In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content: Three Odes HORACE (Translated by Charles Martin) To Marcus Vipsanius Agrippa No fears, Agrippa: your exploits will be Saluted by a bard who will eclipse Homer in singing your command of ships, Your winning use of cavalry. It won’t be us. Gifts far surpassing mine Are to be found in Varius, who sings Achilles’ spleen, Ulysses’ wanderings At sea, or Pelops’ nasty line. Of loftiness, we have (...) a deficit, And so our Muse forbids us to pursue Praising your glory and our Caesar’s too, Lest, overwrought, we lessen it. Varius is fit to sing of Mars arrayed In armor, of Meriones in dust, Or of those gods that Diomedes thrust His lance through, with Athena’s aid. Ours, the wine bar and the local fray, The bachelorettes whose nails leave livid traces We later notice on their boyfriends’ faces And lightly sing of, in our way. (Odes i.6) arion 28.3 winter 2021 74 threee odes To Leuconoe Stop seeking what the gods prohibit us from apprehending, Leuconoe—the date on which it all comes to an ending. Better to toss the Dream Book and accept whatever comes, Whether Jove sends more winters, or the last we’ll know now drums The Tuscan Sea into submission on opposing cliffs. Be wise—decant this evening’s wine, curtail your hopeful ifs: Live in the moment: as we speak, now is becoming then; And insofar as possible, ignore tomorrow’s, “When….” (Odes i.11) To Iccius Iccius, are you hot for Arabian Loot now, devising tactics to subjugate The previously undefeated Kings of Sabaea? Forging new fetters For the ferocious Medes while previsioning Your oriental sex-slave, unguarded by The boyfriend whom you’ve slain in battle? What perfumed page from some royal palace, Whose father taught him Sinoform archery, Will be your Ganymede? Oh, deny falling Rivers the right to scale steep mountains, Tell us the Tiber can’t flow back upstream, When you—who were once so very promising, Rush to exchange your Works of Panaetius AND those Platonic scrolls you scoured bookstalls in search of—for Spanish armor! (Odes i.29)... (shrink)

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The introductory ode of Horace's fourth book has been given comparatively little critical attention, although it might have been expected to arouse exceptional interest, being the first-fruits of the lyricist's autumnal harvest. The neglect is due partly to the poem's deceptive simplicity but much more to the unease which it arouses in Horace's admirers: Venus does not seem the most fitting deity for the poet laureate to invoke, and moreover this is not so much an invocation as an (...) appeal to be left alone; the young man who is the subject of Horace's eulogy was hardly a person of much eminence at the time of writing, though he became prominent later and is now prosopographically well endowed; above all, there is the disturbing picture of the elderly poet testily acknowledging an amorous urge and surrendering his dignity in pederastic dreams. (shrink)

Like everyone else, I was brought up to repeat that regnauit populorum is a ‘Greek genitive = S0009838800023934_inline1’ If one shrinks from depriving examinationpapers of this interesting idiom, he may be consoled by remembering that abstineto irarum and desine querelarum are still left. Why should not populorum depend in a normal manner upon potens ? Surely the sense is improved by the antithesis pauper aquae, potens agrestium populorum. ‘Where Daunus, scant of water, ruled rustic peoples’ contains a somewhat cold pedantry, (...) which is at least partially relieved by the fuller description. I find it difficult to understand why so many scholars prefer to make ex humili potens refer to Horace himself. (shrink)

