Catullus 1-7

Gaius Valerius Catullus is widely considered to be one of Ancient Rome’s most influential and innovative poets. Writing in the final decades of the Roman Republic, Catullus immortalized timeless invectives, satires, and intensely personal expressions of desire, love, and grief; he concerned himself with individual experience rather than grand epics or political commentary. One of the most well-preserved and oldest collections of poetry, Catullus’s first book explores a diverse array of topics, ranging from overt explorations of sexuality, love, and propriety to the documentation of everyday activities like doing business in the forum and hosting dinner parties. Catullus, likely queer himself, writes in the last vestiges of social freedom before the strict policing of the Empire took hold, rendering his work a unique insight into life in Rome before expansion. His poetry significantly influenced not only his contemporaries and the poets writing during the golden age of Latin (e.g., Horace and Ovid), but also poets stretching into the modern day. His bold use of language and lasting importance, therefore, demand an experimental translation that preserves his work’s essence while making his poems accessible to modern audiences. For even two thousand years removed from when he wrote, through his words, Catullus’s genius and humanity still shine.

Original Latin

I. ad Cornelium

Cui dono lepidum novum libellum

arida modo pumice expolitum?

Corneli, tibi: namque tu solebas

meas esse aliquid putare nugas.

Iam tum, cum ausus es unus Italorum

omne aevum tribus explicare cartis . . .

Doctis, Iuppiter, et laboriosis!

Quare habe tibi quidquid hoc libelli—

qualecumque, quod, o patrona virgo,

plus uno maneat perenne saeclo!

II. fletus passeris Lesbiae

Passer, deliciae meae puellae,

quicum ludere, quem in sinu tenere,

cui primum digitum dare appetenti

et acris solet incitare morsus,

cum desiderio meo nitenti

carum nescio quid lubet iocari

et solaciolum sui doloris,

credo ut tum gravis acquiescat ardor:

tecum ludere sicut ipsa possem

et tristis animi levare curas!

IIb.

Tam gratum est mihi quam ferunt puellae

pernici aureolum fuisse malum,

quod zonam soluit diu ligatam.

III. fletus passeris Lesbiae

Lugete, o Veneres Cupidinesque,

et quantum est hominum venustiorum:

passer mortuus est meae puellae,

passer, deliciae meae puellae,

quem plus illa oculis suis amabat.

nam mellitus erat suamque norat

ipsam tam bene quam puella matrem,

nec sese a gremio illius movebat,

sed circumsiliens modo huc modo illuc

ad solam dominam usque pipiabat.

qui nunc it per iter tenebricosum

illuc, unde negant redire quemquam.

at vobis male sit, malae tenebrae

Orci, quae omnia bella devoratis:

tam bellum mihi passerem abstulistis

o factum male! o miselle passer!

tua nunc opera meae puellae

flendo turgiduli rubent ocelli.

IV. de phasello

Phaselus ille, quem videtis, hospites,

ait fuisse navium celerrimus,

neque ullius natantis impetum trabis

nequisse praeterire, sive palmulis

opus foret volare sive linteo.

et hoc negat minacis Hadriatici

negare litus insulasve Cycladas

Rhodumque nobilem horridamque Thraciam

Propontida trucemve Ponticum sinum,

ubi iste post phaselus antea fuit

comata silva; nam Cytorio in iugo

loquente saepe sibilum edidit coma.

Amastri Pontica et Cytore buxifer,

tibi haec fuisse et esse cognitissima

ait phaselus: ultima ex origine

tuo stetisse dicit in cacumine,

tuo imbuisse palmulas in aequore,

et inde tot per impotentia freta

erum tulisse, laeva sive dextera

vocaret aura, sive utrumque Iuppiter

simul secundus incidisset in pedem;

neque ulla vota litoralibus deis

sibi esse facta, cum veniret a mari

novissimo hunc ad usque limpidum lacum.

sed haec prius fuere: nunc recondita

senet quiete seque dedicat tibi,

gemelle Castor et gemelle Castoris.

V. ad Lesbiam

Vivamus mea Lesbia, atque amemus,

rumoresque senum severiorum

omnes unius aestimemus assis!

soles occidere et redire possunt:

nobis cum semel occidit brevis lux,

nox est perpetua una dormienda.

da mi basia mille, deinde centum,

dein mille altera, dein secunda centum,

deinde usque altera mille, deinde centum.

dein, cum milia multa fecerimus,

conturbabimus illa, ne sciamus,

aut ne quis malus invidere possit,

cum tantum sciat esse basiorum.

VI. ad Flavium

Flavi, delicias tuas Catullo,

ni sint illepidae atque inelegantes,

velles dicere nec tacere posses.

verum nescio quid febriculosi

scorti diligis: hoc pudet fateri.

nam te non viduas iacere noctes

nequiquam tacitum cubile clamat

sertis ac Syrio fragrans olivo,

pulvinusque peraeque et hic et ille

attritus, tremulique quassa lecti

argutatio inambulatioque.

nam inista prevalet nihil tacere.

cur? non tam latera ecfututa pandas,

ni tu quid facias ineptiarum.

quare, quidquid habes boni malique,

dic nobis. volo te ac tuos amores

ad caelum lepido vocare versu.

