4 Stars, Completed April 24, 2016

They say leave the best for last, right? My last assigned reading for my classics class happened to be my favorite. It incorporated all the famous myths I already knew (and some unknown ones I haven't heard before) but also put them all in context and sequence.

Ovid's Metamorphoses documents the origin and creation of the world up until the life of the poet himself. There are some familiar segments pulled from n  The Iliadn (my review), n  The Odysseyn, and n  The Aeneidn (my review). We see recurring characters and gods/goddesses from those works and many more recognizable myths.

n  “Omnia mutantur, nihil interit.” (Everything changes, nothing perishes.)n

The series of stories divided out between the 15 books portray the most essential theme: the change and transformation of things or people into different forms, hence "metamorphoses." Ovid does this in a careful and considered manner making the translated prose quite tricky but still beautiful (I read this in translated English but I do remember reading and translating some passages of this in Latin when I took the language in the past).

As for something I found intriguing, were the recurring commonalities found in a lot of these stories. Often times a myth would begin with Jupiter (or Zeus) falling under lust and raping some young and unwilling maiden. Juno (or Hera) would be filled with jealousy upon discovering her husband's infidelity, and she usually would find a way to make the maiden's life miserable. She does so successfully and most of the women end up crying and morphing into rivers/streams/other bodies of water (or the occasional tree). Sometimes there's a diversifying story where it'll focus on the men's tragic lives instead. In that case, the man is usually transformed into a bird by the end. But of course, no surprise, as most Roman and Greek literature, there was a lot of sex, violence, and bad decisions (which led to tragic deaths) caused by fate. But again, transformation is a huge idea that pops up time and time again (along with idea that there are divine consequences when denying a god/goddess).

Anyway, instead of continuing to describe the events of Metamorphoses I'd liked to go ahead and just end this review here. What really made Metamorphoses stand out to me in comparison to other epic poetry was how it was written. Ovid shares these myths and stories by allowing them to be more episodic than a continual narrative, which made the reading feel not as heavy despite the overall length. After reading, I can easily recognize why the great Ovid influenced many works of art and entertainment made by famous individuals (including Shakespeare, a list of Renaissance and Baroque artists, and also more recent painters from the modern movements in the 20th century like Salvador Dalí). To sum it up: Metamorphoses is a thick classic with a challenging narrative structure but certainly worth trudging through to gain "scholar points" or more knowledge on Greek/Roman mythology.

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The only way this could be better is if Ovidius himself recited it while I reclined on a couch listening to him.





And while the other creatures on all fours
Look downwards, man was made to hold his head
Erect in majesty and see the sky,
And raise his eyes to the bright stars above.
----




And out on soaking wings the south wind flew,
His ghastly features veiled in deepest gloom.
His beard was sodden with rain, his white hair drenched;Mists wreathed his brow and streaming water fell
From wings and chest; and when in giant hands
He crushed the hanging clouds, the thunder crashed
And storms of blinding rain poured down from heaven
----




Seeing a man, all naked as they were,
The nymphs, beating their breasts, filled the whole grove
With sudden screams and clustered round Diana
To clothe her body with their own. But she
Stood taller, a head taller than them all;
And as the clouds are coloured when the sun
Glows late and low or like the crimson dawn,
So deeply blushed Diana, caught unclothed.
----




Distraught he turned towards the face again;
His tears rippled the pool, and darkly then
The troubled water veiled the fading form,
And, as it vanished, ‘Stay’, he shouted, ‘stay!
Oh, cruelty to leave your lover so!
Let me but gaze on what I may not touch
And feed the aching fever in my heart.’
Then in his grief he tore his robe and beat
His pale cold fists upon his naked breast,
And on his breast a blushing redness spread
Like apples, white in part and partly red,
Or summer grapes whose varying skins assume
Upon the ripening vine a blushing bloom.
And this he saw reflected in the pool,
Now still again, and could endure no more.
But as wax melts before a gentle fire,
Or morning frosts beneath the rising sun,
So, by love wasted, slowly he dissolves.
----