Horace has told us that the author of a literary work, qui uariare cupit rem prodigialiter unam, falls into absurdities. Much more likely to meet this fate is the interpolator who has the same ambition. The above four lines are a case in point; for it is fairly certain that if this Hymn were presented to readers as it came from the hand of its author, the whole passage with its phenomenal bull and its four pacifist dogs which apparently (...) had agreed together not to bark and bite, ‘as is their nature to,’ would not be found in the text. Undoubtedly it is true, though it is by no means a marvel , that the bull which was somewhere else and the dogs which were following in his wake were not taken by the infant cattle-lifter who was satisfied, as he well might be, with a trifle of fifty cows. The veracity of the interpolater in this regard may, therefore, pass without question, and furthermore his knowledge of epic metre does not fail seriously till he reaches the fourth line, although ό δ ταρος is not really epic and λλων not λλων is required in the opening line, for he certainly did not mean, as he unwittingly says ‘other bulls,’ but ‘the others, the cows.’ After ο μνλειθεν it is quite out of the question that οĩ τε κύνες τε ταȗρος, two flagrant examples of the later article, should follow. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:The Life of Roman Republicanism by Joy ConnollyT. P. WisemanJoy Connolly. The Life of Roman Republicanism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2014. xix + 228 pp. Cloth. $39.95.This book was written for the best of reasons. Joy Connolly explains in her preface that she began to study the republican tradition in 2001, when “the Bush administration’s imprudence, paranoia, and disregard of democratic values stoked in me an anger equalled (...) only by the disgust I felt at my own and my fellow citizens’ inability or unwillingness to stand up to it” (xiv). The failure of the Left caused her “to ask questions that might help us to respond more intelligently and humanly to the situation in which we find ourselves” (xv). In particular, in this book her aim has been to exploit texts from the late Roman republic, to which students of political science have not paid enough attention, and thus recover “the suppressed history of republican political thought” (204). As she says in [End Page 372] conclusion, “I have sought to offer practical tools for civic education by articulating learnable practices of knowing the world that characterize late republican texts” (208, author’s emphasis). How well has this admirable ambition been achieved?According to the introduction, “[t]his book seeks to place Cicero’s Verrines, Caesarian orations, Republic, and Laws; Sallust’s Catiline and Jugurtha; and Horace’s Satires at the center of the republican tradition” (1); however, the Verrines and De legibus get only a couple of paragraphs each, and only one of the “Caesarian” orations is discussed at all. The actual contents are: chapter 1 on De republica (“Where Politics Begins”), which “presents Cicero as a thinker concerned with a collective of antagonists and competing interests, against conventional portrayals of his ideal republic as a homogeneous, unified, harmonious community” (20); chapter 2 on Sallust (“Justice in the World”), which argues that “Sallust’s withholding of judgment at the end of Jugurtha signifies the ways in which agents in the decaying republic withhold justice on a larger scale” (20); chapter 3 on Horace Satires I (“Non-Sovereign Freedom”), in which the obvious question (asked only at the end), “what might political and social progressives find worthy of consideration in Horace today?”, is answered with “Horatian satire undoes the claim to sovereignty that usually partners claims to moral judgment” (154); chapter 4 on Cicero’s view of oratory (“Dividual Advocacy”), which “reflects on the Roman preoccupation with faces, situations, the mutability of selfhood, and the degree to which the divided self mirrors the division of the polity” (21); and chapter 5 on Pro Marcello (“Imagination, Finitude, Responsibility, Irony”), which argues that “[b]y adopting hyperbole as the governing figure of this new style of senatorial speech, Cicero holds out the promise not of a morally legible universe, but of a recognition that every Roman now lives in conditions virtually ‘impossible to believe’, the emergence of one ruler, under whom the chains of traditional obligations do not consistently hold” (183). The short conclusion (“The Republic Remastered”) attacks “the tendency, dominant since the nineteenth-century emergence of sociology and economics, to treat human beings primarily as rational calculators or creatures of practical wisdom” (203) and expresses the hope that “close attention to these texts has the capacity to reshape the way we think about civic wisdom—the way schools teach history, literature, civics, and philosophy—about public discourse, especially public commentary on political oratory, and about the conversations we citizens hold among ourselves” (207).I have deliberately used the author’s own words to indicate what the book attempts to do, because I would find it impossible to summarise its argument any other way. Even with these formulae to help, Connolly’s selective and apparently random approach imposes a heavy burden on the reader to construct a coherent framework for her ideas. I think there are two main reasons for this. The first is a direct result of Connolly’s impressive mastery of the political-sciences literature. It is an excellent thing to be so thoroughly familiar with the works of Hannah Arendt, Simon Critchley, John Dewey, Michel Foucault, Dean Hammer, Bonnie Honig, Andreas Kalyvas, George Kareb... (shrink)

In each example an adjective is separated from its noun by a verb and an unqualified noun. The separation by the verb may be regarded as conditioned by the metre, but not the further separation by the unqualified noun, as the qualified and unqualified nouns are metrically interchangeable. Horace would appear to prefer the wider separation to the less wide.

