and true hypermetrical verse; in each case, its presence or appearance thereof reflects its context. The first case, the false one, occurs at line 560, while Aeneas and the Sibyl are experiencing the terrifying cacophony of Tisiphone, one of the Furies whose job it is to guard the door to Tartarus, where the truly evil people go. This passage (6.557-561) is filled with words for noise (exaudiri, gemitus, sonare, stridor, strepitum, effare, plangor) and instruments of noise, especially in reference to punishment (scelerum, poenis) and torment (saeva, sonare, verbera, ferri, tractaeque catenae, exterritus). The few words not subsumed in these categories are mostly proper names and function words. Two of these words are verbs of hesitation (constitit, hausit) applied to Aeneas. The overall impression is one of abundant and discordant noise to such a degree that it is disruptive. Aeneas stops to address the Sibyl because he is affected even though is not a prisoner in Tartarus.

"Quae scelerum facies, O virgo, effare quibusve

urguentur poenis? Quis tantus plangor ad auras?"

"Tell me, o maiden, what manner of crimes, and by what punishments are they confined? What is this so great clamor which reaches to the skies?"

Aen. 6.560-1

At first glance, these verses seem well balanced against the chaos of the passage. The vocative "O virgo" is in the middle of the line after the caesura. The three qu- clauses form a triad but they all are ultimately one question. The discordant element in this couplet is the enclitic -ve. The enclitic is necessary, but its presence disrupts the flow of the clause. Without the -ve the phrase would be "quibus urguentur poenis," in which the verb is centered between the adjective and noun, and in which the the verb and the noun participate in enjambment, while the less critical adjective does not. Such a phrase, however, does not meet the requirements of the meter. The addition of the enclitic -ve satisfies the grammatical structure of Latin and the metrical structure of the poetry at the expense of the smaller harmony. The constraints are in irresolvable tension to match the mood of the passage.

The second case, the true extrametrical verse, occurs in the Sibyl's description of Ixion and Pirithous' punishment (6.601-606). The two mortals never enter Tartarus, but the Sibyl's patron goddess, Hecate, taught her the secrets of the realm. Their punishment is to have a rock suspended over their head forever and to have a feast they can see but never reach. Both Ixion and Pirithous had desired congress with goddesses married to other gods.

"Quid memorem Lapithas, Ixiona Pirithoumque?

Quos super atra silex iam iam lapsura cadentique

imminet adsimilis."

"What shall I recall about the Lapiths, Ixion and Pirithous? Over whom a black rock, about to fall any minute now and is alike in threatening the falling person."

(6.601-3)

These verses contain only two qu- words, commensurate with the two sinners. The future participle "lapsura" combined with the reduplicated "iam" creates a prospective effect of future never accomplished. The key phrase, "cadentique imminet adsimilis," once again displays the verb in enjambment, although its companion here is adjectival rather than nominal. Here the hypermetrical verse connects "candentique" and "imminet," and therefore the entire phrase "lapsura cadentique imminet adsimilis." This connection is unifying through its use of transgression inherent to hypermetric verse, yet the same hypermetric verse prevents resolution and reflects its lack within the action of the text.

Two and Half Feet in an Elegiac Trenchcoat

 In preparing for the June sampler of the Greek group, I was reminded how the second part of the elegiac couplet, the dactylic pentameter, resembles its lankier predecessor not so much as a younger sibling as much as a burn victim whose skin has been removed from one area to patch another, a Frankenstein of metrical composition. The dactylic hexameter is a well-behaved meter, rarely breaking its structure for moments of deep pathos or extraordinary gravity; the iambic pentameter, however, rather than losing a foot before the final spondee, amputates the spondee in order to graft a long syllable as the second-and-a-half foot, while extending the rigidity of the final dactyl and spondee (despondent for its other half?) to the entire latter half of the line. The iambic pentameter is a pair of two-and-half dactyls (Idaean or Cretan, they are always male) masquerading as a longer line.