The crew, bewildered, rowed with dogged strokes
And spread the sails, twin means to make her move.
But ivy creeping, winding, clinging, bound
The oars and decked the sails in heavy clusters.
Bacchus himself, grape-bunches garlanding
His brow, brandished a spear that vine-leaves twined,And at his feet fierce spotted panthers lay,
Tigers and lynxes too, in phantom forms.
The men leapt overboard, all driven mad
Or panic-stricken. Medon’s body first
Began to blacken and his spine was arched
Into a curve. “What magic shape is this?”
Cried Lycabas, but, even as he spoke,
His mouth widened, his nose curved out, his skin
Turned hard and scaly. Libys, trying to pull
The thwarting oars, saw his hands suddenly
Shrink—hands no longer—fins they might be called.Another, when he meant to clasp his arms
Around a hawser, had no arms and jumped
Limbless and bending backwards into the waves.His tail forked to a sickle-shape and curved
Like a half moon. All round the ship they leapt
In showers of splashing spray. Time after time
They surfaced and fell back into the sea,
Playing like dancers, frolicking about
In fun, wide nostrils taking in the sea
To blow it out again. Of the whole twenty
(That was the crew she carried) I alone
Remained. As I stood trembling, cold with fear,
Almost out of my wits, the god spoke words
Of comfort: “Cast your fear aside. Sail onTo Naxos.” Landing there, I joined his cult
And now am Bacchus’ faithful follower.’
----




Losing no time, malign Tisiphone
Seized a torch steeped in blood, put on a robe
All red with dripping gore and wound a snake
About her waist, and started from her home;
And with her as she went were Grief and Dread,
Terror, and Madness too with frantic face.
She stood upon the threshold of the palace;
The door-posts shook, it’s said; the maple doors
Turned pale, the sunlight fled.
----




The dragons and set out in search of Hunger,
And found her in a stubborn stony field,
Grubbing with nails and teeth the scanty weeds.
Her hair was coarse, her face sallow, her eyes
Sunken; her lips crusted and white; her throat
Scaly with scurf. Her parchment skin revealed
The bowels within; beneath her hollow loins
Jutted her withered hips; her sagging breasts
Seemed hardly fastened to her ribs; her stomach
Only a void; her joints wasted and huge,
Her knees like balls, her ankles grossly swollen.
----




The gods agreed. His royal consort too
Seemed not to mind his words, until the last,
Aimed at herself, received an angry frown.
Meanwhile whatever parts the flames could ravage
Mulciber had removed; of Hercules
No shape remained that might be recognized,
Nothing his mother gave him, traces now
Only of Jove. And as a snake will slough
Age with its skin and revel in fresh life,
Shining resplendent in its sleek new scales,
So Hercules, his mortal frame removed,
Through all his finer parts* gained force and vigour,
In stature magnified, transformed into
A presence clothed in majesty and awe.
The Almighty Father carried him away,
Swept in his four-horsed chariot through the clouds,
And stationed him among the shining stars.
Atlas could feel his weight.
----




Exhausted by her quest, and lay face down,
With tumbled hair, among the fallen leaves.
Often the wood-nymphs tried to cradle her
In their soft arms and often sought to salve
The fever of her love, and comforted
With soothing words her heart that heard no more.
She lay in silence, clutching the small sedge,
And watering the greensward with her tears.
And these, men say, the Naiads made a rill,
For ever flowing—what could they give more?
At once, as resin drips from damaged bark,
Or asphalt oozes from the earth’s dark womb,
Or, when the west wind breathes its balm, the sunUnlocks the water that the frost has bound,
So, wasting by her weeping all away,
Byblis became a spring.
----




Venus’ day came, the holiest festival
All Cyprus celebrates; incense rose high
And heifers, with their wide horns gilded, fell
Beneath the blade that struck their snowy necks.Pygmalion, his offering given, prayed
Before the altar, half afraid, “Vouchsafe
,O Gods, if all things you can grant, my bride
Shall be”—he dared not say my ivory girl—
“The living likeness of my ivory girl.”
And golden Venus (for her presence graced
Her feast) knew well the purpose of his prayer;
And, as an omen of her favouring power,
Thrice did the flame burn bright and leap up high.
And he went home, home to his heart’s delight,
And kissed her as she lay, and she seemed warm;
Again he kissed her and with marvelling touch
Caressed her breast; beneath his touch the flesh
Grew soft, its ivory hardness vanishing,
And yielded to his hands, as in the sun
Wax of Hymettus softens and is shaped
By practised fingers into many forms,
And usefulness acquires by being used.
His heart was torn with wonder and misgiving,
Delight and terror that it was not true!
Again and yet again he tried his hopes—
She was alive! The pulse beat in her veins!
And then indeed in words that overflowed
He poured his thanks to Venus, and at last
His lips pressed real lips, and she, his girl,
Felt every kiss, and blushed, and shyly raised
Her eyes to his and saw the world and him.
----




