Born in Sulmo outside of Rome, Ovid’s legacy is that of the greatest Roman erotic poet. Publius Ovidius Naso (20 March 43 BC – AD 17/18) wrote 3 major collections of erotic Heroides, Amores, and Ars Amatoria. He is also well known for the Metamorphoses, a mythological hexameter poem.
Ovid’s work didn’t just come to life on the page. His prose and descriptions captured the imaginations of Europeans for centuries, leading many artists to make art depicting the scenes described in the poetry. Ovid is still frequently taught in Latin courses around the world today, and his work remains influential. Amores is Ovid's first completed book of poetry, written in Elegiac couplets. It was first published in 16 BC in 5 volumes of which 3 now survive. The book is frequently subversive and hilarious with its tropes, exaggerating common motifs and devices to the point of absurdity. The Amores are a poetic first person account of the poet's love affair with an unattainable higher class girl, Corinna. The plot is linear, with a few artistic digressions such as an elegy on the death of Tibullus.
Publius Ovidius Naso (20 March 43 BC – AD 17/18), known in English as Ovid was a Roman poet who lived during the reign of Augustus. He was a younger contemporary of Virgil and Horatius, with whom he is often ranked as one of the three canonical poets of Latin literature. The Imperial scholar Quintilian considered him the last of the Latin love elegists. Although Ovid enjoyed enormous popularity during his lifetime, the emperor Augustus exiled him to Tomis, the capital of the newly-organised province of Moesia, on the Black Sea, where he remained for the last nine or ten years of his life. Ovid himself attributed his banishment to a "poem and a mistake", but his reluctance to disclose specifics has resulted in much speculation among scholars. Ovid is most famous for the Metamorphoses, a continuous mythological narrative in fifteen books written in dactylic hexameters. He is also known for works in elegiac couplets such as Ars Amatoria ("The Art of Love") and Fasti. His poetry was much imitated during Late Antiquity and the Middle Ages, and greatly influenced Western art and literature. The Metamorphoses remains one of the most important sources of classical mythology today.
ik ben heel erg fan van d'hane-scheltema haar woorden en stijl en ook van hoe losbandig ovidius iedereen aanspoort te zijn! oh wacht!!!
"ik stel geen eisen van fatsoen, maar vraag je wel alsof te doen, althans dat te proberen"
klinkklare taal met veel te veel verwijzingen waarvoor ik een aantal decennia te laat ben geboren, precies zoals je zou willen. en ik ben ook gewoon verliefd dat hielp ook een beetje.
Tired of Covid, I decided to read Ovid. To dream of love in 23 BC, and to dream of what will become of sex without contact, without French kiss, platonic sex, Barbarella style, without touching palms. Corinna and Ovid do kiss. And Ovid worries a lot. Corinna is at sea, he worries that she is sinking; Corinna has a husband, he worries that she loves him; Corinna kisses others, he worries that she doesn't love him. If dogs start barking in the silence of the night, maids must be delivering love letters, and carrying spicy responses. Ovid has good advice for everyone. To jealous husbands: "watch your wives closely so I want them more". To married women: "Let me lie on your doorstep, endure the cold and the frost: that's what I like. Love that comes easy hurts, like eating too much sweet hurts my stomach." Ovid likes it very hot. The enchantment of conquest doesn't compare to the delight of being cuckolded. "Why do I so often espy letters sent and received? Why one side and the other tumbled, of your couch? Why do I see your hair disarranged more than happens in sleep, and your neck bearing the marks of teeth? The fading itself alone you do not bring before my eyes" Ovid tortures himself and delights: "Then do I love you; then, in vain, do I hate what I am forced to love; then I could wish myself to be dead, but together with you". Why did he fall in love with a hetaira in the first place? Poets enjoy pain. “No enquiries, for my part, will I make, nor will I try to know what you shall attempt to conceal; (...) Tis an easy conquest for you to vanquish me, who desire to be vanquished.” Bliss is achieved when Ovid figures that, whether he "enquires" or not, his precious one can always cheat on him in her dreams: all he needs, in order to reach an inexhaustible source of delicious torment, is, in turn, to dream of what she is dreaming about. Ovid nears the peak of his excitement ... "what positions had I not imagined and prepared" ... Alas! Ovid's big nose, a sure sign of his crazy libido, does not prevent erectile dysfunctions. "She may have put her ivory arms, whiter than the snow of Sithonia, around my neck (...) slid her lascivious thigh under mine, told me a thousand sweet nothings, called me her victor (...) I have remained like a trunk without vigor. (...) she burst out: "(...) either the poisoner of Ea has bewitched you, by means of pierced tablets, or you exhausted yourself loving another before you came here." Immediately she jumped off the bed, barely covered in her see-through tunic, and, so that her slaves could not tell that she was coming out of the duel untouched, she concealed the offense by washing herself." Pulling me out of my roman daydream, my kids remind me that I need to fill the fridge. Ears spread by the rubber bands of my anti-covid face mask, glasses fogged up by my breath, I grab the receipt that the cashier hands me. She smiles behind the plexiglass and I hear Ovid: "her entire tongue between my lips, and my tongue between hers". I try to smile back with my eyes, but mist invades my glasses. Walking through the parking lot, I reckon that, in 2020, Ovid's Amores are more melancholic a read than ever.