VII. ad Lesbiam

Quaeris, quot mihi basiationes

tuae, Lesbia, sint satis superque.

quam magnus numerus Libyssae harenae

lasarpiciferis iacet Cyrenis

oraclum Iovis inter aestuosi

et Batti veteris sacrum sepulcrum;

aut quam sidera multa, cum tacet nox,

furtivos hominum vident amores:

tam te basia multa basiare

vesano satis et super Catullo est,

quae nec pernumerare curiosi

possint nec mala fascinare lingua.

My Translation

Catullus 1: Dedication

To whom to I give this new, adorable little book, 

recently polished with a dry pumice stone?

Why, to you, Conelius, for you have always 

thought that my tiny trifles were not worth nothing–

even back then, when you alone dared to document all the history of the Italians

In just three volumes, so

masterful, and by Juppiter, so labor-intense. 

Therefore, have for yourself whatever you’d like of this little book.

Have for yourself whatever it’s worth, this a little trifle which, o guardian muse, 

please let it survive through more than one lifetime!

Catullus 2: Lesbia’s Greedy Sparrow

Sparrow, the delight of my girl, 

who she always plays with, 

always she cradles on her lap,

who, eager and needy, she always gives her delicate finger to, 

inciting your wicked bites–

never stopping, however, my brilliant lovers desire

to play with something dear to her. 

I believe you are but a tiny relief for her grief,

who may make her arduous passion eventually subside.

O sparrow, if only I were able to care for you

the same way my lover does! 

Catullus 2b: Atalanta’s Desire 

It pleases me just like, as they say, 

the golden apple pleased the swift girl, 

for it loosened her waist’s ribbon, 

too long tied. 

Catullus 3: A Sparrow’s Eulogy 

Grieve, you beauties and lovers, 

And all of you that love lovely things, for 

My girl’s sparrow has died–

the sparrow, her favorite delight, who she 

loved more than her own sight. The sparrow,

sweet just like honey, as close to my girl as her own mother, 

for he never moved from his perch on her lap, 

but rather, hopping here and there, sang 

to his lover alone. 

Now he ventures down a shadowed path– 

they say no one ever returns. 

How could you, evil phantoms of Orcus, that 

consume everything beautiful– 

You stole that lovely sparrow from me!

What an evil action– o that poor little sparrow!

How could you, by your efforts, leave my girl’s eyes 

puffed and bloodshot from grieving. 

Catullus 4: The Fastest Voyager

This swift, light ship you see, my friends, 

claims she was the quickest of all ships, 

unsurpassed and unable to be attacked by any flating obstacle, 

whether powered by sail or the burdens of oars. 

Neither the terrifying Adriatic shores, nor the Cycladian isles, 

neither noble queen Rhodes nor the timid Bosphorus 

will deny it– not even the deadly bay of the Black Sea will deny it, where

she, before she became a boat, was a piece of leafy forest: 

on the Cytorian ridge, she spoke to the whispering leaves:

“You knew my nature from the utmost beginning, O Pontic Amastrus, 

O box-tree-bearing Cytorus,

For in your waves I first dipped my tiny oars, 

ferried since then to distant shores by sailors braving overwhelming tides;

winds blew me first to the port, then whisked along my starboard sides –

or both at once!

I never once vowed to come to this port until I earned 

this serene pool of ocean– resting now, 

I pledge myself to you, 

Twin Gods, 

at last.”

Catullus 5: Kiss Me

Let us live, my Lesbia, and let us love–

Let all the words of the old and righteous be worth 

less than nothing to us. For 

suns will set, and rise again, 

but when the brief light of our lives ceases, 

life becomes one eternal dream. 

So give me a thousand kisses, then a hundred more–

Another thousand! Another hundred! So many that when we try to count up

the many thousands, we, overwhelmed, cannot recall the number;

No enemy could throw a judgmental glare if they do not know

how many kisses there were. 

Catullus 6: Tell Me Your Secret  

Flavius, unless your loves were so 

trashy and improper, 

you’d want to tell me – couldn’t bear to be silent.

You must be in love with some shameless

whore, and you’re too embarrassed to confess. 

For no purpose at all, you are silent. I know you’re not spending nights alone–

Your bed itself proclaims it! Smelling of Syrian perfume, cushions and pillows strewn around, the frame trembling, shaking, quivering, squeaking across the room.

It’s pointless to be silent. Why? 

Spread thighs tell the truth; if you were not so foolish, they wouldn’t be open. 

Tell me – whoever, whatever you’ve done – good or nasty. 

Let me gift to the heavens the name of you and your loves 

in a witty poem. 

Catullus 7: You ask, Lesbia,

how many of your kisses would be enough–

more than enough to satisfy me. 

Just as many as the Libyan grains of sand lying between 

Jupiter’s ignited oracle at Ammon, in resin-casting Cyrene, and the 

sacred tomb of ancient Battiades. Or perhaps as many as the 

stars in the night, which, serene and still, gazes down on our secret, mortal desires. 

But truly, as many kisses you give are enough –

for crazed Catullus, though, kiss more – 

at least as many kisses so that spies cannot count them, 

nor evil tongues curse our love. 

In Conclusion...

We hope you enjoyed our translation of Catullus 1-7! Please leave any comments, questions, or concerns below, and be sure to recommend future translations, texts, prose, or poems for us to dive into!