Recent scholarship has focused on the way in which Horace avoids speaking of a returning golden age in his later lyric poetry, despite the fact that Virgil had done precisely this in the sixth book of his epic. I argue that Horace realized that the concept was a problematic one. Many of the golden ages constructed by earlier poets were marked with characteristics that could never be achieved in reality. Horace therefore avoids the terminology, instead defining the (...) new age on his own terms. (shrink)

Horace, Satires 1.3.117–23, as transmitted: adsitregula, peccatis quae poenas inroget aequas,ne scutica dignum horribili sectere flagello.nam ut ferula caedas meritum maiora subire 120uerbera non uereor, cum dicas esse paris resfurta latrociniis et magnis parua minerisfalce recisurum simili te, si tibi regnumpermittant homines.Let there be a rule to impose fair penalties for transgressions, lest you pursue with terrible scourge one deserving but the stick. You see, I don't fear that you will strike with a schoolmaster's rod one who has earned (...) more serious lashing when you say mere thefts are of a pair with brigandage and threaten to trim little things and great with like sickle, would the world but grant you power. Horace is attacking the Stoics for their doctrine that all sins are equal. The overall run of sense must be that given above. If kept, the ut of line 120 must then have the value of ne: were it allowed its normal meaning in expressions of fear the opposite of what is required would be said. The oddity of the construction was long excused as a sort of anacoluthon, provoked by the postponement of uereor. Such defences of the received text were rightly criticised by Palmer and Housman: ‘incredible’, they both concluded, and indeed it is incredible that Horace could have in such a short space forgotten what he had written, and forgotten it in such a way as to say the opposite of what he meant. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Horace and the Rhetoric of AuthorityKenneth J. ReckfordEllen Oliensis. Horace and the Rhetoric of Authority. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. xii 1 241 pp. Cloth, $64.95.In a gratifying book, crafted with unusual care, Ellen Oliensis investigates Horace’s self-fashioning in his poetry. “Horace is present,” she argues, “in his personae... not because these personae are authentic and accurate impressions of his true self, but because (...) they effectively construct that self—for Horace’s contemporary readers, for us, and also for Horace himself” (2). As she carefully observes the “faces” Horace makes from early satires and epodes to late epistles, she never assumes that they simply screen a “real” Horace, ambitious and/or subservient, from the public gaze. Horace’s strategies are unmasked, and [End Page 313] his tact (together with some rudeness), and what Oliensis characterizes as a fine, shifting blend of authority and deference; but “the final sum of Horace’s calculations is the making of good poetry, by which I mean poetry that is not exhausted in or fundamentally compromised by the social exchanges in which it participates” (14). This is (as I see it) a rescue operation that succeeds most admirably.Chapter 1 is titled “Face-saving and Self-defacement in the Satires.” In book 1, Horace distinguishes himself from his satiric targets as a discriminating poet and person, worthy of his equally discriminating patron. While his defensive maneuvers ward off envious outsiders, they also and more importantly appeal to Maecenas’ judgment as “overreader.” Oliensis often argues negatively, in terms of what Horace does not do. (Cf. Sherlock Holmes and the dog that didn’t bark.) There is, for example, no mention in Satires 1.6 of the part played by Horace’s poetry in winning Maecenas’ approval, no suggestion that Horace’s father was eager to see him advance socially. So too, in 2.6, Horace’s travails are not attributed to Maecenas; his villa is not connected with Maecenas; there is no self-incriminating “thank you”; the city day does not end with dinner at Maecenas’ house. Horace’s tact, his self-effacement here, are remarkable. Yet even as his satires decry the pursuit of wealth and status, they mark and promote “the poet’s own progress from the obscure margins to the shining center of Roman society” (17). Satires 1.10 proclaims Horace’s newfound authority together with his acceptance into an aesthetic and social elite.In book 2, Oliensis argues, Horace retreats from the role of satirist, giving it (ostensibly) to others, displacing upon them (Ofellus in 2.2, Damasippus in 2.3, Ulysses in 2.5, Davus in 2.7, Nasidienus in 2.8) the attempt to “mend misfortune with art” (51–63). Only later, in Epistles 2.2.49–52, will he admit to his early ambitiousness. For now, “by displacing these autobiographical ‘facts’ onto a series of surrogates in Satires 2, he retroactively exposes the satirist of Book 1” (54). The picture is convincing. We see Horace growing in subtlety and assurance as he moves away from satire—or moves satire in a new direction? I would only ask: did the process begin earlier, with the partial rejection of diatribe satire in 1.3 and Lucilian satire in 1.4? How and where should we draw the line between Horace’s half-ironic denials of aggressive intent and his genuine self-education through satire writing?Chapter 2, on the Epodes, is distinguished by Oliensis’ regard for diversity, the ugly and low stuff along with the bright and lofty. To simplify a complex, intuitive argument: Horace associates himself deferentially with the new center of Octavian and Maecenas, and repels outsiders, but his project fails: because he is forced to recognize too much of himself in scapegoated figures like the upstart slave-tribune of Epodes 4; because attack breeds attack in an unending cycle of vengeance; and because Horace is finally impotent before the dark, irrational forces represented by Canidia. He fails signally to achieve closure in the expected ten-poem book, turning instead (mainly) to erotic subjects, [End Page 314] unsubdued passions. Dactyls compete symbolically with iambs. Finally Horace lets Canidia win—and triumphs... (shrink)

