Catullus 31-36

Original Latin

XXXI. ad Sirmium insulam

Paene insularum, Sirmio, insularumque

ocelle, quascumque in liquentibus stagnis

marique vasto fert uterque Neptunus,

quam te libenter quamque laetus inviso,

vix mi ipse credens Thuniam atque Bithunos

liquisse campos et videre te in tuto.

o quid solutis est beatius curis,

cum mens onus reponit, ac peregrino

labore fessi venimus larem ad nostrum,

desideratoque acquiescimus lecto?

hoc est quod unum est pro laboribus tantis.

salve, o venusta Sirmio, atque ero gaude

gaudente, vosque, o Lydiae lacus undae,

ridete quidquid est domi cachinnorum.

XXXII. ad Ipsicillam

Amabo, mea dulcis Ipsitilla,

meae deliciae, mei lepores,

iube ad te veniam meridiatum.

et si iusseris, illud adiuvato,

ne quis liminis obseret tabellam,

neu tibi lubeat foras abire,

sed domi maneas paresque nobis

novem continuas fututiones.

verum si quid ages, statim iubeto:

nam pransus iaceo et satur supinus

pertundo tunicamque palliumque.

XXXIII. ad Vibennios

O Furum optime balneariorum

Vibenni pater et cinaede fili

(nam dextra pater inquinatiore,

culo filius est voraciore),

cur non exilium malasque in oras

itis? quandoquidem patris rapinae

notae sunt populo, et natis pilosas,

fili, non potes asse venditare.

XXXIV. carmen Dianae

Dianae sumus in fide

puellae et pueri integri:

Dianam pueri integri

puellaeque canamus.

o Latonia, maximi

magna progenies Iovis,

quam mater prope Deliam

deposiuit olivam,

montium domina ut fores

silvarumque virentium

saltuumque reconditorum

amniumque sonantum:

tu Lucina dolentibus

Iuno dicta puerperis,

tu potens Trivia et notho es

dicta lumine Luna.

tu cursu, dea, menstruo

metiens iter annuum,

rustica agricolae bonis

tecta frugibus exples.

sis quocumque tibi placet

sancta nomine, Romulique,

antique ut solita es, bona

sospites ope gentem.

XXXV. ad Caecilium iubet libello loqui

Poetae tenero, meo sodali,

velim Caecilio, papyre, dicas

Veronam veniat, Noui relinquens

Comi moenia Lariumque litus.

nam quasdam volo cogitationes

amici accipiat sui meique.

quare, si sapiet, viam vorabit,

quamvis candida milies puella

euntem revocet, manusque collo

ambas iniciens roget morari.

quae nunc, si mihi vera nuntiantur,

illum deperit impotente amore.

nam quo tempore legit incohatam

Dindymi dominam, ex eo misellae

ignes interiorem edunt medullam.

ignosco tibi, Sapphica puella

musa doctior; est enim venuste

Magna Caecilio incohata Mater.

XXXVI. ad Lusi cacatam

Annales Volusi, cacata carta,

votum soluite pro mea puella.

nam sanctae Veneri Cupidinique

vovit, si sibi restitutus essem

desissemque truces vibrare iambos,

electissima pessimi poetae

scripta tardipedi deo daturam

infelicibus ustulanda lignis.

et hoc pessima se puella vidit

iocose lepide vovere divis.

nunc o caeruleo creata ponto,

quae sanctum Idalium Vriosque apertos

quaeque Ancona Cnidumque harundinosam

colis quaeque Amathunta quaeque Golgos

quaeque Durrachium Hadriae tabernam,

acceptum face redditumque votum,

si non illepidum neque invenustum est.

at vos interea venite in ignem,

pleni ruris et inficetiarum.

annales Volusi, cacata carta.

My Translation

Catullus 31: Home Sweet Home

O Sirmio, jewel of the islands, prize of the peninsulas, 

pride of whatever Neptune plants in the 

clear, still waters and in the vast sea, 

how much pleasure, how much joy I gaze upon you with!

I can barely believe it– I’ve escaped Thynia and the Bithynian fields, 

and now you’re here before me, safe and sound. 

O what freedom from worry is more of a blessing 

than when the mind discards its burden,

and we, weary from our toils abroad, 

rest, home at last, in the bed we’ve longed for!

This moment alone is worth every great labor. 

O lovely Sirmio, hello again! Rejoice as I rejoice, 

and you, O Lydian wave of the lake, 

laugh with all the laughter this paradise holds. 

Catullus 32: Please, 

sweet Ipsíthilla– my darling, my beauty– 

invite me to your siesta, and, 

if you’re willing, give me one great indulgence: 

don’t let another unlock your door.

Don’t suddenly decide to step outside–

rather, stay at home and prepare yourself 

for nine– yes, nine– lovemakings with me! 

If you want me, just give me a sign– 

I’m simply lying here, fed, and sated, 

with my phallus poking through my cloak and tunic.

Catullus 33: Get Out of Here!

Greatest of bathhouse thieves,  

Vibennius, the father, and his sodomite son

(the father’s right hand is more thieving, while the boy’s 

ass is more voracious), 

why won’t you both retreat into dismal banishment?

After all, the father’s crimes are known throughout the world, 

and you, son, couldn’t sell that hairy ass of yours 

for even a penny. 

Catullus 34: A Song to Diana  

Under Diana’s nurturing gaze, 

we, pure girls, and boys, 

we, pure boys, and girls, 

we sing to Diana. 

O Latona, 

the greatest child of the great Jupiter, 

whose mother gave birth in the shadow 

of a Delian olive tree–

you might be the mistress of the mountains, 

and the flourishing green groves, 

and the hidden woodland glades, 

and the rushing river.

            You are Lucina to the 

women suffering from the pains of childbirth;

you are powerful Trivia and 

Luna, with the rise of false daylight. 

            You, in your monthly course, 

measure your yearly journey and  

fill the humble homes of farmers 

with a bountiful harvest.

            Take whatever holy name you please, 

and please, preserve the people of Rome, 

who you have never failed to help. 

Catullus 35: A Powerful Poem 

Papyrus, I’d like you to tell Caecilius, that poet of love and my friend, 

to leave Lake Como– abandon the town of New Como and the Larian shore–

and venture now to Verona. 

There are certain musings I want him to hear, 

from his friends and mine. 

If he is a wise man, he’ll continue along the road, 

even if a pretty girl calls to him, 

begs for his return, his delay, 

flinging both her arms around the nape of his neck. 

For, if what I’ve heard is true, that is the girl who loves him 

now with a violent desire– 

since the moment she read his draft of Lady of Didymus, 

the poor thing has been consumed by passion, down 

to the very marrow of her bones. 

All is forgiven, girl, more clever than the Sapphic muse:

Caecilius’s unfinished Great Mother Cybele is truly lovely.

Catullus 36: Burnt Offerings

Annals of Volusius, shit-scraps of Papyrus, 

pay out my girl’s vow! 

She swore, by sacred Venus and Cupid, that 

if I returned to her, if I stopped hurling at her savage iambics, 

she would give to the gods the best writing of the worst limping poets

to be burned on cheap wood. 

This girl, with her dulcet laughter, truly believed 

this was the worst verse, 

capable of moving the gods. 

O Goddess, you who was born from the blue sea,

sacred to Idalium, to Urium, 

worshipped at Acona, the reed-riddled Cnidus,

at Amasthusi, Golgi, and Adriatic Dyrrachium, 

fulfill her vow, if it’s not uncharming or unconvincing

and meanwhile,

Annals of Volusis, crude droppings of Papyrus, 

go up in flames!