Catullus XCIX: Ad Iuventium

Salvete, this is Catullus XCIX, a poem to a man Catullus refers to as Iuventius, a pseudonym meaning ‘young man.’ This one is less happy than the last one, and I would say it might be the sequel to it. It definitely creates what I lovingly refer to in stories as the second act drop (the part in rom-coms where they go and cry in the rain before fixing everything at the end). I’m not sure if there’s a satisfying end to this story though, I’ll have to look for more poetry about Iuventius in the future. As always, thank you to the Latin Library for the Latin.

Surripui tibi, dum ludis, mellite Iuventi,
     suaviolum dulci dulcius ambrosia.
verum id non impune tuli: namque amplius horam
     suffixum in summa me memini esse cruce,
dum tibi me purgo nec possum fletibus ullis
     tantillum vestrae demere saevitiae.
nam simul id factum est, multis diluta labella
     guttis abstersisti omnibus articulis,
ne quicquam nostro contractum ex ore maneret,
     tamquam commictae spurca saliva lupae.
praeterea infesto miserum me tradere amori
     non cessasti omnique excruciare modo,
ut mi ex ambrosia mutatum iam foret illud
     suaviolum tristi tristius elleboro.
quam quoniam poenam misero proponis amori,
     numquam iam posthac basia surripiam.

I stole a tender kiss from you, honey-sweet Iuventius,

while you teased, delightful as sweet ambrosia.

Truly it did not pass without pain. And, in fact, for more than an hour,

I remembered myself being crucified on the highest cross,

While I begged pardon from myself to you, and was not able to please

with any tears your anger the slightest bit.

For when it happened, you wiped clean your lips, each and every speck

with your fingers, diluted with much water,

So nothing contracted whatsoever would remain from our affair,

just as if it was the spit of a foul prostitute.

What’s more, you did not hesitate to hand me over to hostile Love,

and it only torments.

So, that tender kiss, altered for me from ambrosia,

now was regretful as sorrowed hellebore.

Since you place such punishment for passion like ours,

I now shall never steal a kiss again.

This was so fun, I realize I miss translating more longform poetry—it requires me to engage more deeply with the material, and I pick up on things I might’ve missed otherwise! The most interesting part, that is clear even to someone who doesn’t speak Latin, is the parallel structure at the beginning and end of the poem. The contrast is clear between suaviolum dulci dulcius ambrosia and suaviolum tristi tristius elleboro. Catullus’ enjoyment of the sweetness of the kiss is soured and has turned bitter as hellebore, and it is reflected by the construction of the poem.

Otherwise, one of the interesting things I happened upon was trying to find just the right English word to fit in a certain spot. I had trouble with the word purgo, which I translated as “I begged pardon.” The most literal translation is probably “I purged,” or “made clean,” or “excused,” because that’s the clear derivative. I couldn’t figure out the best way to translate the desperateness though, I felt like the meaning in English was just not quite connecting. In this context it means some mix of “I desperately explained” and “apologized” and “justifed myself.” I thought “begged pardon” might work the best, but it took me a good while to put something down.

That’s about everything, I will say I love the drama of this poem, and like I said earlier, I will look for a potential third installment of the series so that we might have a satisfying resolution, like we did with Sulpicia. Gratias et valete!