Poetry to Catullus

[Author's note: famous poet Catullus wrote about 100 numbered love/hate poems about his failed affair with a mistress named Lesbia. We never gain access to the other half of the relationship, though. So I have undertaken to elaborate, speaking in my style to Lesbia's cause. Enjoy!]

         At the start of their affair, young Lesbia was attracted to the famous statesman Catullus. The following poem is from the time when she was still impressed by him, and her growing interest is expressed in plain yet passionate language:

         "Invalid Item"  by elanormaud
[Auth note: doh, deleted! well it was a nice little piece while it lasted]

         In response to her interest, Catullus proceeded to translate an ancient great poem by Sappho to return the compliments in #51: “Lesbia, that when I gaze at you merely, all of my well-chosen words are forgotten.” This line is amusing, because obviously Catullus had a better vocabulary when it came to expressing his feelings.

         After a brief love affair, the excitement must have worn off for Lesbia. She had gone into this relationship with romantic notions so idealistic that the realities of her lover couldn’t match her expectation. This isn't necessarily a character flaw; it could be attributed to losing her youthful naivete. So she hypothetically wrote the following poem expressing her growing boredom with the relationship.

"Love That Might Have Been" 

You question when I flash my lips
In smile to other men
You wonder why my chest heaves sighs
At love that might have been

Despite your glamorous physique
And sweet though be your touch
Compared to fantasies I've dared
It doesn't mean that much

So as my gaze may sometimes stray
Against your precious will
I pray you slowly figure out
Your kiss does not fulfill

         To this unexpected shift in her interest, Catullus responded in poem #70, “My woman says there is no one whom she’d rather marry than me… but what a woman says to a passionate lover ought to be scribbled on wind, on running water.” He was hurt, but what could he do, really? He was a lover and a statesman, not a ruffian. Soon Lesbia broke up with Catullus, and he respectfully let her go.

         After realizing for sure that Lesbia is no longer in love with him, I imagine that Catullus first blamed the issue not on the young woman but on the nature of true love. Later on, obviously he didn’t hold her so blameless.

"Cannot Help It" 

Why can't we find
Feelings so gentle their power mightn't smother
Lavished onto one but not reflected to the other
Maybe caring mirrored but not to awe-worthy perfection
Why does a true love flow in only one direction?

Where did it go
Mystery so shrouded that we cannot pierce its veil
Magic only to be found in fanciful kids' tale
Fires of forever but requited with rejection
Why does a true love flow in only one direction?

I pound my fist
In wonder if there was a sign I missed
Some clue as to why you don't return my kiss
Leaving me lost in heart-aching perplexion
With a love that burns true
         but not in both directions.

         This was not a poem that Lesbia responded to, and why should she have? If anything this seemed like a healthy sign that Catullus might be able to get over her. But instead he began to blame her for their affair’s end. At best she could have tried to encourage the “nature of true love” theme in this poem, to see if he still believed it. But by the anguish Catullus demonstrated later, it was likely that he realized he had only been making excuses for a fickle girlfriend.

         Eventually Lesbia had to formally break up with Catullus. The following is a poem to a friend she had in common with her ex-lover. First she flattered her confidant by establishing how close and dear was his friendship. Then she passed a message through him to Catullus, asserting the finality of their break-up while still wishing her ex-lover well. Because of how viciously Catullus wrote about this, I think it reasonable that such an intelligent poet might have sarcastically copied her style in response. [Author's note: obviously I patterned this after Catullus's #11, not the other way around!]

Whisper Gentle These Words

Aramis Aurelius, true comrade,

Whether the vicissitudes of my family soap opera
or the tribulations of my modest heart's trials,
supportive wonder!
Whether I aspire to some new fashionable passtime
or on political issue dare my opinionated voice
(honest blunder!),
You stand ever ready to share with me advisement
or just to bend an ear when I need must vent.
Prithee, whisper gentle these words to my ex-lover :

Timid inquiry finds me joyful with my new patron
embracing him earnestly and with deliberate intent
sooth he is the song for which my heart keeps time
Bid Catullus seek his happiness elsewhere in the world
where such a colored bud as he will surely blossom
(despite the unwelcome brush of passing rain)
in someone else's sunlight and tender ministrations

As I cherish your steadfastness, earn your worthy name
and Godspeed you with my consolatory message

         Catullus didn’t receive this message kindly. It ignited inside him a cold fury, demonstrated by how he parodied Lesbia’s flatter-the-messenger tactic in poem #11: “Aurelius & Furius, true comrades, whether Catullus penetrates to where…booms the eastern ocean’s wonderful thunder; … even if he should scale the lofty Alps, … you’re both prepared to share in my adventures, … Back to my girl then, carry her this bitter message:”
         The message was clearly divided into three parts to match Lesbia’s. First, Catullus used rough language regarding her new relationship (basically saying Lesbia can go screw herself blue). Because the language was so harsh, you can tell the news really hurt him. Next, Catullus told her not to worry about his happiness (which she herself ruined). At the last, he took her pretty imagery and made a somber scene of it: “…broken, like a flower at the edge of a field after the plowshare brushes it, passing.”

