Just to try to revamp things as much has been stagnant of late. Why don't we start another book club book for poetry? It's been near a year now, so lets get some stuff going.
So, firstly, lets see who is interested, then call for nominations.
So any takers? very few posters of the original group really post frequently anymore, so perhaps this can be a good way to bring some of that back, plus meet some new people.
mortalterror
11-25-2011, 02:13 PM
I nominate Lucan's Pharsalia
I love that poem. I was just re-reading my favorite parts the other day (the first 37 lines, the end of book III, and Scaeva's exploits from book VI specifically). You don't have to read Caesar's Commentary on The Civil War but it makes it so much better. It's like the same book written from two different sides. One Caesar's the hero, the other he's the villain. The contrast is a trip. And of course, if you guys do end up discussing Pharsalia, no discussion of Lucan would be complete without mentioning the impact of Virgil's Aeneid on his work, or Lucan's influence on Dante and Shakespeare.
Alexander III
11-26-2011, 03:24 PM
I love that poem. I was just re-reading my favorite parts the other day (the first 37 lines, the end of book III, and Scaeva's exploits from book VI specifically). You don't have to read Caesar's Commentary on The Civil War but it makes it so much better. It's like the same book written from two different sides. One Caesar's the hero, the other he's the villain. The contrast is a trip. And of course, if you guys do end up discussing Pharsalia, no discussion of Lucan would be complete without mentioning the impact of Virgil's Aeneid on his work, or Lucan's influence on Dante and Shakespeare.
I love the Pharsalia, especialy because it is one of the few ancient works with no heroes, Ceasar and Pompey are both so very human, Ceasar a byronic ant-hero, and Pompey tragic and noble and pitaible inefectual man. Also the fact that Lucan died at 26, and yet created such a masterpeice adds another layer of tragic beauty to the thing.
I have to read Ceasar's comentaries, I have been told he has a remarkable prose style, a master of the tearse.
mortalterror
11-26-2011, 05:04 PM
I love the Pharsalia, especialy because it is one of the few ancient works with no heroes, Ceasar and Pompey are both so very human, Ceasar a byronic ant-hero, and Pompey tragic and noble and pitaible inefectual man. Also the fact that Lucan died at 26, and yet created such a masterpeice adds another layer of tragic beauty to the thing.
I have to read Ceasar's comentaries, I have been told he has a remarkable prose style, a master of the tearse.
I wouldn't say there are no heroes. I think Cato comes off as a legitimate hero in this epic. He's just wandering around in the desert of Libya like some stoic saint, an old style Republican Roman. The thing about Pharsalia is it's not byronic it's an anti-epic that's rebelling against the model set by Virgil's Aeneid. I didn't think that Caesar came off as human at all, he was totally satanic, this sort of dark god of disorder. Wherever he goes nature is inverted to it's polar opposite: peaceful days become stormy, parent's murder their children, black is white, and day is night. The brave Scaeva overcomes his enemies through cowardice and trickery rather than through bravery which would be proper. Every value is overturned.
The reason I say read Caesar's commentaries is not because of the simple economy of his language or the sweeping narrative of the action, but because it literally is the same account as Lucan's cast in a different light. Every incident of Caesar's is a seed in Lucan's story. Take this example from the third book of Caesar's Civil Wars:
[3.53] Thus six engagements having happened in one day, three at Dyrrachium, and three at the fortifications, when a computation was made of the number of slain, we found that about two thousand fell on Pompey's side, several of them volunteer veterans and centurions. Among them was Valerius, the son of Lucius Flaccus, who as praetor had formerly had the government of Asia, and six military standards were taken. Of our men, not more than twenty were missing in all the action. But in the fort, not a single soldier escaped without a wound; and in one cohort, four centurions lost their eyes. And being desirous to produce testimony of the fatigue they under went, and the danger they sustained, they counted to Caesar about thirty thousand arrows which had been thrown into the fort; and in the shield of the centurion Scaeva, which was brought to him, were found two hundred and thirty holes. In reward for this man's services, both to himself and the public, Caesar presented to him two hundred thousand pieces of copper money, and declared him promoted from the eighth to the first centurion. For it appeared that the fort had been in a great measure saved by his exertions; and he afterward very amply rewarded the cohorts with double pay, corn, clothing, and other military honors.
In Lucan's hands it becomes:
Yet now that passage which not Caesar's self
Nor thousand valiant squadrons had availed
To rescue from their grasp, one man in arms
Steadfast till death refused them; Scaeva named
This hero soldier: long he served in fight
Waged 'gainst the savage on the banks of Rhone;
And now centurion made, through deeds of blood,
He bore the staff before the marshalled line.