If we switch to a more sober frame of mind, like the Medes upon the eve of a great decision, the hemiepes (for that is its name) is a more rational construction, although one would still think that half an epes (dactylic hexameter) would have three full feet. The elimination of the dibrach (two shorts) after the long is suggestive of the principle of brevis in longo, whereby even a syllable short in prose is treated as long at the end of the line; the dissonance comes from the two hemiepes (is the plural hemiepeis?) united in one line, thereby stranding what would have been a final syllable displaying brevis in longo as an orphaned syllable before the caesura. There are two explanation I can think for this. The first, closer to epic, is that the caesura in epes often falls after the first (long) syllable of the third foot, and therefore is the appropriate place for bisecting the meter; the second, closer to lyric, is that a three-line stanza of an epes and two hemiepes would not admit sufficient flexibility in the second line. I am inclined toward the former, if only because a half line with the caesura after the first short of the third foot of a dactylic hexameter would be subject to brevis in longo and therefore result in a half line indistinguishable from the latter half of a dactylic hexameter. But the resolution (pun intended) of this question admits of diverse answers.

Alis in Waunderland

 I’ve been reading Pindar’s Olympian Ode 1. Every ode has a victor which it celebrates and almost every ode has a mythological antecedent. The Olympic victor here is Hieron, tyrant of Syracuse, while the mythological antecedent is Pelops, son of Tantalus. The story which Pindar tells about Pelops is different from the usual tale; but Pelops returns to the mortal realm either way. Once Pelops is growing into a young man, he needs to find a bride, so he decides to enter the contest for the hand of Hippodamia, daughter of Oenomaus of Pisa, a city near Olympia. The successful suitor receives Hippodamia as a bride; the unsuccessful suitors receive death, because myth never does anything halfway. Pisa and Olympia are in the land of Elis, or at least that is how the Attic Greek of Athens would render it. In the Ode, which is written in the Doric Greek of Thebes, the land is Alis, showing the long alpha for eta correspondence used (and sometimes abused) in certain parts of Greek poetry. In the land of Elis (or Alis) itself, the Doric Greek dialect is yet more archaic: it retains the digamma or wau lost in more rapidly developing dialects, and therefore Elis in Elean Greek is Walis or Valis (the digamma is sometimes rendered as beta in Greek which lacks it). This name, as speakers of Latin might notice, means ‘valley’ or ‘hollow’, which makes the subdistrict of Hollow Elis a Torpenhow Hill or Caermarthen Castle. The land, therefore, in which the Olympics occurred shares a name with a Swiss canton because humans are not very imaginative when it comes to naming things – the name Pisa is basically Las Vegas.

Notes on an Easter Sunday

 Christ is risen! My recent immersion into meters other than epic has triggered a certain sensitivity, so the portion of the introit that caught my eye was the meter. On the surface, it was four lines of iambic trimeter, hardly unusual for a hymn in English. The ictus of the measure, however, corresponded to the first long rather than the short first syllable. This inverted the iambs (short-long) into trochees (long-short), creating three lines, of which the first was acephalous - which, contrary to intuition, here indicates an extra syllable at the beginning of the line. This short syllable was “stolen” from the final iamb. The lines, therefore, viewed from this perspective, were an acephalous trochaic trimeter, followed by three lines of trochaic trimeter, and then a cretic (long-short-long). This made it a lyric meter in stress and measure, which is suitable for a hymn, but also a reminder of how much of what we use today derives from a tradition at least twenty-six centuries old.

A Sorrowful and Epitrite Heart

 The group has embarked upon reading Pindar Pythian 4 as a thematically appropriate work after reading Euripides' Medea. Pindar dwells on happier days, although there is an exile in the Ode. To say that the meter of Pindar is challenging would be an understatement, and scholars of previous generations had difficulty determining the lines. Their suffering, however, has brought wisdom to later generations.

Most classicists are trained on dactylic hexameter, iambic trimeter, and elegiac couplets, with the meter of the chorus often provided in the back of the text (assuming the text is not hopelessly corrupt). Other meters can be painful to learn and even passed over in the need to complete the lines assigned. Recitation is not as common as it once was.