He drove his chariot against his foe
And cried, his strong arm brandishing his spear,
‘Whoever you are, take comfort when you die,
That great Achilles killed you!’ Those high words
His huge spear followed fast. Yet, though no fault
Deflected the sure shaft, that steely point
Achieved no good: it only bruised his breast
As if the blow were blunt. ‘You goddess’ son’,
Cried Cycnus,’—Yes, I know you by repute—
Why are you so surprised that I’ve no wound?’
(Surprised he was) ‘This helmet that you see
With chestnut horse-hair crest, this convex shield,
My left arm’s load, they’re not for my defence,
They’re for adornment. That’s why Mars too wears
His armour. Strip their guardian services
Away—I’ll leave the field without a scratch.
It’s something surely to be born the son,
Not of a Nereid, but him who rules
Nereus and Nereids and the whole wide sea.’

(Oh snap!)
----




And now that terror of the ranks of Troy,
The grace and guardian of the name of Greece,
Achilles, prince unconquerable in war
Had burned upon the pyre. The selfsame god
Had armed him and consumed him in the end.
Now he is ashes; of that prince so great
Some little thing is left, hardly enough
To fill an urn. Yet still his glory lives
To fill the whole wide world.
----




Our bodies too are always, endlessly
Changing; what we have been, or are today,
We shall not be tomorrow. Years ago
We hid, mere seeds and promise, in the womb;
Nature applied her artist’s hands to free
Us from our swollen mother’s narrow home,
And sent us forth into the open air.
Born to the shining day, the infant lies
Strengthless, but soon on all fours like the beasts
Begins to crawl, and then by slow degrees,
Weak-kneed and wobbling, clutching for support
Some helping upright, learns at last to stand.
Then swift and strong he traverses the span
Of youth, and when the years of middle life
Have given their service too, he glides away
Down the last sunset slope of sad old age—
Old age that saps and mines and overthrows
The strength of earlier years. Milo, grown old,
Sheds tears to see how shrunk and flabby hang
Those arms on which the muscles used to swell,
Massive like Hercules; and, when her glass
Shows every time-worn wrinkle, Helen weeps
And wonders why she twice* was stolen for love.
Time, the devourer, and the jealous years
With long corruption ruin all the world
And waste all things in slow mortality.
----




EPILOGUE

Now stands my task accomplished, such a work
As not the wrath of Jove, nor fire nor sword
Nor the devouring ages can destroy.
Let, when it will, that day, that has no claim
But to my mortal body, end the span
Of my uncertain years. Yet I’ll be borne,
The finer part of me, above the stars,
Immortal, and my name shall never die.
Wherever through the lands beneath her sway
The might of Rome extends, my words shall be
Upon the lips of men. If truth at all
Is stablished by poetic prophecy,
My fame shall live to all eternity.


(Bravo!)

Very enjoyable translation indeed. Highly recommended. But much will depend on how much you are put off by some expanding of the original, and some rhyme (both internal and line-end). For example:


"A fisherman, who with his pliant rod
was angling there below, caught sight of them;
and then a shepherd leaning on his staff
and, too, a peasant leaning on his plow
saw them and were dismayed: they thought that these
must surely be some gods, sky-voyaging.

Now on their left they had already passed
the isle of Samos – Juno’s favorite –
Delos, and Paros, and Calymne, rich
In honey, and Labinthos, on the right.
The boy had now begun to take delight
in his audacity; he left his guide
and, fascinated by the open sky,
flew higher: and the scorching sun was close;
the fragrant wax that bound his wings grew soft,
then melted. As he beats upon the air,
his arms can get no grip; they’re wingless – bare.

The father – though that word is hollow now –
cried: “Icarus ! Where are you ?” And that cry
echoed again, until he caught sight
of feathers on the surface of the sea.tt
And Daedalus cursed his own artistry,
then built a tomb to house his dear son’s body.
There, where the boy was buried, now his name
remains: that island is Icaria."


Also you can read a nice bit online here:

http://www.cardinalhayes.org/ourpages...

Personally I quite liked the Arachne section included in the doc above, but these things are all a matter of taste.

Not for me, but I can appreciate it for what it is.

NARCISSUS AND ECHO:

The Birth of Narcissus

Narcissus was fathered by Cephisus, who "forcefully ravished" the dark river nymph, Liriope.

Narcissus was so beautiful that, even in his cradle, you could have fallen in love with him.

His family asked a seer whether he would live to a ripe old age. He replied, "Yes, if he does not come to know himself."

At first, it seemed that this reply was innocuous. However, ultimately, according to Ovid, it was proven to be true for two reasons: "the strange madness" that afflicted the boy and the nature of his death.