Prone to all wickedness, he little recked
How valourous deeds in civil war may be
Greatest of crimes; and when he saw how turned
His comrades from the war and sought in flight
A refuge, (8) "Whence," he cried, "this impious fear
Unknown to Caesar's armies? Do ye turn
Your backs on death, and are ye not ashamed
Not to be found where slaughtered heroes lie?
Is loyalty too weak? Yet love of fight
Might bid you stand. We are the chosen few
Through whom the foe would break. Unbought by blood
This day shall not be theirs. 'Neath Caesar's eye,
True, death would be more happy; but this boon
Fortune denies: at least my fall shall be
Praised by Pompeius. Break ye with your breasts
Their weapons; blunt the edges of their swords
With throats unyielding. In the distant lines
The dust is seen already, and the sound
Of tumult and of ruin finds the ear
Of Caesar: strike; the victory is ours:
For he shall come who while his soldiers die
Shall make the fortress his." His voice called forth
The courage that the trumpets failed to rouse
When first they rang: his comrades mustering come
To watch his deeds; and, wondering at the man,
To test if valour thus by foes oppressed,
In narrow space, could hope for aught but death.
But Scaeva standing on the tottering bank
Heaves from the brimming turret on the foe
The corpses of the fallen; the ruined mass
Furnishing weapons to his hands; with beams,
And ponderous stones, nay, with his body threats
His enemies; with poles and stakes he thrusts
The breasts advancing; when they grasp the wall
He lops the arm: rocks crush the foeman's skull
And rive the scalp asunder: fiery bolts
Dashed at another set his hair aflame,
Till rolls the greedy blaze about his eyes
With hideous crackle. As the pile of slain
Rose to the summit of the wall he sprang,
Swift as across the nets a hunted pard,
Above the swords upraised, till in mid throng
Of foes he stood, hemmed in by densest ranks
And ramparted by war; in front and rear,
Where'er he struck, the victor. Now his sword
Blunted with gore congealed no more could wound,
But brake the stricken limb; while every hand
Flung every quivering dart at him alone;
Nor missed their aim, for rang against his shield
Dart after dart unerring, and his helm
In broken fragments pressed upon his brow;
His vital parts were safeguarded by spears
That bristled in his body. Fortune saw
Thus waged a novel combat, for there warred
Against one man an army. Why with darts,
Madmen, assail him and with slender shafts,
'Gainst which his life is proof? Or ponderous stones
This warrior chief shall overwhelm, or bolts
Flung by the twisted thongs of mighty slings.
Let steelshod ram or catapult remove
This champion of the gate. No fragile wall
Stands here for Caesar, blocking with its bulk
Pompeius' way to freedom. Now he trusts
His shield no more, lest his sinister hand,
Idle, give life by shame; and on his breast
Bearing a forest of spears, though spent with toil
And worn with onset, falls upon his foe
And braves alone the wounds of all the war.
Thus may an elephant in Afric wastes,
Oppressed by frequent darts, break those that fall
Rebounding from his horny hide, and shake
Those that find lodgment, while his life within
Lies safe, protected, nor doth spear avail
To reach the fount of blood. Unnumbered wounds
By arrow dealt, or lance, thus fail to slay
This single warrior. But lo! from far
A Cretan archer's shaft, more sure of aim
Than vows could hope for, strikes on Scaeva's brow
To light within his eye: the hero tugs
Intrepid, bursts the nerves, and tears the shaft
Forth with the eyeball, and with dauntless heel
Treads them to dust. Not otherwise a bear
Pannonian, fiercer for the wound received,
Maddened by dart from Libyan thong propelled,
Turns circling on her wound, and still pursues
The weapon fleeing as she whirls around.
Thus, in his rage destroyed, his shapeless face
Stood foul with crimson flow. The victors' shout
Glad to the sky arose; no greater joy
A little blood could give them had they seen
That Caesar's self was wounded. Down he pressed
Deep in his soul the anguish, and, with mien,
No longer bent on fight, submissive cried,
"Spare me, ye citizens; remove the war
Far hence: no weapons now can haste my death;
Draw from my breast the darts, but add no more.
Yet raise me up to place me in the camp
Of Magnus, living: this your gift to him;
No brave man's death my title to renown,
But Caesar's flag deserted." So he spake.