In the poem which sets the seal on his three books of odes, Horace declares that his monument to himself will be more durable than bronze and higher than the pyramids. As T. E. Page noted in his commentary, aere can suggest not only bronze tablets, but also commemorative statuary, although tablets seems more to the fore here, given the reference to monumentum As for the pyramids, they are a fine example of grandiloquent architecture, but of a kind which (...) is nevertheless subject to the destructive natural forces from which Horace exempts his own commemoration. (shrink)

The pregnant phrase fatale monstrum comes at a crucial point in the third and longest of the three sentences of the ‘Cleopatra Ode’. Before it Cleopatra is being hissed from the stage of history with cries of disapproval; after it she is recalled to receive plaudit after plaudit for her courage and resolution. The phrase is emphasized by its position at the start of a stanza followed by a marked pause. Prima facie it is the climax of the vituperation, and (...) has often so been taken. T. E. Page, for example, comments: ‘Horace speaks of Cleopatra as not human, but a hideous and portentous creature sent by destiny to cause horror and alarm.’. (shrink)

nos numerus sumus et frugis consumere nati,sponsi Penelopae nebulones Alcinoiquein cute curanda plus aequo operata iuuentus,cui pulchrum fuit in medios dormire dies et 30ad strepitum citharae cessatum ducere curam.ut iugulent hominem, surgunt de nocte latrones:ut te ipsum serues, non expergisceris?We are ciphers, born to eat bread, the worthless suitors of Penelope and the young men of Alcinous’ court, all too concerned with keeping their skin attractive, who thought it a fine thing to sleep till midday and * * * To (...) murder a man, thieves get up at night; to save yourself, won't you wake up? (shrink)

The fifth poem in Horace's first book of Epistles takes the form of an invitation to Torquatus to attend a dinner which the poet is preparing for that evening, the eveof the Emperor's birthday. The fare will be simple but Horace will see to it that the furnishings, napkins, vessels and plates will be clean and bright and that the company and the seating-plan will be to Torquatus’ taste. Horace will get Butra and Septicius to be there, (...) and Sabinus, too, as long as he is not kept away by a prior dinner engagement or by a girl he'd rather spend the evening with. With Torquatus and Horace, that makes four or five diners, so that there is room for others before the triclinium is full, although there shouldn't be too many; or, as Horace puts it :locus est et pluribus umbris;sed nimis arta premunt olidae conuiuia caprae. (shrink)