"Fazia calor, e o dia tinha já cumprido metade das suas horas; pousei em cima da cama o corpo, para lhe dar descanso. Uma parte da janela estava aberta, a outra parte fechada; assim era a luz, como a que os bosques costumam deixar entrever, como a penumbra do crepúsculo, à hora em que o sol se esvai, ou quando a noite já se foi e não nasceu, ainda, o dia; essa é a luz que deve amostrar-se a jovens recatadas; nela, a timidez e a vergonha encontram refúgio. Eis que surge Corina, resguardada e envolta na sua túnica, os cabelos caídos de ambos os lados do colo resplandecente; assim formosa entrava Semíramis no quarto, diz-se, e Lais, amada por tantos homens. Arranquei-lhe a túnica; e não é que me estorvasse muito a sua quase transparência, mas ela porfiava por estar coberta daquela túnica; pois que porfiava assim como quem não quer vencer, foi vencida sem custo, com a sua própria ajuda. Quando ela surgiu diante de meus olhos, o manto caído aos pés, no corpo inteiro nem uma só mácula se me mostrou: Que ombros! Que braços eu vi e toquei! A beleza dos seios, como se pôs a jeito dos meus afagos! Como era liso, abaixo da linha do peito, o ventre! Que grandiosidade e perfeição nas coxas! Que frescura nas pernas! Que mais minúcias direi? Nada vi que não mereça elogio, e foi a nudez do seu corpo que apertei contra o meu. O resto, quem o não sabe? Depois da fadiga, repousámos ambos. Assim possam correr muitas vezes as minhas tardes!"
The story to these poems are really cool. Augustus implemented sexual behavioural laws. These laws are very bullshit and lead to reform in the empire that the populis didnt feel was needed. Roman society had free flowing sex. People would be banging at street corners and thar was life. Augustus wanted rome to be the next “great” city. A city with true glory. Rome had developed organically so the city was built extremely chaotically and precariously. Overall ovids rebellion to augustan reforms is really funny and these poems are an ancient fuck the power.
Стоило, верно, прочесть Овидия в возрасте юном, вырос чуть менее алчный бы цвет из груди самоцветной; ныне, читая "за 30" - чувствуешь, нить упускаешь.
Обетованным стал принцип, нравственным зваться горазд; время же в том преступление чтит, мнится лирическим времени шаг, претворяющий слабость в живопись клятв для слепцов.
Быть ли вершиной с вершинами? Облако грозное спряталось. Плечи, к несчастью, не скальные, пусть позвоночник - бамбук. Быть ль глубиною с глубинами? Озеро зыбью подёрнулось.
Слово одно - беспробудное, рифма при нём беспредметная, ритм вздыхает предательски; что остаётся шуту, обращённому Музой в пиита, если не вечная лирика, лирика, лирика, лирика?
Три карты всего у шута в рукаве: Потенциал, именуемый благостно "Духом", подле Претензия, Ratio - марка на рынке всемирном, и, наконец, книжная пыль, что "Психеей" зовётся - Амбиция. Шут плутоват.
Стоило, верно, прочесть Овидия в возрасте раннем. Всякий цветок, что взошёл на груди самоцветной "за 30" - незнание. Нить с тем упущена. Солнце преследует гномон - дети словили цикаду.
Okay there could be so much to say on this book.... my first thought was just to review it as "wow" and just leave it that way lmao this book is everything and nothing at the same time, I loved loved loved how Ovid was HAUNTED by love, that was brilliant, but there were many unclear characters and situations and that confused me a bit more than I would've liked. Anyway, a good read, a fun book, interesting point of view
Şiir denemelerine, milattan önce yıllarından bir şair ile devam ediyorum. Çok fazla açıklama ile boğuşmak zorunda kalsak da çevirisi ile zamanımızda olan bir şair gibi anlayabiliyoruz şairi. Fakat odaklanmak ya da o zamanı bize yaşatması kolay olmuyor.
