Catullus 8-15

Original Latin

VIII. ad se ipsum

Miser Catulle, desinas ineptire,

et quod vides perisse perditum ducas.

fulsere quondam candidi tibi soles,

cum ventitabas quo puella ducebat

amata nobis quantum amabitur nulla.

ibi illa multa cum iocosa fiebant,

quae tu volebas nec puella nolebat,

fulsere vere candidi tibi soles.

nunc iam illa non vult: tu quoque impotens noli,

nec quae fugit sectare, nec miser vive,

sed obstinata mente perfer, obdura.

vale puella, iam Catullus obdurat,

nec te requiret nec rogabit invitam.

at tu dolebis, cum rogaberis nulla.

scelesta, vae te, quae tibi manet vita?

quis nunc te adibit? cui videberis bella?

quem nunc amabis? cuius esse diceris?

quem basiabis? cui labella mordebis?

at tu, Catulle, destinatus obdura.

IX. ad Veranium

Verani, omnibus e meis amicis

antistans mihi milibus trecentis,

venistine domum ad tuos penates

fratresque unanimos anumque matrem?

venisti. o mihi nuntii beati!

visam te incolumem audiamque Hiberum

narrantem loca, facta nationes,

ut mos est tuus, applicansque collum

iucundum os oculosque suaviabor.

o quantum est hominum beatiorum,

quid me laetius est beatiusve?

X. ad Varum

Varus me meus ad suos amores

visum duxerat e foro otiosum,

scortillum, ut mihi tum repente visum est,

non sane illepidum neque invenustum,

huc ut venimus, incidere nobis

sermones varii, in quibus, quid esset

iam Bithynia, quo modo se haberet,

et quonam mihi profuisset aere.

respondi id quod erat, nihil neque ipsis

nec praetoribus esse nec cohorti,

cur quisquam caput unctius referret,

praesertim quibus esset irrumator

praetor, nec faceret pili cohortem.

'at certe tamen,' inquiunt 'quod illic

natum dicitur esse, comparasti

ad lecticam homines.' ego, ut puellae

unum me facerem beatiorem,

'non' inquam 'mihi tam fuit maligne

ut, provincia quod mala incidisset,

non possem octo homines parare rectos.'

at mi nullus erat nec hic neque illic

fractum qui veteris pedem grabati

in collo sibi collocare posset.

hic illa, ut decuit cinaediorem,

'quaeso' inquit 'mihi, mi Catulle, paulum

istos commoda: nam volo ad Serapim

deferri.' 'mane' inquii puellae,

'istud quod modo dixeram me habere,

fugit me ratio: meus sodalis—

Cinna est Gaius—is sibi paravit.

verum, utrum illius an mei, quid ad me?

utor tam bene quam mihi pararim.

sed tu insulsa male et molesta vivis,

per quam non licet esse neglegentem.'

XI. ad Furium et Aurelium

Furi et Aureli comites Catulli,

sive in extremos penetrabit Indos,

litus ut longe resonante Eoa

tunditur unda,

sive in Hyrcanos Arabesve molles,

seu Sagas sagittiferosve Parthos,

sive quae septemgeminus colorat

aequora Nilus,

sive trans altas gradietur Alpes,

Caesaris visens monimenta magni,

Gallicum Rhenum horribile aequor ulti-

mosque Britannos,

omnia haec, quaecumque feret voluntas

caelitum, temptare simul parati,

pauca nuntiate meae puellae

non bona dicta.

cum suis vivat valeatque moechis,

quos simul complexa tenet trecentos,

nullum amans vere, sed identidem omnium

ilia rumpens;

nec meum respectet, ut ante, amorem,

qui illius culpa cecidit velut prati

ultimi flos, praetereunte postquam

tactus aratro est.

XII. ad Matrucinum Asinium

Marrucine Asini, manu sinistra

non belle uteris: in ioco atque vino

tollis lintea neglegentiorum.

hoc salsum esse putas? fugit te, inepte:

quamvis sordida res et invenusta est.

non credis mihi? crede Pollioni

fratri, qui tua furta vel talento

mutari velit: est enim leporum

differtus puer ac facetiarum.

quare aut hendecasyllabos trecentos

exspecta, aut mihi linteum remitte,

quod me non movet aestimatione,

verum est mnemosynum mei sodalis.

nam sudaria Saetaba ex Hiberis

miserunt mihi muneri Fabullus

et Veranius: haec amem necesse est

ut Veraniolum meum et Fabullum.

