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Translating Catullus
Of raw sex and rawer love Straight out of the Latin Like: that guy over there Looks like a god Just because he gets to sit next to you... I went to girls' school where I wore Plaid uniform skirt illegally rolled Short above the thigh, and pink cummerbund Also illegal, neatly tied Around my fabric fat waist. Catullus was not my first Boyfriend, I'd already lost That hindrance not worth clinging to A cumbersome virginity. I could also decline Verbs in three languages. Still, even I was shocked Reading ahead, the lyric unassigned Where the poet comes across a couple making love Then did something I could barely visualize. Hell, this was New Jersey, 1969 Everything was about to change And I was itching To riot in the street, throw a brick Through a plate glass window... Instead, I sat in my white man-tailored Shirt and gray blazer Following the track of dactyls, elegaics Knew when the poet said "passer"--sparrow He meant something more personal. He spoke to me--Catullus-- My second boyfriend. The class set a modern dance to him Floated with chiffon scarves Beneath maple and elm Coached someone's little brother To stand still and drop a white flower At the end to these words: "Cut down by the plow." Truly, I don't know Any more now Than I did then Of hate and love Of desire that consumes And will consume Whatever you may feed it. |
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Issue #26, April, 2002 :
Santa Fe Poetry Broadside.