The meter of Pythian 4 is dactylo-epitritic, which no doubt has a high morbidity rate. Dactyls are familiar to virtually all classicists, although in this case the dactyls are doubled and extended into a series long-short-short-long-short-short-long (a hemipes). Epitrite, which might also be a parasitic plant, is a specific kind of foot, but varies more than feet of two or three syllables. It is common for tetrasyllabic feet to vary in a specified way: once the foot is of this length, perhaps it is no longer productive (pace Latine loquentibus) to give individual names beyond the ordinal. The epitrite is a tetrasyllable in which one syllable must be short and the others long, much like desperate sailors at sea. The combination of this foot with the hemipes, along with variations, produce some long lines compared to epic or tragedy.

The Curious Case of the Removable Nu

 There are many dialects of Ancient Greek, and individual dialects are often assigned to different genres, presumably due to some founder effect. This literary dialect then is smoothed and standardized and thus acquires some forms not found in the original dialect. Many literary dialects mix features from more than one dialect. Tragedy generally separates the Ionic speech of the majority of the play from the stage Doric of the Chorus, but even this relatively clear separation does not prohibit the occasional intrusion of a Doric verb into the Ionic sentence. The proper dialect of an Ode is Doric and Aeolic combined. This presents a challenge to the modern student of Ancient Greek, who has trained on Attic Greek, itself not as standard as the Athenians would have you believe. And thus we come to the removable ν.

Calling this ν 'removable' is somewhat misleading, for although it disappears, it does not do so without leaving a trace. The nature of that trace is the reason for such variation among the Greek dialects in critical grammatical forms such a participles. Greek loves participles; if one wields them correctly, they increase the subtlety of Greek to a degree that would make Cato uncomfortable. The present and aorist active particles have an affix -ντ- to which the case endings are appended; but the σ of the nominative singular triggers changes which differentiate it from the oblique cases. These changes are not the same in every dialect. In general, the change involves lengthening the preceding vowel. Such is the case in Attic. In the dialect of Pindar's Odes, however, lengthening is replaced by diphthongization; thus -ανς from -αντς becomes -αις rather than Attic -ας. This phenomenon can be confusing for a student at their first encounter because it is similar to the feminine dative -αις (which is -αισι here, for reasons best dealt with elsewhere and never had a ν). These changes create a brief uphill battle for the neophyte, until they see the horror of even more radical non-configurationality.

Gefunden

Another poem (this time German) for your edification and delight
Goethe

Gefunden

Ich ging im Walde
So für mich hin.
Und nichts zu suchen
Das war mein Sinn.

In Schatten sah ich
Ein Blümchen stehn
Wie Sterne leuchend
Wie Äuglein schön.

Ich wollt es brechen
Das sagt es fein
Soll ich zum Welken
Gebrochen sein?

Ich grub's mit allen
Ein Würzlein aus,
Zum Garten trug ich's
Am hübschen Haus.

Und pflanzt es wieder
Am stillen Ort
Nun zweigt es immer
Und blüht so fort.

Le Printemps

Le Printemps

Charles d'Orléans

Le temps a laissé son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie
Et s'est vêtu de broderie,
De soleil riant, clair et beau ...

Il n'y a bête ni oiseau
Qu'en son jargon ne chante ou crie.
Le temps a laissê son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluie.

Riviere, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent en livrée jolie
Gouttes d'argent d'orfèvrerie;
Chacun s'habille de nouveau.
Le temps a laissé son manteau.

The Stars My Destination

The Stars My Destination - formally known as Tiger! Tiger! - an apocalyptic, pyrotechnic proto-cyberpunk novel, explosive in its language. The story of Gully Foyle, a worthless piece of meat in human form who transcends his inutility. A treatise on the potential of the common man.

The Stars My Destination is an enjoyable read. It incorporates many of the motifs of cyberpunk without overwhelming the reader without singularity self-pleasuring. The sociological examination of the fallout from a revolutionary discovery (jaunting) is detailed and well thought out. The inversion of the usual direction of one-way telepathy is ingenious, and the neo-Skoptsy sect sends shivers down the spine. The pace leaves one breathless.