Sweet Sixteen

At the age of 16, Narcissus could be counted as both a boy and a man.

Both males and females fell in love with him. However, Ovid says that "his soft young body housed a pride so unyielding that none of those boys or girls dared to touch him."

The implications of this assessment are complicated. There are three components:

1. Narcissus was proud or vain.

2. He (or his pride) was unyielding.

3. None of his admirers dared to touch him.

What is unclear is whether he rejected the approaches of his admirers.

Did he not yield to their approaches? Alternatively, did he appear to be so unyielding that they didn't make any approaches? Did none dare to approach him?

The Importance of Gender

It's important to recognise that Narcissus' admirers were of both genders.

He was equally attractive to both.

Equally, he implicitly rejected approaches from both genders, so there is no reason to suspect that his sexuality was resolutely either heterosexual or homosexual or bisexual.

The Arrival of Echo

The narrative accelerates with the entry of Echo.

She is unable to initiate a conversation, but can respond to another's comments, by repeating the last words that she has heard.

She falls in love with Narcissus. When he detects her presence, he says "I would die before I would have you touch me." Echo replies, "I would have you touch me." She is inviting physical contact. He scorns her and she wastes away, almost anorexically, until only her voice is left.

At this point, Ovid mentions that Narcissus has treated her exactly as he has treated both female and male admirers.




"Echo and Narcissus" (1903), by John William Waterhouse


An Admirer Scorned

Now, another of Narcissus' admirers (not Echo) causes him to be cursed:

"May he himself fall in love with another, as we have done with him! May he too be unable to gain his loved one!"

The curse effectively makes his love unattainable.

A Clear Pool with Shining Silvery Waters

In the next scene, we find Narcissus next to a pool in the woods.

As he drinks from the pool, he becomes enchanted with the beautiful reflection that he sees.

He has become "spellbound by his own self". However, at this stage, there is no suggestion that he knows that the image is himself:

"Unwittingly, he desired himself, and was himself the object of his own approval, at once seeking and sought, himself kindling the flame with which he burned."

Unknowingly, Subject and Object had become one.

However, as a result of the curse, the Subject could not attain his Object, himself.

The Shadow of Your Reflection

Ovid warns Narcissus in the text:

"Poor foolish boy, why vainly grasp at the fleeting image that eludes you? The thing you are seeing does not exist; only turn aside and you will lose what you love. What you see is but the shadow cast by your reflection; in itself it is nothing. It comes with you, and lasts while you are there; it will go when you go, if go you can."

However, there is no suggestion that Narcissus hears the warning. Ovid's caveat comes after the event, when he is writing his tale. Narcissus must acquire knowledge of his predicament on his own. He must come to know himself alone.

Narcissus' Love

Narcissus' dilemma is that he can't reach or attain his love:

"I am in love, and see my loved one, but that for which I see and love, I cannot reach; so far am I deluded by my love...Only a little water keeps us apart."

Eventually, he recognises himself and realises the nature of his love:

"Alas! I am myself the boy I see. I know it: my own reflection does not deceive me. I am on fire with love for my own self. It is I who kindle the flames which I must endure."

What is to be done?

"What should I do? Woo or be wooed? But what then shall I seek by my wooing? What I desire, I have..."

He has come to recognise that the Object of the Subject is the Subject itself.

Because he already possesses himself (in fact, he is self-possessed), his desire is futile. He cannot acquire again what he already has.

Separation and Pursuit

His one response is:

"How I wish I could separate myself from my body."

The mind needs to separate from the body, the Subject needs to separate from the Object, so that the one can pursue the other.

This process of separation would make it possible to both desire and acquire. However, again, it is a futile endeavour.

My Ill-Starred Love

Narcissus realises that he can never touch the object of his love, because it is watery and illusory.

As his image recedes in the pool, he pleads:

"Let me look upon you, if I cannot touch you! Let me, by looking, feed my ill-starred love."

Let me gaze, if I cannot touch. Even if the object of my gaze is myself.

He remains trapped in his self-possession.

Woe is Me

Narcissus, absorbed by his own image, remains by the pool and does not eat or drink. Like Echo before him, he wastes away. His last words before he dies are:

"Woe is me for the boy I loved in vain!"

It seems that he has come to "know himself" It's interesting to speculate on the meaning of this phrase in this context. Normally, to "know yourself" would be good advice and might prolong life. Here, knowledge will abbreviate Narcissus' life. I wonder whether the verb "know" is being used in a different sense to knowledge, perhaps something analogous to the "Biblical sense"? Was his problem knowing himself as he might know an Other? Alternatively, is there an implication that the illusion could have continued had he not recognised himself? and therefore, in terms of the prophecy, he would not live a long life.