XIII. ad Fabullum

Cenabis bene, mi Fabulle, apud me

paucis, si tibi di favent, diebus,

si tecum attuleris bonam atque magnam

cenam, non sine candida puella

et vino et sale et omnibus cachinnis.

haec si, inquam, attuleris, venuste noster,

cenabis bene; nam tui Catulli

plenus sacculus est aranearum.

sed contra accipies meros amores

seu quid suavius elegantiusve est:

nam unguentum dabo, quod meae puellae

donarunt Veneres Cupidinesque,

quod tu cum olfacies, deos rogabis,

totum ut te faciant, Fabulle, nasum.

XIV. ad Calvum poetam

Ni te plus oculis meis amarem,

iucundissime Calve, munere isto

odissem te odio Vatiniano:

nam quid feci ego quidve sum locutus,

cur me tot male perderes poetis?

isti di mala multa dent clienti,

qui tantum tibi misit impiorum.

quod si, ut suspicor, hoc novum ac repertum

munus dat tibi Sulla litterator,

non est mi male, sed bene ac beate,

quod non dispereunt tui labores.

di magni, horribilem et sacrum libellum!

quem tu scilicet ad tuum Catullum

misti, continuo ut die periret,

Saturnalibus, optimo dierum!

non non hoc tibi, false, sic abibit.

nam si luxerit ad librariorum

curram scrinia, Caesios, Aquinos,

Suffenum, omnia colligam venena.

ac te his suppliciis remunerabor.

vos hinc interea valete abite

illuc, unde malum pedem attulistis,

saecli incommoda, pessimi poetae.

Si qui forte mearum ineptiarum

lectores eritis manusque vestras

non horrebitis admovere nobis.

XV. ad Aurelium

Commendo tibi me ac meos amores,

Aureli. veniam peto pudentem,

ut, si quicquam animo tuo cupisti,

quod castum expeteres et integellum,

conserves puerum mihi pudice,

non dico a populo—nihil veremur

istos, qui in platea modo huc modo illuc

in re praetereunt sua occupati—

verum a te metuo tuoque pene

infesto pueris bonis malisque.

quem tu qua lubet, ut lubet moveto

quantum vis, ubi erit foris paratum:

hunc unum excipio, ut puto, pudenter.

quod si te mala mens furorque vecors

in tantam impulerit, sceleste, culpam,

ut nostrum insidiis caput lacessas.

a tum te miserum malique fati!

quem attractis pedibus patente porta

percurrent raphanique mugilesque.

My Translation

Catullus 8: Listen

O pitiful Catullus, stop this foolishness! 

Stop letting your knowledge lead to your demise! Once, 

The sun shone brilliantly for you, 

When you loved a girl as no other man ever will, and she 

Loved you back. 

She pleased you in so many ways, never unwilling – 

bright days truly did shine. Yet now, she doesn’t want you and, weak-spirited as you are, 

You either chase what fleas or live in abject misery. 

Stop! Be strong, stand your ground. Say 

“goodbye, foolish girl. Now, Catullus 

Is firm. He doesn’t seek, doesn’t ask the unwilling. 

And oh, how you’ll regret it when nobody pines for you! 

Oh, poor, wicked girl, what life is left for you? Who will you control and consume with your beauty? 

Who will you love and pledge yourself towards?

Who will you kiss, then eventually bite?”

Be firm, Catullus, be firm. 

Catullus 9: Welcome Home

Veranius, my favorite of all my 

Three hundred thousand friends, are you home yet? 

Have you returned to your own house, loving brothers, and old mother?

You have! O what happy news for me! 

I cannot wait to see you, safe and sound, and hear your

tales, as you like to tell me, of the places, deeds, people of Spain,

and drape myself about your neck, kiss

your lovely mouth and eyes. 

What man could ever be happier than me –

the gladdest and most content of all?

Catullus 10: Varus’s Girl

Varus drags me into his business and out 

of the Forum, where I was at ease, to visit 

his little whore – I immediately saw her, not

so inelegant or ugly. When we approached, 

we heard disparate dialogue. She asked me 

how Birthynia was and how much I had secured from selling its bronze. 

I told her the truth

 – I had profited nothing at all –

and neither the praetors nor their aids returned any richer, considering 

our Praetor, Memmius, that bastard, didn’t give a damn about any of his followers. 

“But I’m sure,” Varus and his girl said, “you could have bought their slaves – 

they say they’re bred like a litter.” 

I replied (so his girl would think I was rich), 

“No, I didn’t want for money so badly that, 

when passing through one bothersome province, 

I couldn’t buy eight fine men.”

Of course, I had lied – I was so broke that I didn’t have 

A single slave, neither here nor there, who 

could raise even the broken foot of an old couch to his shoulder. 