There are, however, certain portions which have not aged well. The preoccupation of science fiction writers in the 1950's and 1960's with clowns and circuses lacks the same resonance in an age when the only well-known circus is pretentious and French-Canadian. Although the theme of corporate clans is remarkably relevant today, the use of actual company names in a work of fiction tarnishes the facade. The social attitudes are remarkably dated for the Western World, but at least Bester provides an in-story explanation.

When a book opens with a poem, it's never an accident, but often a thesis or an indication of the flavor of the narrative. Ignore it at your peril.

A Rash of Songs

This Sunday, a particularly rainy day,  at the Museum of the Legion of Honor, Sylvia Rhine '78 (Carleton) and Eric Redlinger, the members of Asteria, gave a lecture on and played music from the court of Charles the Bold (sometimes known as 'the Rash'), Duke of Burgundy. The Duchy of Burgundy in the Late Middle Age was the richest "country" in Europe, and treated as an equal to the kings of official countries. Charles, as many generals have done, thought his campaign would be quickly done. He spent more than a year trying to take Neuss. A man of his stature had to be an accomplished warrior, host, and diplomat, so the delay in taking the city forced Charles to set up a court just beyond the field of battle. There he welcomed embassies with the gravitas necesssary for a man of his station, but he also entertained his guests and retainers. He had three minstrels, the three greatest in Europe, and he commanded that there be one new song every night. If the song failed to please him, he would execute the performer -okay, that last part is false, but the rest sounds like something out of Arabian Nights!

In the lecture before the concert, Sylvia Rhyne and Eric Redlinger discussed the impossibility of truly knowing the sound of medieval music. Some differences, nonetheless, could be ascertained - medieval music was composed of individual melodies that formed chords rather than chords per se; the music did not use meters (though of course notes had varying lengths). The dominant use of marriage as a political tool made amour de loin (love at a distance) the most common form of amour (Le Corps Sen Va, Antoine Busnoys). Medieval music was private and personal, but could be heard throughout the chateaux. Although it was personal, it did not use names, but preferred to idealize humans (Plus jay le monde regarde, Robert Morton; De Tous Biens Pleine, van Ghizeghem; Au gre de mes yeulx, Antoine Busnoys) and anthropomorphize abstract concepts (Allez Regrets, van Ghizeghem) The texts of medieval music were exquisite, expensive, and heart-shaped - although the last feature may be the result of the container reflecting the matter contained. Rhyne and Redlinger abbreviated the concert due to the impending and regular organ recital.

The concert featured compositions by the three composers (Antoine Busnoys, Robert Morton, and Hayne van Ghizighem), an anonymous composer, and Charles himself. It was lovely and soothing - perhaps too soothing, for a darkened room!

I'm recording the text of the planned concert here, since I find the songs beautiful in sentiment as well as performance - and a guy can never have too much love poetry as a miles amoris. Si je parle franCais, je pourrai les lire facilement. Certes, cette language est plus facile que le franCais anglo-normandais que je lisais a Saint Andrew.

Plus jay le monde regarde (Robert Morton)
Plus jay le monde regarde
Plus je voy mon premier chois
Avoir le bruit et le vois
De los de grace et de beaulte

The more I have seen the world
The more I see my first choice
To have the nobility and the voice
Of things of grace and beauty.
Quant ce vendra (Antoine Busnoys)
Quant ce vendra au droit destraindre
Comment pouray mon veul constraindre
Et mon cueur faindre a mon douloureux partement
De vous mon leal pencement, a qui nulluy ne peut actaindre.

When it comes to true torment
How shall I contain my desire?
Even my heart falters at my sad parting
From you, my loyal, whom it is not possible to reach.
Allez regrets (Hayne van Ghieghem)
Allez regrets vuidez de ma presance
Allez ailleurs querir vostre acointance
Assez avez tourmente mon las cueur.

Go, Regrets, depart from my presence.
Go elsewhere to find your company
You have tormented my weary heart enough.
Sur Mon Ame (Anonymous)

De tous biens pleine (van Ghizeghem)
De tous biens pleine est ma maistresse
Chacun luy doit tribut donneur,
Car assouvye est en valeur
Autant que jamais fut deesse.