When they are preparing his funeral pyre, the only evidence of him they can find is "a flower with circle of white petals round a yellow centre", a narcissus.

Love of One's Own Echo

The Narcissus myth has been interpreted as a warning against:

1. self-love; and/or

2. homosexual love.

It's arguable that the reason Narcissus loved in vain, is that he loved in vanity.

If initially he loved another, eventually he loved his own image.

However, in doing so he was deluded, or he deluded himself.

The object of the pursuit needs to be an Other, an Object, not the Subject.

It takes two to make one.

Vanity or excessive pride can be an obstacle in this quest.

Same Sex Attraction

The second issue relates to whether the Object needs to be an Other, someone who is not like you. In other words, someone who is different, someone who is of a different gender.

In a way, the implicit question is whether homosexuality is a quest for another self, a match, a doppelgänger, rather than an opposite or a complement.

If the former, is homosexuality a form of "narcissism"?

I don't think that the original Narcissus myth implies anything about homosexuality.

Initially, Narcissus did not yield to approaches by either gender. There was no differentiation between heterosexuality and homosexuality. They were equally available and appropriate.

It's true that, inevitably, Narcissus saw a male image in the pool, just as a woman would have seen a female image. He also rejected the advances of the female Echo (as he did previously reject the advances of both genders).

However, I don't see the myth as a caveat against same sex attraction and relationships.

Leaving Room for An Other

The real issue seems to be a preoccupation or an obsession with yourself, the obsession of Subject for Subject. This is the "strange madness" that Ovid refers to.

In other words, the myth itself suggests that it is not sufficient for a Subject to be attracted to itself, a Subject needs an Object, regardless of gender.

Although Echo was originally a nymph capable of giving love to Narcissus, her fate in mythology suggests that, while it might have been legitimate for Narcissus to fall in love with Echo, it wasn't appropriate for Narcissus to fall in love with his own echo.

Ultimately, Narcissus died by his own hand, killed by a reflection or an echo of his former self.



This review is part of a reading sequence that includes both Freud and subsequent Queer Theory:

On Narcissism: An Introduction

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

Reflecting Narcissus: A Queer Aesthetic

https://www.goodreads.com/review/show...

I've been wanting to read Golding translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses when I first heard it was an inspiration for Shakespeare, but kept it arm’s length. Shakespeare's plays I don’t always find easy to read, and reading the first page of this poem made me see stars. Luckily, a New Translation by Raeburn was at hand, review posted here https://www.goodreads.com/review/show..., so I which I read in tandem to this, it helped.

I enjoyed reading this. Okay the English is old, so not always easy to understand, and I kept getting lost but the rhythm was delicious and I admired how Golding delivered his poetic lines to build a story which I could see in full colour. I also liked the introductory essay for giving me context to classical texts in Renaissance society. In broad strokes it explained the influences it had on Shakespeare. When I finished, I was looking forward to reading this again, hoping the next time I could do it without Raeburn’s translation.

Perhaps the single greatest contribution feminist scholarship has made to human knowledge is accuracy. Before the mid-20th century, the vast majority of scholars and writers were men who viewed the past through a distinctly masculine lens, then articulated that lens as the absence of gender—a masculine universal. This profoundly distorted their understanding of the world. By taking gender and sexuality as both subject and tool of analysis, feminist scholarship has made possible a far more rigorous and accurate accounting of the past, of literature, of reality.

So it should come as no surprise that the foremost contribution Stephanie McCarter touts in the introduction and translator’s note to her explicitly feminist new translation of Ovid’s Metamorphoses is its accuracy. Of course, being unversed in Latin, I sort of have to take her word for it. McCarter notes that her translation is 12,971 lines, compared to Ovid’s 11,995. Other English verse translations have tended to run far longer, topping off at Allen Mandelbaum’s 17,928. According to McCarter, in trying to capture the nuance and poetry of Ovid’s words in English, past translators added adjectives that sexualized and feminized Ovid’s women, goddesses, and nymphs—many of whom in fact explicitly eschew femininity and sex. A word McCarter translates simply as “lips” becomes, for one translator, “teasingly tempting lips,” for another a “darling little mouth” (xxxv)—and suddenly we’re starting to see where all those extra lines are coming from.