As in literature poetry precedes prose, so in poetry a special and ‘heightened’ diction seems to precede everyday language. Mr.T.S.Eliot has put it thus: ‘Every revolution in poetry is apt to be, and sometimes to announce itself as, a return to common speech.’ How does this apply to Greek and Latin ? There are objections to considering words in isolation from this point of view, since neutral ones are apt to go now grey, now purple, according to their company; but (...) if we do not do so, we deny ourselves the only considerable method of investigation that is still open to us. Again, we must recognize that most poems are composed largely of ordinary words, though these are often used in a way that is not ordinary. (shrink)

Horace recommended that poets "mingle the useful and the sweet"; but the champions of an ethical function for art have yet to explain how moral and aesthetic values can truly be mingled. Their proposed ethical functions too often seem irrelevant to what we most care about in art. Moreover, we need an explanation of what art has to show us that is of ethical significance, and that we don't already know. ;The answer is to be found in the "thick (...) concepts" , which purport to provide reasons to feel and to act. Thick concepts are response-dependent, in that our application of them is guided by certain quasi-emotional responses, which they purport to warrant. These responses, I argue, are given content by their role in an ethical perspective, a value-laden "way of seeing" the world. Morality's aspirations to objectivity require that we gain imaginative acquaintance with the thick concepts of alien perspectives, without which real normative confrontation would be impossible. Fiction thus serves an ethical function by expanding our capacities of moral perception. ;Narrative art is uniquely well-suited to this task, because to give a reading of a story is to make sense of its characters and events in value-laden, emotional terms. Our engagement with fiction thus involves understanding the ethical perspectives that inform the text. This model of art's ethical function is immune to formalist challenges. Moreover, it answers the formidable hermeneutic and epistemological problems on which traditional theories founder. (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content:Reviewed by:Roman Literary Culture: From Cicero to ApuleiusWilliam S. AndersonElaine Fantham. Roman Literary Culture: From Cicero to Apuleius. Baltimore and London: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1996. xv 1 326 pp. Cloth, $39.95.This is a book that needed to be written, in answer to a deep gap in our resources on Latin literature. As our current time and our students keep raising questions along the lines of cultural history, (...) we are obliged to seek answers about the circumstances that conditioned the production and consumption of [End Page 135] poetry and prose. Fantham’s book is a significant start on a project which, I dare predict, others in coming generations will be inspired to continue.Fantham modestly declares at the outset that she is contributing to the search “toward a social history of Latin literature.” If we ask her to elaborate on the extent of her project, she obliges as follows: “I see as important aspects of any literary work its author in his social and political setting, its recipients and their culture, and the medium or nature of its presentation” (2). Fleshing out each of these three aspects (author, audience, and medium of presentation), she devotes most attention to the various circumstances that affect the author. First of all, the author is almost universally male: Sulpicia is a precious exception that proves the rule. But then his social class may vary widely, as will his civil status in Rome. Fantham instances for contrast Cato and Ennius, the first a novus homo and therefore an almost fanatic advocate of Roman values, a thorough politician (consul, censor, senator), a celebrated speaker and a writer of prose (history and treatises on agriculture and education); the second a noncitizen Calabrian who came to Rome and won patronage for his poetry, then citizenship, practicing a variety of genres that looked to the Hellenistic world—a poet, not a politician. (An even greater contrast would have used Terence, a slave brought to Italy from Carthage and eventually freed because of his literary talents.) Fantham does not elaborate on how the different social and civil backgrounds affected the literary culture, except to say that senators and some equestrians did not need to resort to patronage, whereas of course outsiders and equestrians like Horace did. We would expect that social background would often have had decisive and particular influence on writers, but that is an area where we still are groping for reliable methodology. How often did men use their literary presentation to turn their backs on their socially inferior or non-Roman background? How often did they look at Roman culture obliquely from the alien cultural position of their origins?A writer’s education was obviously very important. We have a fair sense of how senatorial sons and wealthy equestrians were educated; Horace’s father, who wasn’t exactly poor, but rather undignified in the way he personally took the boy to and from school, saw to it that Horace was given an education that equaled the training of senatorial sons, both in Rome and later in Athens. Boys were taught Latin grammar, style, and the classics of Latin literature; and they were given a grounding in Greek. The amount of Greek and the relative mastery of that language would vary according to the century and the social and political intentions of the future writer. A young man whose family destined him for a political career and who one day might retire to write history, like Sallust or later Tacitus, would be unlikely to become as thoroughly bilingual and bicultural as a poet like Vergil, Horace, or Ovid, whose entire career was centered on poetry and achieving effective intertextuality with the great poets of Classical Greece and the Hellenistic world. There were men like Cato who ostentatiously [End Page 136] put Greek culture down (while instinctively exploiting it), and men like Catullus, a century later, who idolized the literary culture of Alexandria.As Fantham notes, the word “audience” (auditores) does not fully cover what we today mean by the literary public, but it was accurate to start with. Since the first literary material was tragedy and comedy, it was aimed at the... (shrink)