She replied, like the shameless slut she was: 

“My dear Catullus, could I please loan your slaves – 

just for a while, since I’d like to be carried to Serapus’s temple.” “Wait,” 

I replied, “my slaves aren’t actually with me: 

my friend Cinna, that’s Gaius to you, 

bought them himself. Are they his or mine? 

What difference would it even make? 

I use them just as often as I would if I’d bought them myself. 

You, girl, are impolite and annoying – 

you won’t allow me to speak just a little carelessly! 

Catullus 11: Never, Ever Getting Back Together 

Furius, Aurelius – friends of Catullus 

regardless of whether he travels to the ends of India, 

where the Eastern tides strike the shore far and wide with resounding power, 

or travels among the Hyracians and ostentatious Arabians, 

or the Parthian archers and Sacians, 

or where the seven-mouthed Nile stains the waters, 

or whether he travels to climb the tallest Alpine peaks,

gazing upon the testaments to Caesar’s greatness: 

the waters of the Gallic Rhine, the British Channel, 

the distant, fierce Britons. 

Whichever place the will of the gods carries me, 

I am ready for anything. 

You two, just tell me girl this (with spite in your tone)– 

Let her live and take pleasure with her adulterers and  

hold all three hundred of them in her loveless embrace, 

tearing at their souls, again and again. 

Let her not look back for my love – wish for it to be as it once was, 

for her crimes destroyed it– made it fall like a 

delicate flower, the last on the field, 

bulldozed by the passing plough. 

Catullus 12: You Thief!  

Asinius Marcus, you’re not slick with your 

left hand: I know that each time, while we drink and joke, 

you snatch the forgotten tablecloth.  

Do you think you’re clever? Clearly you know nothing about humor, you idiot: 

stealing is such a sleazy, ugly thing. 

You don’t believe me? Fine, believe your brother Pollionus, 

who prays that he could exchange your kleptomaniasm for some talent –

he is a boy truly abounding with wit and humor. 

I’m warning you: return my napkins or expect three hundred poems. The napkins’

value, per se, doesn’t worry me– their worth comes from the memory of my friends,  

who once gifted them to me. 

Fabullus and Veranius sent the napkins from Spain! 

They must be cherished as I would my dear close friends. 

Catullus 13: 

If the gods are kind to you, my dear Fabullus, in a few days

you will dine so well with me! That is, if you bring

with you lots of delicious food (and don’t forget 

a pretty girl!), and tons of 

wine, wit, and laughter. 

Trust me, you’ll dine well if you bring all these things, 

my charming friend, for alas your Catullus’s purse 

is laden with cobwebs. 

But do not worry– in return you will receive all 

my affections, and something far sweeter and more elegant: 

the perfume of my girl, gifted by Venus and Cupid themselves. 

Once you’ve smelt it, you’ll beg the gods to 

transform you, Fabullus, into a nose. 

Catullus 14: What a Bad Poet!  

If I didn’t love you more than sight itself, 

most lovely Calvus, I would hate you for your gift

with the hatred of Vatinus: tell me, 

what did I do, what did I say, that led you to 

destroy me wickedly with so many poets?

May the gods curse that client of yours with a great many evils– that client 

who sent you so many wretched scoundrels. 

Although, if, as I presume, the grammarian Sulla grants you this

novel, innovative gift, then there’s no harm to me – it’s a 

wonderful thing that your efforts haven’t all gone to waste, for 

great gods, what a horrible yet immortal book

which you obviously sent to your Catullus so that he would day on the 

greatest day of all: Saturnalia! 

No no, you clever trickster, you won’t get away with this offense–

when the sun rises I shall sprint to the bookseller’s stalls

and buy Caesius, Aquinus, Suffenus– all the poisonous ones; 

I’ll reward you with suffering. 

In the meantime, goodbye – take yourself wherever your 

unlucky feet have taken you– 

a stain on our era, 

the worst poet of all. 

Catullus 15: Hands Off, Toga On 

Aurelius, I entrust myself and my loves to you, 

and I humbly beg for a favor: 

if you have ever valued something and wished 

for it to remain pure and true, 

protect my boy– not from the masses, 

for there is nothing to fear from busy, working passerbies – 

rather, from you and your phallus, 

threatening to both innocent and trickster boys. 

You brandish it wherever you please, with as much force as you wish, 

wherever you’d like: please, 

exempt my boy from that. 

But if your stormy, passion-ravaged mind drives 

you to sin, you poor bastard, 

and you fill my boy’s head with lies, 

may fate curse you with misery! 

For you, with your feet dragged apart like an open door, 

radishes and mullets will pass through.