At the same time, male translators and scholars have euphemized rape. Metamorphoses, McCarter observes, contains around 50 incidents of rape or attempted rape. Translators have used words like “ravish” or “plunder,” when in fact “the specific language Ovid employs to designate rape is consistent with Roman legal terms denoting forced sexual penetration” (xxiv). For McCarter, closer attention to Ovid’s themes of sexual violence, women’s agency and disempowerment, and gender and the body, produces a more accurate translation, even as producing a more accurate translation brings forward those themes.

McCarter is a scholar first, a poet second. I happen to have that 17,928 line Mandelbaum translation on my shelf, and at first glance, Mandelbaum—a poet—looks like, well, the better poet. Mandelbaum’s line is more graceful, his choice of words more considered, his use of meter more artful. But I’ll tell you, when you’ve been racing through McCarter’s concise, forward-moving translation, trying to read one of Ovid’s stories in Mandelbaum just feels tiresome. Line by line, McCarter may not be much of a poet, but the overall effect her verse produces is extraordinarily powerful. If Mandelbaum’s iambic pentameter is aiming for Shakespeare—artful, nimble, sophisticated—McCarter’s verse is more Kit Marlowe—less virtuoso, perhaps, but incredibly powerful in the overall effect it produces.

So much for my (grossly underinformed) review of McCarter’s translation. What about Ovid’s poem? (Of course, I haven’t really read Ovid’s poem. It may make sense, with prose, to speak of an English translation and its foreign original as the same piece of writing. To translate a poem is to write a new poem. However accurate the meaning, poetry is meaning and form, and form doesn’t translate.) I read Metamorphoses because of my sense that it is a foundational text in just about any articulation of a queer literary canon. I was not in the least disappointed. This is a very queer poem—even (perhaps especially) when it is dealing with themes of sexual violence. It is also stunningly beautiful.

Iphis’s transformation from a boy into a girl so that she—he—could marry her—his—beloved Ianthe. How many years before literature gave us another such queer wedding?

Cyparissus’s love for the stag.

Pythagoras’s glorious exegesis of a universe defined by ceaseless change and transformation, embedded within a fierce defense of, of all things, vegetarianism!

And is it possible to imagine a more enigmatic and human expression of the pain of grief than Orpheus’s famous journey to the underworld?

They weren’t far from the surface of the earth
when, scared that she might falter and intent
on seeing her, the lover turned his eyes.
She slipped back instantly. The wretch reached out,
attempting both to catch and to be caught,
but only grabbed thin air. The wife, now dying
again, made no complaint about her husband,
for what could she complain about except
that she was loved?

The poem is filled with thousands of references to Greek and Roman history, mythology, and literature that I barely understood or didn’t catch at all. McCarter’s end notes are concise and useful, but even without the notes, I think it was ultimately a source of wonder, rather than frustration, that this poem comes to me from a world simultaneously so alien and unfamiliar, and so intimately known that it is almost remembered—all those told and retold myths I have read, heard, seen since I was a small child.

Casi puedo compararlo al trabajo que realizó Virgilio con la "Eneida" pues Ovidio gran maestro conocido por otras obras desarrolló una biblia de Mitología romana (que viene a ser una adaptación de la griega) pero aún cuenta más cosas que a veces tergiversan la mitología griega pero es buena fuente de mitos y explicaciones sobre la naturaleza.

33. Metamorphoses by Ovid, translated by A. D. Melville, notes by E. J. Kenney
original date: circa 8 ce
translated 1986
format: Paperback
acquired: Library book sale 2012
read: July 23 - Aug 15
rating: 5

I'm not and cannot properly review Ovid's Metamorphoses. Instead just scattered notes.

- Metamorphoses has tended to fall out of favor at different times because it's mainly entertaining. It seems it kind of mocks serious study, or can in certain perspectives.

- And it is entertaining in a very flexible way. You can read it straight through, or a story at time - usually only a few pages - or in many other ways, including in a reading slump, like I was in when I started. The only thing really daunting about it, assuming you have a decent translation or read Latin, is its length.

- The quality of the translation is maybe not that critical. He'll be entertaining regardless.

- It's almost chronological, beginning with creation and a few other foundation stories (which for me struck a bunch of interesting notes right off) and ending with Roman history.

- Except that Ovid dodges a lot. He avoids, mostly, overlap with Virgil and Homer and other prominent works, finding niches that are generally overlooked, or working in more obscure stories. He has a whole book (there are 15 books) on mostly eastern stories. Anyway, he won't replace your Edith Hamilton or other Greek mythological guides.

- He filled in a lot stories I hadn't caught in ancient literature - like Atalanta and the Calydonian Boar hunt, the battle of the Lapiths and the Centaurs and Pirithous's wedding, or Venus and Adonis.