'There's an old wood untouched for many years: you'd believe a god lives in the place. There's a sacred spring at its centre and a cave of overhanging rock, and birds sing sweetly all around. While I was walking there privately in the wooded shade – wondering what project my Muse might be engendering — Elegy arrived, her perfumed hair in a knot, and with one foot, I think, shorter than the other. Her form was lovely, her dress refined, her looks loving, and even the defect of her foot was a source of charm.'
Of course it was a source of charm. I love you, Ovid.
I just loved his witty translation - he brought Ovid's stunning poetry to life again. Who could say Latin is dead? This poetry is as relevant and home-hitting as ever.
«Quale mai sarà il motivo per cui i materassi mi sembrano tanto duri, e le coperte non vogliono star ferme sul mio letto, ed io ho trascorso l'intera notte, così lunga, senza prendere sonno, e a forza di voltarmi e rivoltarmi le ossa mi dolgono come fiaccate? Infatti, credo, mi accorgerei se fossi tentato da qualche amore — o forse esso si insinua in maniera subdola e astutamente procura danno con arte nascosta? — Sarà così: le frecce sottili si sono piantate nel mio cuore e Amore tormenta ferocemente il mio petto, del quale si è impadronito. Mi conviene cedere, oppure attizzare lottando questo fuoco improvviso? È meglio cedere: un peso ben sopportato diventa più leggero.»
«[...] Così anche noi saremo celebrati per tutta la terra ed il mio nome sarà sempre unito al tuo.»
«Smetti di stupirti che per effetto del vino la bianca fanciulla di Atrace sia divenuta motivo di contesa per gli uomini dalla doppia natura; io non abito in una selva e le mie membra non sono unite a quelle di un cavallo: eppure mi sembra di riuscire a stento a tenere le mie mani lontane da te. [...] Se gli darai dei baci, mi proclamerò apertamente tuo amante e dirò: “Questi baci sono miei” e ne rivendicherò la proprietà.»
«Se un dio mi dicesse: “Vivi e dimentica l'amore”, io non accetterei: la donna è un male così dolce! Benché oppresso dalla noia, quando la passione si va spegnendo nel cuore, il mio animo è tristemente agitato da un vago turbamento. Come un cavallo dalla bocca insensibile trascina in una folle corsa il cavaliere che tenta invano di trattenere il morso schiumante, come un vento improvviso trascina al largo la nave che, ormai all'entrata del porto, aveva già quasi toccato terra, così spesso il soffio incostante di Cupìdo ancora mi afferra e il fulgido Amore riprende le sue frecce a me ben note. Trafiggimi, fanciullo: nudo, inerme io mi offro a te; su di me puoi esercitare le tue forze, su di me la tua mano è possente, su di me le tue frecce piovono ormai spontaneamente, come guidate.»
«È da compiangere chi riesce a dormire per tutta la notte e giudica il sonno un bene prezioso. Pazzo, che è mai il sonno se non l'immagine della fredda morte? Il destino ci darà molto tempo per riposare. Quanto a me, possano illudermi le ingannevoli parole di un'amante (la semplice speranza mi procurerà grandi gioie), ora ella mi lusinghi, ora mi copra d'ingiurie, spesso mi si conceda, spesso mi respinga.»
Bajo el título genérico de AMORES se engloba una colección de cincuenta poemas que OVIDIO (43 a.C.-17 d.C.) compuso en verso elegíaco y que, mezclando el humor y el tono intimista, le situaron enseguida como uno de los principales poetas del género. El libro Amores de Ovidio, publicado en un primer momento en cinco volúmenes y reducido luego a tres, narra la experiencia amorosa del autor con una mujer en forma de poema. El libro, publicado en el 16 a.C., se plantea en un primer momento como una obra épica que bebe de las influencias de autores como Catulo, Tiberio y Propercio, para pasar inmediatamente al formato dístico elegíaco. Lo que está claro es que Amores, precursora de El arte de amar, es una obra cargada de juegos de palabras, burlas y elementos humorísticos, referencias a episodios de los mitos clásicos y sobre todo, de una indecencia para la época esclarecedora.
read for uni in the a d melville translation, but i couldn't find a copy of that which didn't include the ars amatoria on here, which i didn't re-read, as i don't have to know that too well for tuesday. love the whole concept, but definitely agree with the common conception that ovid dealt the death-blow to latin love elegy - he takes catullus, propertius, and tibullus, and typifies their work to such an extent that the sincerity of previous love elegy is lost, and so we don't feel it anymore. the puella, corinna, is wooden, and ovid's ego takes over everything else. still good, though, and he's a fantastic poet! i just wish he could've left room for a bit more tibullan style elegy before he destroyed it.