 My mistress is full of all good things.
Each to her should be a giver of tribute.
For she is as appeased in worthiness
As any goddess was.
N'auray-je jamais mieux (Morton)
N'auray-je jamais mieux que jay
Suis je la ou je demeurai,
Mamour et toute ma plaisance?
...N'aurez vous jamais connaissance
Que je suis tout votre et serai?

Will I never have better than I have,
Am I here where I shall remain,
My love and all my pleasure?
....Will you never have knowledge
That I am and will be wholly yours?
Le souvenir de vous me tue (Morton)
Le souvenir de vous me tue,
Mon seul bien, quant je ne vous voy.
Car ie vous jure, sur ma foy,
Sans vous ma liesse est perdue.

The memory of you kills me,
My one good, when I do not see you.
For I swear to you, upon my good faith
That without you my joy is lost.
Gentilz gallans (van Ghizeghem)
Gentilz gallans soions toujours joyeux
Et je vous en prie tres humblement
Et si servons les dames loyaulment
Sans reposer le vray cueur amoureux.

Noble swains, let's be alway joyful,
And I beseech you very humbly
And thus let's serve the ladies loyally
Without relaxing the true loving heart.
En voyant sa dame (Busnoys)
En voyant sa dame au matin
Pres du feu ou elle se lace
Ou est le cueur qui ja se lasse
De regarder son beau tetin.

Upon seeing his lady in the morning,
Near the fire where she rests,
Where is the heast that would relax itself
From observing her beautiful breast?
Au gre de mes yeulx (Busnoys)
Au gre de mes yeulx je vous ay choisie
La plus acomplie qui soit soulx les cieulx.

At the liking of my eyes I have chosen you
The most accomplished woman who is under heaven.
Ma Dame Helas (Charles the Bold)

Le corps sen va (Busnoys)
Le corps sen va et le cueur vous demeure.
Le quel veult faire avec vous sa demeure
Pour vous vouloir aimer tant et si fort
...A vous servir jusques ace que je meure.

The body leaves and the heart remains with you.
That which wants to make its stay with you.
From the desire to love you so strongly and completely
... To serve you until I die.


Ma dame trop vous mesprenes (Charles the Bold)
Ma dame trop vous mesprenes
Quant vers moy ne vous gouvernes.
Aultrement qui l'oseroit dire, dire?

My lady, you hurt me too much,
When you do not steer my verse.
Otherwise who would dare to speak?

Possession and Poetry

One of the books I purchased at Archon 35 in St Louis was The Handbook of Science Fiction Poetry by Suzette Haden Elgin, the author of Native Tongue and creator of the allegedly woman-friendly language Láadan (more on that thought later, if I remember). I was not planning to write any English-language (or even Láadan) poetry, but I did want to know her thoughts on the techniques of poetry to improve my prose. One section in particular caught my eye. Elgin points out in this section that every English sentence and word has a “phantom sentence” underlying it, and that the more liberal rules of poetry expose that truth more effectively than prose. The construction of a science-fictional or fantasy setting requires more exposition than a real-world fictional setting, and nowadays much of that must be discreet. I'm a fan of the old-fashioned expository speech, thanks to the amount of 1930s and '40s books I read as a kid, but that taste seems rare now.
 

The use of the word “orphan” implies two dead parents, and thereby can hang the tale. Add the word “homeless” to “orphan”, and the phrase suggests that the lack of a roof is connected to the lack of parents, although it need not be (perhaps the family was homeless beforehand). If you write the sentence “The homeless orphan was crying”, you have added definiteness (a specific orphan), a contrast (is there an orphan was has a home? Is there someone who is homeless but not an orphan?), and an action that implies a cause (why is the homeless orphan crying? Homelessness or dead parents need not be the cause of the orphans' sorrow.).

'Comites' Before 'Clodia'

Catullus' poem 11 continues his post-Lesbian life. If poem 8 is Catullus enduring the psychological travails of the breakup, poem 11 is his drunkenly exaggerated thanks to his friends, followed by a relapse into bitter anger.

