Barbarians don't get me

I'm currently working on a review of a book called Latin Poetry and its Reception, written in honour of recently retired University of British Columbia professor Susanna Braund. Braund's research, and the essays in her festschrift, focuses on histories of translation and reception--the movement of Greek ideas into Latin poetry, Classical ideas into later Latin poetry, and the way that various modern authors play with the work of their Classical counterparts (especially Virgil). It's, excuse my language, a bitch of a review to write--I was not trained as a Classicist and my knowledge of Classical poets has been gained mostly through their reception in late antiquity. Which means that my review will miss some tricks evaluating the quality of the articles alongside their contributions and gaps.

I chose to review the book because I thought it was a great learning opportunity (and it has been)--the sheer range of the essays means I've encountered lots of ideas and authors new to me. Because I've been thinking so much about scholarship on reception of the Classics, I've started to notice Classical receptions absolutely everywhere, especially in the poetry I've been reading this month. 

 

Here's one of the funniest poems that's found me. Some background, to aid your appreciation of it: Ovid (43 BCE-17/18 CE) was an extremely successful and popular Roman poet, but was banished by the emperor Augustus in the year 8 CE. Based on comments Ovid makes in his later writings, scholars have guessed that the poet's racy Ars Amatoria, which includes poems about adultery, offended Augustus, who pursued a programme of legislation promoting moral reform, including legislation encouraging monogamous marriage. There are also some hints that Ovid might have been involved or known about a plot against the emperor. The incompleteness and ambiguity of the evidence has fueled endless scholarly debate.

 

Tomis, the town on the Black Sea where Ovid spent the last ten years of his life, is in modern day Romania, and was far removed from the cosmopolitan life the poet had enjoyed in Rome. Our knowledge of Ovid's banishment (and his feelings about it) comes from the poems and letters he wrote from Tomis pleading to come home.

 

I really like the image of him singing the blues about it all.

"Howlin George Blues singer" by keith ellwood is licensed under CC BY 2.0

Damn Right I Got the Blues: Ovid Live in Tomis

1.

I hate to see that Euxine sun go down

I hate to see that Euxine sun go down

Cause Lord it reminds me that for reasons of state

I been exiled and confined to this one-horse Pontic town.

 

2.

Ain't but one way out Caesar, but I just can't go out the door

Ain't but one way out Caesar, from this cell-block on the shore

Waited ten years for your letter, Oh Lord I'm waiting still

Barbarians don't get me than the ennui surely will

Sean O'Brien, The Beautiful Librarians (London, 2015)