Journal, Day Two

so, since this is a poetry blog, i mean “journal”, (and since yesterday's entry kinda made me freak) here’s catullus’ # 8:
(don’t worry, tomorrow we will talk music) (thursday netflix queue/my children) (and hmmm, what does that leave for friday: ah, yes, sex!) (just kidding!) (hey, it’s catullus, we are headed there already...)

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire,
et quod uides perisse perditum ducas,
fulsere quondam can didi tibi soles,
cum uentitabas quo pella ducebat
amata nobis quantum amabitur nulla.
ibi illa multa tum iocasa fiebant,
quae tu uolebas nec puella nolebat.
fulsere uere candidi tibi soles.
nunc iam illa non uolt: tu quoque inpotens noli,
nec quae fugit sectare, nec miser uiue,
sed obstinata mente perfer, obdura.
uale, puella. iam Catullus obdurat,
nec te requiret nec rogabit inuitam.
at tu dolebis, cum rogaberis nulla.
scelesta, vae te, quaetibi mnaet uita?
quis nunc te adibit? cui uideberis bella?
quem nunc amabis? cuius esse diceris?
quem basiabis? cui labella mordebis?
at tu, Cattule, destinatus obdura.

your latin not so strong? here’s catullus’ # 8 translation carl sesar

you feel bad, Catullus, but quit acting stupid
and face facts. what's lost is lost.
you had yourself some sunny days for a while,
just going wherever she led you,
no girl ever got the loving you gave her.
a lot of laughs and good times they were too,
anything you wanted she never said no,
yes, those were some sunny days alright.
but she doesn't want you now, so forget her.
don't chase her around, making yourself miserable,
make your mind up it's over, and stick to it.
goodbye my girl. you heard Catullus, he's had it.
he doesn't need you, he won't bother you anymore.
you'll feel sorry though when nobody wants you.
too bad, bitch! what are you going to do now?
who'll visit you? who'll think you're beautiful?
who will you love? whose girl will they call you?
who else will you kiss and bite on his lips?
but you, Catullus, remember: it's finished.

and here’s my (way) after catullus
(following up on corman i read he calls his “versions”
lowell calls his “imitations”
i’m calling mine “covers”)

LOOK AT LESBIA NOW!

and look at lesbia now! she’s said farewell
to her face: dark circled
nipples down and dark
she’s even let the hair grow back down there.
right, she’s not a real blonde, and
no one’s knocking at her door anymore.
we all knew it would turn out like this.

o lesbia, daughter of ____and wife of_____and mistress of_____
mother of_____, ha! ceded what? the one so valued
what she had on her once pretty mind
she traded in everyone for that? did you hear
she wouldn’t have a baby with her lover
even if he promised to keep it in a tent out back?
so he left.
have you seen her walking alone thru this black and white town
her pink i-pod playing ryan adams, spoon, rilo kiley,
lucinda, arcade fire, the silver jews, mark mulcahy,
yeah, dylan; sufjan stevens, even,
wearing her usual yellow-pink-blue woolen cap?

let the kindergarten parents talk:
yeah, you know, the divorced one, the “poet”,
the one who wears “the jeans”,
circles under her pink eyes, her young boyfriend
just moved back to new york.

it’s funny, cause although catullus uses the real names of his friends and enemies he changes the name of his (female) lover from clodia to lesbia. isn’t that weird? or maybe you find it endearingly protective. charles martin in a really good book of essays ( i thought) on catullus (using his own translations, only those pieces of which i have seen, and liked as much, though yeah, in a different way, as/than the sesar) (and has anyone read the new translation?) says, in fact, catullus was the first ever to use a pseudonym and that he did it not to protect her, but to make her more individual (in catullus’ times all daughters were named after their father so, for instance, his clodia had two sisters, also named clodia!) and thus, as always, to guarantee the immortality of the beloved. (and thus, as always to guarantee the immortality of... him.)

i recently wrote a poem in which i use a person’s first and last name cause it seemed/s necessary.
is this always a shitty dolphinesque thing to do? (i’m currently (not!) preparing for a three day transgressional post-confessional extravaganza in new york next week...) o kay ryan are you out there? what do you think? well, yeah, not that i really have a dolphin problem, i also wrote a little ditty called “the rainbow dolphin” which is basically a note from my x-husband, but somehow i don’t need to talk to/ask anyone about that.

okay? (we now have three degrees and i’m going to go reheat some old moosemeatloaf at 350.) okay.