Furius and Aurelius seem to have assured Catullus that they have his back, in a "bros before hoes" manner, and suggested a road trip. Although the actual suggestion is more likely to have been a trip to Baiae rather than Bithynia, Catullus exaggerates this offer to cover the entire world. It is unclear whether this is happily drunken fraternity or a test born from Catullus' lingering insecurity. The epic language and scale of the proposed world tour (11.2-12) could suggest either possibility. A world tour, however, is not what Catullus wants his friends to do; what he really wants is the delivery of an abusive message (11.15-24) to his former lover.

This message begins somewhat elegantly (11.15-11.17), as though it were a neoteric poem within another neoteric poem. The last word of 11.17, "moechis", marks the descent into abusive language. First, Catullus refuses to believe that Lesbia's sexual liaisons could have any element of true love (11.18-20), and then witholds the love he alone possesses (11.21). The last image of the poem, a flower in a field which has been fatally damaged by a plow (11.22-24), indicates not only sexual congress and the generation of a precious and beautiful thing, but also an affection that is dying, rather than dead, in Catullus' heart.

Shining Suns

Catullus, in the eighth poem of his collection, has encapsulated the complicated feelings of a messy breakup. The poem opens with a wonderful expression (8.2), which may or may not be a proverb:

quod vides perisse perditum ducas
"what you know has died you should consider lost"

This is excellent advice, but cold comfort to one who had lost something precious.
Such sentiments, rather than sufficing - it is only the second line, after all -, spurs Catullus to dwell on what is lost. The perfect tense of "fulsere" establishes the connection of the past and present, while the following imperfects provide a sense of both pastness and frequency; it is notable that Catullus is the passive partner in these activities.

In line 8.9, Lesbia has rejected Catullus; Catullus retains his feeling of impotence, and even his attempts to get her back (8.10-13) are impotent and his self-pity pathetic. He must announce his renunciation of her to make it stick. The embarrassing antics of jilted lovers trying to revive the sparks ("soles") of a dead relationship is mixed with wavering self-confidence.

In lines 8.14-18, Catullus turns from strengthening his own resolve to degrading that of his former lover. Although the descent into rhetorical abuse is a stylistic demand of this poetic genre, it is also a realistic psychological depiction, the dark side of the irritating presumption of a unique relationship that lovers often display. It is testimony to the passion of the relationship that Catullus ends the poem not with a final sting to Lesbia, but one last reminder to himself (8.19).

Strangers Passer-ing In The Night

Ash Wednesday, and instead of penitence my thoughts turn to the passer poems (2 and 3) of Catullus. Since I was assigned poem 16 for St Valentine's day, I must wonder if the class is not meant as some sort of cosmic counterpoint. Maybe it's just part of the Chairman's plan (Philip K. Dick is always a good source of metaphors for the action of the Powers that be).

What can we make of poems 2 and 3? The first is a mock hymn, the second mock dirge, both of which follow upon the heels of poem 1. If poem 1 is a dedicatory epigram which provides the name of the dedicatee, the genre, and a devout desire for the work to last, then poem 2 is an invocation to the mortal goddess of the work. If poem 2 announces Catullus' infatuation with Lesbia, poem 3 describes its irrevocable end. These poems are as programmatic as poem 1 by providing the plot, such as it is, of a work characterized by variatio.

The passer, whose msgical companions pull the chariot of Aphrodite, appears only in these two poems because he has encompassed the entire book by being the book itself. The passer also represents the amores in the sense of physical poetry. That which Lesbia holds in her lap, to which she offers a finger, that which is a beloved comfort to her is the material on which Catullus' poetry is written. If we subscribe to this interpretation, the non-passerine lines 11-13 are not an aberration of overzealous annexation, but rather an appropriate comparison between the passer of Lesbia and the golden apple of Atalanta, both of which were instruments of unbinding girdles. The passer in poem 3 encompasses both the death of the poet as passer and the death of the poetry itself as evidence of a still-living affair. The terms with which the poet eulogizes the passer are actions characteristic of the lover (although the comment about being closer than family acquires ambivalence if Lesbia and Clodia are the same). The imprecation against Hades can be both metapohorical and literal: both the death of a pet bird and a love affair are things which cannot be undone.