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In Memorium
Multas per gentes et multa per aequora vectus
advenio has miseras, frater, ad inferias,
ut te postremo donarem munere mortis
et mutam nequiquam alloquerer cinerem.
Quandoquidem fortuna mihi tete abstulit ipsum.
Heu miser indigne frater adempte mihi,
nunc tamen interea haec, prisco quae more parentum
tradita sunt tristi munere ad inferias,
accipe fraterno multum manantia fletu,
atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.
Catullus 101. It’s a deceptively simple memorial poem for his brother. For a poem by Catullus, it’s almost uncharacteristically straightforward. Latin has the distinct advantage of being a language that allows for very flexible word order, and the first two lines of this poem take full advantage of that, carrying the reader first through the journey Catullus takes and then, finally, to the reason: many through lands and many through seas having traveled / I come these miserable, brother, to the rites. More coherently translated: Through many lands and over many seas, I come to these miserable rites, brother.
More fully expressed in the fourth line: and to the mute in vain I may speak ashes. Translated: And I may speak in vain to the silent ashes. Note that the line is wrapped by “silent… ashes” (ok, except the conjunction, but what do conjunctions matter?) and the apposition of “silence… that I may speak” across “in vain.”
The poem begins to fall apart in the next two lines as he comes to terms with the loss of his brother and then regroups (nunc tamen interea haec, now, however, meanwhile, these things). Ancestral rites—a sense of tradition and continuity—carry the poem to the end and its final line, in which he addresses his brother for the last time: And so for all eternity, brother, hail and farewell. If you scan the Latin, ave atque vale (hail and farewell) actually gets elided. It’s been years since I scanned, so I’m not sure off the top of my head which syllables get dropped, but after all his journey to reach his brother’s grave, and after performing all the duties owed to his brother, these last, final words come and go in a breath, incompletely spoken.
You can find poems out there with more complex imagery and more extravagant expressions of mourning—I mean, if you want a poem that takes mourning to the extreme, you only have to look at Catullus 3, which starts “Mourn, all you Venuses and Cupids, / and all mannered men / the sparrow of my darling has died / the sparrow, the delight of my delight” and continues on to include mock-epic references to journeys to the Underworld. And if you think this is over the top for a dead bird, you should realize he’s actually talking about his own impotence.
Part of the success of Catullus 3 is that he is a poet who is extremely well-versed in poetic conventions and he has a host of literary knowledge and images he can draw upon. You can’t successfully mock and satirize tradition without fully understanding how it is traditionally employed. And so part of the appeal of 101, for me, is that in the face of all he could have done, the memorial poem he ultimately writes for his brother is deceptively simple, but, when you begin to really look at it, beautifully wrought.
* * * * *
My grandmother, who celebrated her 90th birthday yesterday, passed away today. It had been a difficult year for her, and a difficult one for the family as we watched her going, and there is some relief knowing that she is at peace.
Some relief. Not entirely. I’ve been clawing my way through Latin texts all day, looking for some sort of magic nunc tamen interea haec solution to get me through today and the rest of the week. The holidays were already going to be difficult—this has been an exceptionally difficult year for my family—and this is just an escape. Focusing on how grief is expressed by others is just holding off that last farewell, the one that is never truly expressed.
Through many lands and many seas
I have come, brother, to these miserable last offerings,
that, finally, I may give you this last gift for the dead
and speak in vain to your silent ashes.
Since fortune has stolen you—you—from me—
Woe, poor brother cruelly snatched from me—
Now, however, for the moment, these, which by ancient custom
have been handed over, a sad gift for the last offerings,
accept them, wet from a brother’s weeping,
and for all eternity, brother, hail and farewell.
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Comments
I’m so sorry for your loss. May you find peace and comfort with your family. The poem was lovely.
Happy New Year! best wishes for 2010!! Still loving horses!
On Dec 24, 2009, Wendy said:
Kind thoughts for you and yours; grief is deeply personal, and beautifully expressed in the lines of the poem you found. Wishing you peace and comfort in the upcoming days.