Unhappy Aulus thought his words were true,
Nor saw within his hand the pointed sword;
And leaping forth in haste to make his own
The prisoner and his arms, in middle throat
Received the lightning blade. By this one death
Rose Scaeva's valour again; and thus he cried,
Such be the punishment of all who thought
Great Scaeva vanquished; if Pompeius seeks
Peace from this reeking sword, low let him lay
At Caesar's feet his standards. Me do ye think
Such as yourselves, and slow to meet the fates?
Your love for Magnus and the Senate's cause
Is less than mine for death." These were his words;
And dust in columns proved that Caesar came.
You can see that Caesar never mentions Scaeva getting shot by an arrow to the eye in his account. He mentions numerous arrows, Scaeva's shield getting hit, and some centurions getting blinded but he doesn't say specifically what Scaeva's wounds were. This solitary effort of one man holding off an army would naturally bring to mind another historical war story known to Roman's, that of Horatius at the Bridge. Another one eyed hero, Horatius Cocles' story is told in Livy's History, written roughly the same time as Caesars.
On the appearance of the enemy the country people fled into the City as best they could. The weak places in the defences were occupied by military posts; elsewhere the walls and the Tiber were deemed sufficient protection. The enemy would have forced their way over the Sublician bridge had it not been for one man, Horatius Cocles. The good fortune of Rome provided him as her bulwark on that memorable day. He happened to be on guard at the bridge when he saw the Janiculum taken by a sudden assault and the enemy rushing down from it to the river, whilst his own men, a panic-struck mob, were deserting their posts and throwing away their arms. He reproached them one after another for their cowardice, tried to stop them, appealed to them in heaven's name to stand, declared that it was in vain for them to seek safety in flight whilst leaving the bridge open behind them, there would very soon be more of the enemy on the Palatine and the Capitol than there were on the Janiculum. So he shouted to them to break down the bridge by sword or fire, or by whatever means they could, he would meet the enemies' attack so far as one man could keep them at bay. He advanced to the head of the bridge. Amongst the fugitives, whose backs alone were visible to the enemy, he was conspicuous as he fronted them armed for fight at close quarters. The enemy were astounded at his preternatural courage. Two men were kept by a sense of shame from deserting him-Sp. Lartius and T. Herminius-both of them men of high birth and renowned courage. With them he sustained the first tempestuous shock and wild confused onset, for a brief interval. Then, whilst only a small portion of the bridge remained and those who were cutting it down called upon them to retire, he insisted upon these, too, retreating. Looking round with eyes dark with menace upon the Etruscan chiefs, he challenged them to single combat, and reproached them all with being the slaves of tyrant kings, and whilst unmindful of their own liberty coming to attack that of others. For some time they hesitated, each looking round upon the others to begin. At length shame roused them to action, and raising a shout they hurled their javelins from all sides on their solitary foe. He caught them on his outstretched shield, and with unshaken resolution kept his place on the bridge with firmly planted foot. They were just attempting to dislodge him by a charge when the crash of the broken bridge and the shout which the Romans raised at seeing the work completed stayed the attack by filling them with sudden panic. Then Cocles said, "Tiberinus, holy father, I pray thee to receive into thy propitious stream these arms and this thy warrior." So, fully armed, he leaped into the Tiber, and though many missiles fell over him he swam across in safety to his friends: an act of daring more famous than credible with posterity. The State showed its gratitude for such courage; his statue was set up in the Comitium, and as much land given to him as he could drive the plough round in one day. Besides this public honour, the citizens individually showed their feeling; for, in spite of the great scarcity, each, in proportion to his means, sacrificed what he could from his own store as a gift to Cocles.
So you see, it definitely pays to read the histories. It's sort of like how Shakespeare drew on Holinshed's Chronicles or Plutarch for his history plays.
Ok, everyone votes twice, and nobody is allowed to vote for their own. We will have a second poll afterward when we have a lower number of volumes, probably made up of the top 4, unless there are many ties.
Fafnir
12-09-2011, 03:57 PM
Pharsalia – Lucan
Don Juan – Byron
Alcool – Appolinaire
Human Chain – Heaney
The Waste Land – Eliot
300 Tang Poems
Book of Songs – ed. Confucius
Lament for the Death of a Bullfighter and other poems - Lorca
In Memoriam - Tennyson
Poems - Holderin
I think some of the posters have stopped posting, so they can be ignored, no?
I guess that refers to me since I'm the only one that's not been included.
I'm still posting. I've been checking this thread regularly to see if there's been any updates... If I haven't been posting regularly it's just because there hasn't been that many opportunities to do so in this forum.
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