Poetry
- Thread starter Dazed and Brutal
- Start date
V.V.V.V.V.
Houses Ov Mercury
V = W
cum = coom
There are a few other things you need to remember, but generally it is kind of phonetic, except awkward syllable emphasis sometimes.
The coolest (and most frustrating thing considering authors like to practice it, and these are the authors you have to translate!) thing about Latin is interchangeability of words in sentences; the order does not matter since the conjugations and forms of words define their meaning in the context of sentences.
cum = coom
There are a few other things you need to remember, but generally it is kind of phonetic, except awkward syllable emphasis sometimes.
The coolest (and most frustrating thing considering authors like to practice it, and these are the authors you have to translate!) thing about Latin is interchangeability of words in sentences; the order does not matter since the conjugations and forms of words define their meaning in the context of sentences.
Zephyrus
Tyrants and Slaves
It depends.
Medieval Latin/Church Latin is pronounced just like Italian.
In Classical Latin, however, all the consonants are hard and some of the dipthong vowels are pronounced differently.
challenge_everything
Active Member
challenge_everything
Active Member
Speaking of Latin reminds me of this poem. One of the best anti-war poems ever.
Wilfred Owen: DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" translates as "it is sweet and right to die for one's country".
Wilfred Owen: DULCE ET DECORUM EST
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to trudge.
Men marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
"Dulce et decorum est pro patria mori" translates as "it is sweet and right to die for one's country".
The Ozzman
Melted by feels
A penny for your thoughts
and a minute of your time
becomes something for nothing
A bottle of happiness
within my reach
becomes my only friend
who listens
without an agenda
and a minute of your time
becomes something for nothing
A bottle of happiness
within my reach
becomes my only friend
who listens
without an agenda
adrian207016
New Metal Member
- Nov 10, 2007
- 21
- 0
- 1
I couldn't help noticing that black metal has some of the best poetry (even though I'm not especially into black metal) so here's a few:
Candelabra snuffed prey - silhouette wedded
Nightfall take my hand
Seduce me with silky timbred limbs
Grant me thy dark command
Over the peaks framing tapestries
Of thick forest, dusk has filled
With Lucifugous kisses enwreathed in mist
Creeping like violations from the shadows
to kill
Lucretia
is my love in vein
When thy tears bleed sweeter
Thank the midsummer rain?
Bewinged, infested belfries
Toll o'er the sobbing throng
A writhe of lethargic, terrored nudes
Whipped and welted neath the barbed windsong....
Candelabra snuffed prey - silhouette wedded
Nightfall take my hand
Seduce me with silky timbred limbs
Grant me thy dark command
Over the peaks framing tapestries
Of thick forest, dusk has filled
With Lucifugous kisses enwreathed in mist
Creeping like violations from the shadows
to kill
Lucretia
is my love in vein
When thy tears bleed sweeter
Thank the midsummer rain?
Bewinged, infested belfries
Toll o'er the sobbing throng
A writhe of lethargic, terrored nudes
Whipped and welted neath the barbed windsong....
The Ozzman
Melted by feels
From a distance
it seemed so clear
our time together
like a falling rain
replenishes the nutrients
of the soil
on which we are built
Up close and personal
it seems rather distorted
our time apart
like a trainwreck
with no survivors
on a cloudy day
Point blank range
now I understand
our eventual fate
beneath the mire
as we become
other people
in search of destiny
it seemed so clear
our time together
like a falling rain
replenishes the nutrients
of the soil
on which we are built
Up close and personal
it seems rather distorted
our time apart
like a trainwreck
with no survivors
on a cloudy day
Point blank range
now I understand
our eventual fate
beneath the mire
as we become
other people
in search of destiny
Evil?
omghaxlol!1
I wrote a break up poem for my buddy from work to use.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Move out bitch
I'm breaking up with you.
Roses are red
Violets are blue
Move out bitch
I'm breaking up with you.
zabu of nΩd
Free Insultation
- Feb 9, 2007
- 14,620
- 805
- 113
Zephyrus
Tyrants and Slaves
I’ll rape you both orally and anally,
Pathic Aurelius and catamite Furius,
Who think that I, by virtue of my epigrams, am a not at all modest,
Because they are erotic in nature.
