Rhythmical renderings: Ovid's poem on lustful kisses - Amores 2.5

Introduction:

 

It has been a while since I posted something, but I am back with something new for you to chew on: my own rhythmical translation of Ovid's Amores 2.5, the poem known as 'Kisses' or 'No love is worth that much'.

Inspired by a cool and consistent blog, sententiae antiquae, I thought it would be more attractive and useful to issue some translations of mine. For one, translations are more accessible to a larger audience since not everyone is interested in discussing the word cum for a specific sentence, but most people are entertained by reading a poem (or I hope so). But above all, the act of translating is in itself a curious act of study and discussion: translations are representations of our minds and the norms and values we adhere to (e.g. this article on the subject of mistranslating rape in classics). Speaking for myself, I would be more interested in your opinions on specific themes in the poem, or your questions of certain aspects of my translation: perhaps, I might use certain passages of my translations and explore them further, but you can bring up anything you want if something is unclear from the text: my aim is that these translations can stand on their own as texts.

The poem: 

 

Have you ever had that feeling that your girlfriend is kissing someone else behind your back? If that's the case, this poem of Ovid will likely strike a chord with you. This poem is one of his first completed works, the Amores, love elegies that tell the love relationship between the poet's miserable persona and his (imaginary) girlfriend Corinna (Ovid probably named this girl after the famous Greek poetess Corinna). As you would expect from love elegy, the narrator of the poem is most of the time unhappy with a particular series of events that have happened recently and he shows his distress to his audience.

In this particular poem, the narrator is completely done with his girl (unnamed in this poem). She has been his source of ongoing misery (" o sweet girl, born to me as my unfortunate projects!), but he doesn't want to address the issue he has and, so to speak, to win the case by ending the relationship (first lines are full with juridical discourse). Afterwards, he sets the setting of his unfortunate event: during a party, a banquet or something similar, his girl was kissing another man while thinking her boyfriend was asleep. After an explanation of the nature of the kiss, he addresses this to her and she feels ashamed. Although the act provokes his anger, her shame and appearance make him abstain from inflicting any harm on her. Instead, he asks her a kiss, which she happily gives. However, this kiss is the source of more misery, since it was even better than any before. This leads the narrator to his final conclusion: she must have slept with someone else.

While translating this poem, I tried to apply some rhyme at the end of every sentence. It's similar to the version of Len Krisak (2014), although his translation is more polished by using a metrical scheme as well (iambic). Nevertheless, I believe mine is a better representation of the Latin text because it retains some wordplays and allussions, but this makes some part also less understandable. Overall I hope you have a good read, and any comments on rhyme or language issues are most welcome!

 

The Translation: 

 

 No love is worth that much – please, go away, Cupid in the sky –
that often, my biggest wishes are to die.
Wishing to die is mine when I bring to mind your missteps,
o sweet girl, born to me as my unfortunate projects!
Neither clumsy scratched wax-tablets uncover your spare time,
nor gifts, given in secrecy, exhibit your crime.
O, if only I could argue my case so that I would be unable to win!
My pathetic self! Why does my case bear no sin?
Fortunate is he who dares to defend bravely what he holds dear,
whose girl can say to him: ‘it wasn’t me, don’t fear.’
He’s made of iron, and endures pain way too silty,
to whom the bloody price is given by the downfall of the guilty

When you thought I dozed off, I watched in my miserable sober light:
I witnessed the acts of your crime while having wine at my side.
I saw you two saying a lot with the quivering of the brow;
in your nods, your voices were clear now.
silence of your eyes was unable
but the table with writings of wine
as verses were in your fingers, stable.
I’ve recognised: your talks were busy with the unlikely,
your words, charged, contained certain clues of your psyche.
And the festive group of guests had already gone off and left,
one or two boys were staying bereft.
Then, it was, I saw, you and him, kissing unjust
– it was clear to me that it was a kiss of lust–

Such is not a kiss a sister would give her brother stern,
but a lovely maiden to her loving man in return.
that Diana would give Phoebus such kisses, would be strange
but Venus kissing Mars would not be out of range
‘What are you doing?’, I protested, ‘Whom are you sharing my joys with?
I will put my hands on my rightful belonging herewith!
This good thing was reciprocal to us: to you with me, to me with you.
Why would you drag any third party out of the blue?’ 

"These things I said, and what pain to my tongue had to recommend;
and a red blush of shame shredded the face of my guilty girlfriend,
the same colour as the sky is tinted with, the colour of Dawn, Titon’s bride,
 or the same colour a young girl befalls after her husband has eyed,
or like roses glittering on a background of white lilies,
or when the Moon is toiling with his horses, sung in cities,
or like the Assyrian ivory, so that it cannot stain during the long year
that is coated by the Lydian women’s gear. 

This was the colour, or most similar to one of these three,
and never, I swear, was her face more stunning to see.
She looked down to the ground – it was a fitting pose;
from her face I could tell that she frowned – rightfully she shows;
such were the things, and her appearance was o so fair,
yet the urge was there to pull out her hair,
to punch her, on those tender cheeks, somewhere …
Once I looked at her face,  I put down my strong arms,
My girl protected herself with her charms.
And the person who was a violent beast seconds ago,
turned into a supplicant, an asker who asked so:
if she wanted to kiss me, not any worse though.

She smiled and gave her best with all her heart -
so good that even maddened Jove would have dropped
his three-forked thunder from his part
And I was tormented, unhappy by the idea that some stranger
had experienced kisses that were my life changer,
nor was it in my intent
that these were known as from her to rent.
Even more, these were much better than I have taught her before,
and she seemed to have added something new in her act.
My woe was that they were too appealing to me,
that your tongue was fully admitted by my lips, mine by thee.
and yet, this is not even my only regret -
I am not complaining that our kisses were connected so much,
even though I complain the connectivity of them as such:
Never could she have learned this, lest in someone’s bed,
I am uncertain which teacher of love has won that grand price instead.