Ovid's witty series of elegies on his/others' love affairs, sometimes fairly graphic (mistress wants an abortion), one sexually explicit elegy isn't translated in the online version to save English readers from Roman reality. Lots of Ovid's ideas have permeated Western culture and shaped attitudes toward love; any reader of older English poetry will find the same themes, because of course, English education was founded on classical literature. Riley's version has lots of good notes to clarify Ovid's references, since Ovid assumed his reader would already know this subject matter about as well as he did.
El ingenioso Ovidio versa sobre el amor comparándolo con navíos y armas. ¿Su debilidad e inspiración del lamento? La amante liberta. El primer libro fue por mucho mi favorito: coquetería de autor. Los dos siguientes demuestran amplio conocimiento de los textos de sus contemporáneos, por lo que la imagen poética se apoya mucho de su constante recuperación, especialmente de los motivos y símbolos. 🔥 Me gusta que entre los tres hay momento de sátira, momento de dráma erótico, y siempre una reverencia a la épica, jugando pícaramente a diferenciarse–con lo propiamente cantado –de esta.
Not an outstanding piece but it is really interesting to see young Ovid doing essentialy free style since in this book poems have no connection other then basic theme. So it's colourful spectre of love-related poems, sometimes even contradicting each other, sometimes deep and romantic, sometimes not-deep and romantic, sometimes errotic, sometimes alegorical...
I really enjoyed reading it but at the end it seemed quite too long.
Nos amores de Ovídio, este não ama, este joga ao amor. Ovídio não quer saber do amor-paixão, mas sim do amor carnal, ele não quer amar, nem ser amado, quer apenas ganhar o jogo da sedução e partir para outro. "a noite, o Amor e o vinho impelem-me a uma ousadia desmedida; a primeira é desprovida de vergonha; Liber e o Amor, de medo" "Quero vencer! De tanto lutar, estou já farto". "De que adiantou correr, de que adiantou dar pouco tempo ao descanso, de que adiantou juntar à noite o dia"
Estos cortos poemas o elegías de amor, son una especie de diario personal en el cual el autor explora todas las posibilidades de un enamorado en pleno disfrute de su pasión. Está el enamoramiento, la conquista, la pasión, los celos, los engaños, la rabia y todos los estados por los que pasa el amante en una relación, que parece más tóxica que otra cosa. La narración es muy sincera y con varias referencias a la mitología e historias de su cultura romana.
Maybe the best prologue I ever saw in poetry through the ages. All in all a very funny, lighthearted and erotic compilation with some darker themes occasionally. The arrangement of the poems is fascinating with multiple structural correlations between different songs. There are also some light connections to Ovid's other works and it's interesting to find them.
Luego de haber leído El arte de amar, me adentré en una versión de Amores; pero no sé si debido a la traducción o a algún otro aspecto, pero no lo he disfrutado tanto como al primer texto. De todos modos, es Ovidio y eso se nota a pesar del tiempo y las traducciones. Pasado un tiempo, seguramente Amores ameritará una nueva lectura.
È davvero interessante vedere il giovane Ovidio fare uno stile essenzialemente libero poiché in questo libro le poesie non hanno alcuna connessione se non il tema di base. Quindi è uno spettro colorato di poesie legate all'amore, a volte persino in contraddizione tra loro, a volte profonde e romantiche, a volte non profonde e romantiche, a volte errotiche, a volte allegoriche ... Una compilation molto divertente, spensierata ed erotica con alcuni temi più scuri di tanto in tanto. La disposizione delle poesie è affascinante con molteplici correlazioni strutturali tra diverse canzoni. Ci sono anche alcune connessioni con le altre opere di Ovidio ed è interessante trovarle. Un piccolo appunto: fatevi un favore e recuperatelo tramite l’audiolibro di Menestrandise su YouTube!
Beaux poèmes d'amour que nous offre ici Ovide. Certains textes sont "datés" en ce sens que je ne conçois pas exactement la même chose que lui sur l'amour mais, o tempora, o mores, ut dicitur. Certaines pièces sont quand même particulièrement touchantes, encore aujourd'hui, et on peut malgré tout s'identifier aux personnages, aux situations et aux sentiments.
Pur lottano, volgendo in sensi opposti l’instabile cuor mio, di qua l'amore, lo l'odio di là; ma l'amor, credo, vince. Odierò, se pur posso, e a mio mal grado, se non posso, amerò. (…) E così né con te vivere posso né senza te; così apparisco io stesso ignaro affatto di quel ch'io più bramo.
Alle vertalingen die ik tot nu toe heb gelezen van M. D’Hane-Scheltema lezen heel fijn en makkelijk. De toelichting die wordt gegeven op de teksten vind ik een enorme toegevoegde waarde hebben en lees ik even graag als de teksten zelf.