For it is fitting that a pious poet be himself chaste,
Though not necessarily his epigrams;
Then they finally have flavor and charm,
If they are erotic and not at all modest,
And can provoke any sort of sexual urge,
I speak not to boys, but to harrier men,
Who cannot move their weighty loins.
Do you think, because you read about many thousands of kisses,
That I am an improper male?
I’ll rape you both anally and orally.
Catullus - Poem XVI
Pathic Aurelius and catamite Furius,
Who think that I, by virtue of my epigrams, am a not at all modest,
Because they are erotic in nature.
For it is fitting that a pious poet be himself chaste,
Though not necessarily his epigrams;
Then they finally have flavor and charm,
If they are erotic and not at all modest,
And can provoke any sort of sexual urge,
I speak not to boys, but to harrier men,
Who cannot move their weighty loins.
Do you think, because you read about many thousands of kisses,
That I am an improper male?
I’ll rape you both anally and orally.
Catullus - Poem XVI
V.V.V.V.V.
Houses Ov Mercury
Zephyrus
Tyrants and Slaves
Glad you liked my translation.
My friend (the other Latin major here) has a blog completely devoted to translating Catullus, but he makes the extra effort to put them all into verse.
http://brophytranslatescatullus.blogspot.com/
My friend (the other Latin major here) has a blog completely devoted to translating Catullus, but he makes the extra effort to put them all into verse.
http://brophytranslatescatullus.blogspot.com/
Einherjar86
Active Member
I'm taking an American post-war poetry class right now. We're looking at Robert Lowell, Elizabeth Bishop, Frank O'Hara... lots of stuff. I usually don't tend toward modern poets, but the professor is great.
Anyway, here's one of my favorite poems of all time. It's by Lord Byron. It's a bit long, but for those of you who were fans of McCarthy's The Road, I think you'll like it. I'm reading The Road right now, and the book keeps making me think of this poem:
Darkness
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went --- and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires --- and the thrones,
The palaces of crownded kings --- the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire --- but hour by hour
They fell and faded --- and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash --- and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless --- they were slain for food
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: --- a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought --- and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails --- men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beast and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not a caress --- he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each others aspects --- saw, and shriek'd, and died ---
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death --- a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and oceans all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge ---
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of air from them --- She was the Universe.
Anyway, here's one of my favorite poems of all time. It's by Lord Byron. It's a bit long, but for those of you who were fans of McCarthy's The Road, I think you'll like it. I'm reading The Road right now, and the book keeps making me think of this poem:
Darkness
I had a dream, which was not all a dream.
The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;
Morn came and went --- and came, and brought no day,
And men forgot their passions in the dread
Of this their desolation; and all hearts
Were chill'd into a selfish prayer for light:
And they did live by watchfires --- and the thrones,
The palaces of crownded kings --- the huts,
The habitations of all things which dwell,
Were burnt for beacons; cities were consumed,
And men were gather'd round their blazing homes
To look once more into each other's face;
Happy were those who dwelt within the eye
Of the volcanos, and their mountain-torch:
A fearful hope was all the world contain'd;
Forests were set on fire --- but hour by hour
They fell and faded --- and the crackling trunks
Extinguish'd with a crash --- and all was black.
The brows of men by the despairing light
Wore an unearthly aspect, as by fits
The flashes fell upon them; some lay down
And hid their eyes and wept; and some did rest
Their chins upon their clenched hands, and smiled;
And others hurried to and fro, and fed
Their funeral piles with fuel, and look'd up
With mad disquietude on the dull sky,
The pall of a past world; and then again
With curses cast them down upon the dust,
And gnash'd their teeth and howl'd: the wild birds shriek'd
And, terrified, did flutter on the ground,
And flap their useless wings; the wildest brutes
Came tame and tremulous; and vipers crawl'd
And twined themselves among the multitude,
Hissing, but stingless --- they were slain for food
And War, which for a moment was no more,
Did glut himself again: --- a meal was bought
With blood, and each sate sullenly apart
Gorging himself in gloom: no love was left;
All earth was but one thought --- and that was death
Immediate and inglorious; and the pang
Of famine fed upon all entrails --- men
Died, and their bones were tombless as their flesh;
The meagre by the meagre were devour'd,
Even dogs assail'd their masters, all save one,
And he was faithful to a corse, and kept
The birds and beast and famish'd men at bay,
Till hunger clung them, or the dropping dead
Lured their lank jaws; himself sought out no food,
But with a piteous and perpetual moan,
And a quick desolate cry, licking the hand
Which answer'd not a caress --- he died.