         Now, Catullus was a great poet who was probably widely-read in his time. So after repeatedly seeing such published rants about her as Catullus #72, Lesbia probably got to thinking. The following hypothetical poem by Lesbia was written to herself as she tried to sort out the emotional state of her famous ex-lover. Evidence that she knew of Catullus's writings, note how she referred here to Quintia from Catullus #86. And in demonstration of her own wit, in the final couplet Lesbia even turned the double entendre used in Catullus #2 against him in a hurtful dig. Perhaps most influencial in guiding Lesbia to this conclusion was Catullus’s statement on juxtaposing emotions, from #72: “It’s because such cruelty forces lust to assume the shrunken place of affection.”

Never In His Heart

Sometimes despite my joy, I pause in my life's carriage
In these moments I'm thoughtful of the man before my marriage
All throughout examining the dalliance of my youth
I wonder if the love he swore he bore, was lust in truth

But in pursuit of the question for whose answer I am curious
I catch only testimony of my ex-lover, yes Catullus
Who rants and who raves in unseemly desperation
Wasting the worthwhileness of so much respiration

Very arguably he should have long since gotten over me
And sought out fair Quintia, that prettyish fame groupie
Yet instead he undertakes to sully my reputation
Which once he raised higher than all others in station

Thus can I conclude that the affection this man bore me
Was but lust, I can trust because of how he can't ignore me
Though I was never in his heart, cruel irony may find
That now in his confusion I'll be forever on his mind

Maybe Catullus ought to learn to re-cast Cupid's arrow
Guided to a pet first ... yes, perhaps a sparrow

         This haughty poem might not have made it back to Catullus had his own writings not publicized their affair in the first place. But if he didn’t read the words himself, he certainly heard about them. Catullus responded hopelessly in #75: “To such a state have I been brought by your mischief, my Lesbia.”

         After a while, Lesbia married some other man. But since Catullus was still writing publicly about her, this would have put stress on her marriage, not to mention ticked her off. This poem is the letter hypothetically written by newly wed Lesbia to her husband. In this deliberate piece, she flattered her man and assuaged whatever bad feelings of competition he might have had because of the Catullus gossip he had probably heard. Absent was the coquettish Lesbia who could afford casual dalliances. She had developed now into a somewhat manipulative wife who needed to maintain her reputation. The attacks below on her ex-lover are scurrilous, probably because she could not hope to match the skill or prolificness of Catullus as he continued to write about her.

         Of My Old Lover

My new and treasured husband,

         Perhaps you've heard of my old lover, called clever by some, by others lout and boor - to which descriptive list I add: dainty, simpleton, hypocrite, and more.
         He's well-respected for crafty poems wrought (not by education but rather, self-taught). And though perhaps of masters he may be a master among, his reputed skill lies in the language, certainly not the tongue.
         Pray, what sort of name is Catullus anyway? It is fitting for a mutt or a stump -
a lump of fallen log or a fit of nappy fur - which only a cur should want to hump. Often he would call on me to visit. (All the while, unaware that out would stick his eager wick - how my servants would stare!) His heart would skitter in delight if he could coax me to my back. But for my part, despair would ignite to be stretched & roasted on his rack. In the throes of his such efforts, my cries of pain weren't fake. For what other signal sounds ought a torture victim make?
         Often amidst this mock passion, I might call for a lantern's light, in case my poor old poet find not a proper hole in the night. Though, more often than not, upon my saddle his drive would droop like lowing cattle. To rouse him then? - a losing battle! And then a sigh or a snore would signify his will's death rattle.
         Truly, were he an earnest wright, he should push me honest to my pleasure instead of racing just to satisfy his organ's overestimated measure.
         No, I'll miss neither the novice fingers' folly nor his body's bedtime bumbling. Take heart, my husband: compared to your love, that wordsmith's craft was fumbling.
         Thus all the more do I treasure your touch, swears faithfully this blush-colored bride.

         This letter might have achieved its purpose (“Lesbia hurls abuse at me in front of her husband”), had not Lesbia’s husband foolishly shared its contents with his friends (“that fatuous person finds it highly amusing!”). While surely Catullus lost some face in the revelations, he also in #83 came to a consolatory conclusion to which Lesbia, as far as historians know, had no ready answer: “Her barking & bitching show that not only [have] I not been forgotten, - but that this burns her: and so she rants & rages.”