In lieu of an abstract, here is a brief excerpt of the content: Six Poems GEORGE KALOGERIS The Atomists To see what the matter is, in all of its dense, Teeming particulars, and not through the lens Of a microscope but by the most lucid, precise, Leap of imagination: the first was Leucíppus. But it was his student, Democritus, who stated That human understanding was truly futile, Given the random collisions of atoms. Still, He blinded himself to keep from being (...) distracted. When he broke the long-jump record by two whole feet, Bob Beamon dropped to his knees, buried his face In his hands, and wept in a pit of sand—the trace Of his human, Olympian flight still fresh as a heel-print. When the earthquake struck Kalamáta, and Uncle Sotíri Lost everything, he asked a taxi driver To take him to “a nice high place by the sea. And then come back for me in half an hour.” arion 28.3 winter 2021 58 six poems One Credit Seminar on the Odes of Horace We were sitting around a polished oak table, just getting to Those famous lines near the end of the Sestius Ode: Revenant whitefaced Death is walking not knowing whether He’s going to knock at a rich man’s door or a poor man’s When one of the students (Andrew) said it was “totally weird”— Which led us to look at the paleness of Death’s appearance, Whose pallor is what, when he comes, comes with him: the sickness and shock In his ghastly face. And that’s where we stopped. And then It was Jennifer’s email, saying “I’m sorry for missing class, But I’m having panic attacks. I keep flashing back To March 19th, when I entered my dorm-room and found my boyfriend Dead of an overdose... I can get you a note... What reading should I do to be prepared for next week?” O goodlooking fortunate Sestius, don’t put your hope in the future; The night is falling, the shades are gathering around; The walls of Pluto’s shadowy house are closing you in. There who will be lord of the feast? What will it matter, What will it matter there, whether you fell in love With Lycidas, this or that girl with him, or he With her? So David Ferry’s great translation goes, And its tone of tender, knowing, bemusement is Horace’s Pitying voice, but whose pity has come to speak to us Through the whitefaced mouth of revenant Death, still going From house to house, until he gets to Jennifer’s dorm-room. And what will it matter now if Andrew was drawn to the line About fishermen hauling their caulked boats to the water? It’s late September. We’re sitting around a polished oak table Whose wood is sacred to Jove, whose lightning-bolt Has already sounded deep in the heart of Indian summer. George Kalogeris 59 Greek School The very first poem I ever knew by heart: That sing-song forsaken one assigned to me. Recited on our other Independence Day. When some of the girls were dressed in peasant costumes, And some of the boys in kilts of the freedom fighters. And the timid rest of us in our Sunday best. In the church gym, where Father Mihos called us Up to the microphone, and one by one We showed the parents what we’d learned in Greek school. In Horace’s Ode to his Lyre, the poet prays That his song will serve as the medicine of sorrows, His stricken voice the trembling instrument— Schooled as he was in Sappho, who said the ancient Prescription left a bittersweet taste in her mouth: Glukopikron. For me it’s that first-grade poem I stammer to remember: Egwo tha geino Yiatrós... “I shall grow up to be a doctor...” Just saying that, my elders perk up their ears. And even if Poetry wasn’t the kind of calling Expected of me, and one by one they all Got sick and died, it’s still the medicine That keeps them leaning forward on their folding chairs. 60 six poems Money Doesn’t Grow On Trees But evergreen the... (shrink)