The crowd was famish'd by degrees; but two
Of an enormous city did survive,
And they were enemies: they met beside
The dying embers of an altar-place
Where had been heap'd a mass of holy things
For an unholy usage; they raked up,
And shivering scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The feeble ashes, and their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, and made a flame
Which was a mockery; then they lifted up
Their eyes as it grew lighter, and beheld
Each others aspects --- saw, and shriek'd, and died ---
Even of their mutual hideousness they died,
Unknowing who he was upon whose brow
Famine had written Fiend. The world was void,
The populous and the powerful was a lump
Seasonless, herbless, treeless, manless, lifeless,
A lump of death --- a chaos of hard clay.
The rivers, lakes, and oceans all stood still,
And nothing stirr'd within their silent depths;
Ships sailorless lay rotting on the sea,
And their masts fell down piecemeal: as they dropp'd
They slept on the abyss without a surge ---
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither'd in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish'd; Darkness had no need
Of air from them --- She was the Universe.
Melkor66
Member
Just a couple of verses from Coleridge's 'Rime of the Ancient Mariner'. One of my personal favourites, although the rest of 'Lyrical Ballads' is fantastic as well.
And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
And I had done an hellish thing,
And it would work 'em woe:
For all averred, I had killed the bird
That made the breeze to blow.
Ah wretch! said they, the bird to slay,
That made the breeze to blow!
Nor dim nor red, like God's own head,
The glorious Sun uprist:
Then all averred, I had killed the bird
That brought the fog and mist.
'Twas right, said they, such birds to slay,
That bring the fog and mist.
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,
The furrow followed free;
We were the first that ever burst
Into that silent sea.
Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down,
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea!
All in a hot and copper sky,
The bloody Sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the Moon.
Day after day, day after day,
We stuck, nor breath nor motion;
As idle as a painted ship
Upon a painted ocean.
Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.
The very deep did rot: O Christ!
That ever this should be!
Yea, slimy things did crawl with legs
Upon the slimy sea.
About, about, in reel and rout
The death-fires danced at night;
The water, like a witch's oils,
Burnt green, and blue and white.
Einherjar86
Active Member
Coleridge is fantastic. I love that poem (I read it on the beach; it was fitting, I thought 
).
I believe this is now fitting:
Kubla Khan: or, A Vision in a Dream. A Fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Incredible poem.
).I believe this is now fitting:
Kubla Khan: or, A Vision in a Dream. A Fragment.
In Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree :
Where Alph, the sacred river, ran
Through caverns measureless to man
Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground
With walls and towers were girdled round :
And there were gardens bright with sinuous rills,
Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree ;
And here were forests ancient as the hills,
Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh ! that deep romantic chasm which slanted
Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover !
A savage place ! as holy and enchanted
As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted
By woman wailing for her demon-lover !
And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seething,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing,
A mighty fountain momently was forced :
Amid whose swift half-intermitted burst
Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail,
Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail :
And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever
It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles meandering with a mazy motion
Through wood and dale the sacred river ran,
Then reached the caverns measureless to man,
And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean :
And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far
Ancestral voices prophesying war !
The shadow of the dome of pleasure
Floated midway on the waves ;
Where was heard the mingled measure
From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device,
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice !
A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw :
It was an Abyssinian maid,
And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me,
That with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air,
That sunny dome ! those caves of ice !
And all who heard should see them there,
And all should cry, Beware ! Beware !
His flashing eyes, his floating hair !
Weave a circle round him thrice,
And close your eyes with holy dread,
For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
Incredible poem.
Melkor66
Member
Einherjar86
Active Member
It is a great story, although sometimes I wonder how much of it is really true. I mean, it's riveting and all; but sometimes I wonder... it almost seems like he created the story to make it more interesting. But hell, it's history now, and I like believing the story. It makes for fun pondering.
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