- But main story lines around Theseus, Minos, Hercules, Jason and the Argo and the hunt for the Golden Fleece, most of the Trojan War or even the basic history of the gods or their battle with the giants all get only cursory coverage.

- He knew everything, or so it seems. Like his previous works, he works in references to practically all known literature of all types. Some more prominent than others, and many lost.

- He also probably (hopefully) made a lot of stuff up.

- So he writes a bit like a scholar and bit like creator.

- This is largely humor, but it's not funny exactly, or even exactly satire, it's just very clever. He creates entertaining situations and then might overdo it a bit. I don't think I ever really minded, even when he got quite gory.

- I think Ovid influences everyone, including many famous art works, but the main work that came to mind as I read it was Spenser's The Faerie Queene. Not that Spenser has Ovid's mythology, but just that they left me with a very similar sense. All that work they put in and how far and deeply it pulls you out of the world and how yet mainly it's playful, how it can leave you with that magical sense that only exists around the fringes of your consciousness or awareness.

- recommended to anyone, because it seemed like it has almost universal appeal, but not everyone, if that makes sense.

Souvent il s'approche, ses mains palpent son œuvre, ne sachant
si elle est de chair ou d'ivoire. Et il ne dit plus qu'elle est en ivoire ;
il lui donne des baisers, et pense qu'elle les lui rend ; il lui parle,
l'étreint, croit sentir ses doigts presser les membres qu'ils touchent
et craint que les bras ainsi serrés ne soient marqués de bleus.
Tantôt il lui dispense des caresses, tantôt lui offre des présents
appréciés par les filles : coquillages, beaux galets, petits oiseaux,
des fleurs de mille couleurs, des lis, des balles peintes
Il la pare aussi de vêtements, passe à ses doigts
des pierres précieuses et à son cou de longs colliers ;
il suspend des perles à ses oreilles, des chaînettes sur sa poitrine.
Tout lui sied ; et nue, elle ne paraît pas moins belle.
il l'appelle la compagne de sa couche, et la dépose, nuque inclinée,
sur un coussin de plumes, comme si elle allait y être sensible.


Ovide a recueilli ces contes, lors de son voyage d'étude en Grèce qui était d'usage chez les patriciens Romains, pour notre plus grand bonheur. C'est un excellent départ pour découvrir la mythologie.

Siempre es vital, en todo lector de clásicos que se precie de tal, recorrer las páginas de los pioneros, los creadores, los que antecedieron a toda la literatura moderna, tal es el caso de Ovidio como también lo son Virgilio, Homero, Sófocles, Esquilo, Eurípides y tantos otros. He leído con interés la mayoría de las transformaciones narradas en Las Metamorfosis y por supuesto, algunas me gustaron más que otras; por eso enumero la galería de mitos que desfilan por sus gloriosas páginas.

Todos ellos me han maravillado con sus variadas transformaciones, a saber:
Apolo, Europa, Júpiter, Dafne, Narciso, Perseo, Medusa, Teseo, Proserpina, Palas, Jasón, Medea, Minotauro, Dédalo, Ícaro, Aquiles, Ulises, Orfeo, Eurídice, Ganímedes, Pigmalión, Ifigenia y sobre todo mi admiradísimo Eneas.

Para finalizar, debo remarcar cómo Ovidio aseguró su nombre en letras de oro para la posteridad a través del Epílogo. Es como si él mismo hubiera sido Tiresias, el sabio ciego que podía adivinar el futuro (algo que Edipo no logró entender):

“Y ya he dado fin a una obra a la que no podrán destruir ni la cólera de Júpiter, ni el fuego, ni el hierro, ni el tiempo voraz. Que aquel día que no tiene ningún derecho más que sobre mi cuerpo, cuando quiera, ponga término a curso incierto de mi vida; sin embargo, inmortal en la parte más noble de mi persona, seré llevado sobre la alta región de los astros y mi nombre será indeleble; y por cualquier parte por donde aparezca el dominio de Roma sobre la tierra seré leído por los pueblos y por todos los siglos; viviré, si algo de verdad existe en el presentimiento de los poetas, gloriosamente.”

There's honestly something deeply fascinating to me about reading the words of someone who lived 2000 years ago, who wrote these exact words 2000 years ago, and though I completely understand why reading translation is done - I think reading translated lit is amazing - it is undoubtedly more interesting to read this word-by-word, to see connotations and derivatives and line breaks and literary devices.

So yes, I read this in the original Latin! With the help of a lot of vocabulary lists because I don’t speak Latin as fluently as I would like to. (Shouldn’t passing an AP exam make you fluent? Anyway.)

Ovid’s language is... so good. Some story reviews follow:
n  Deucalion & Pyrrha, 1.348-415n
This is the story of an apocalypse, or in this case, a failed apocalypse. This is the story of a world empty “inanem” and of two lovers at its fall, attempting to bring it back. The language of this is so sweepingly gorgeous; the image of Deucalion and Pyrrha in front of the Themis’ watered-down altar is deeply satisfying. Very Adam-and-Eve and very satisfying.

n  Daphne & Apollo, 1.452-657n
Daphne and Apollo is a story that would be cool to see done by like, Catullus. (Poem 64 the only bitch in this house I respect!!) In general conceit, it is about a woman who does not want to get married being chased down by a man who just really wants to have sex with her until she turns herself into a tree. And there’s definitely an air of blaming her for beauty here: the line “but that beauty forbids you to be that which you wish, and your form [beauty] opposes your desire” is fucked up and sad, as well as the ending “destroy by changing my beauty by which I please too much”. The best thing that can be said about this is that the line “let your bow strike everything, oh Phoebus, but let my bow strike you” is so satisfying.

n  Jupiter & Io, 1.583-746n
I absolutely hate this story. This is the one where I decided that he needs to avoid the women-being-chased and-maybe-raped but-I-will-mention-this-with-exactly-one-word thing (“rapuit”). In a situation even more egregious than that of Daphne and Apollo, she is given no character development whatsoever and the general story just angers me, up until around line 630, where she attempts to talk to her father Inachus: “She came to the riverbanks, where she was accustomed to play often, and when she saw in the water, her new horns, she grew frightened and fled having been terrified of herself” — the repetition of the riverbanks here is especially arresting.

I did find this line sort of satisfying:
“...It is cruel to surrender his love, but suspicious not to give; it is shame, what would urge him from that, Amor dissuades this. Shame would would have been conquered by Love, but if this trivial gift were refused to the companion of his race and bed as a heifer, it would be able to appear to be no heifer.” (617-621)

n  The Ride of Phaethon, 2.150-339n
This one is wonderful. I really enjoyed the figurative language and dramatic, ironic setup of this story: the horses hit the doors with their feet (155) and then snatch the path (158). The chariot being shaken on high (166) is a great detail, and the journey into the rapidly-heating constellations is just incredible (and not just incredibly hard to translate). Lots of apostrophe and several rhetorical questions build this into a gorgeous story.

I absolutely adored this set of lines:
“I am bemoaning the lesser things: great cities destruct with their walls, / and with their peoples the fires [whole nations] / turn into ashes; and the forests along with the mountains burn” (214-216)

This section was so good that I forgave it for meaning I had to learn almost 200 lines of translation in a month for a test. Me & my 96 on the test say hi!!

n  Pyramus & Thisbe, 4.55-166n
“Pyramus and Thisbe, the one the most handsome of youths, the other outstanding… that which they were not able to deny, equally they both burned with their minds captured.”
Ah, Pyramus and Thisbe, the original tragic lovers. The only context I have seen this story appear in previously is Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, a version that is deeply comedic. But this story is, despite some stupidity in plot, so well written. “This flaw had been noted by no one through the long years… but what does love not detect?” Ovid asks; this love affair seems almost inevitable, deeply wrapped around fate and tragedy. “How difficult would it be, that you could allow us to be joined with whole bodies, or, if this is too-much, that you should open this wall for kisses to be given?” Of course, this story ends badly. And it is Pyramus’ fault. Thisbe is a bitch with common sense and did nothing wrong.

n  The Fall of Icarus, 8.152-235n
“The shame of the family had grown, and was exposing / the disgusting adultery of his mother by the novelty of the two-formed monster...”
THE FALL OF ICARUS!! Okay this has always been one of my favorite stories of all time, and reading it in Ovid’s original Latin was such a cool experience. This story is framed by a description and depiction of the tragedy of the minotaur and the abandonment of poor Ariadne (#Catulluspoem64). I loved Daedalus' intro for his plan: “it is permitted that he block the land and sea / but certainly the sky lies open; we will go that way...” And the fall of Icarus is equally emotional, beautifully conveyed through the image of a herder and fisherman watching him, up to its ending: “and his lips, shouting out the name of his father / are taken up by the blue water, water which has taken up its name from him.”

Anyway, I hope y’all appreciated my original Latin translation skills pouring into this review. I SPEND A LOT OF TIME THINKING ABOUT LATIN AND I'M HONESTLY SO PROUD TO BE SHARING IT.

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