The HyperTexts
Ancient Greek Poetry Translations by Michael R. Burch
These are my modern English translations of ancient Greek poems and epigrams written by poets
like Sappho, Homer,
Aeschylus,
Anacreon, Antipater of Sidon,
Anyte, Callimachus, Callo, Corinna, Diodorus, Diotimus, Erinna, Euripides,
Glaucus, Hesiod, Ibycus,
Leonidas of Tarentum,
Meleager,
Moero, Nossis,
Parmenio,
Pindar,
Plato, Simonides, Sophocles and others.
ANCIENT GREEK EPIGRAMS, PART I
Euryalus, born of the blue-eyed Graces,
scion of the bright-tressed Seasons,
son of the Cyprian,
whom dew-lidded Persuasion birthed among rose-blossoms.
—Ibykos/Ibycus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mnemosyne was stunned into astonishment when she heard honey-tongued Sappho,
wondering how mortal men merited a tenth Muse. —
Antipater of Sidon, loose
translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Selected Athenian Epitaphs
Mariner, do not question whose tomb this may be,
But go with good fortune: I wish you a kinder sea.
Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
Does my soul abide in heaven, or hell?
Only the sea gulls in their high, lonely circuits may tell.
Michael R. Burch,
after Glaucus
Passerby,
Tell the Spartans we lie
Lifeless at Thermopylae:
Dead at their word,
Obedient to their command.
Have they heard?
Do they understand?
Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
Here he lies in state tonight: great is his Monument!
Yet Ares cares not, neither does War relent.
Michael R. Burch,
after Anacreon
Blame not the gale, nor the inhospitable sea-gulf, nor friends' tardiness,
Mariner! Just man's foolhardiness.
Michael R. Burch,
after Leonidas of Tarentum
Now that I am dead sea-enclosed Cyzicus shrouds my bones.
Faretheewell, O my adoptive land that nurtured me, that suckled me;
I take rest at your breast.
Michael R. Burch,
after Erycius
Stripped of her stripling, if asked, she'd confess:
"I am now less than nothingness."
Michael R. Burch,
after Diotimus
Euryalus, born of the blue-eyed Graces,
scion of the bright-tressed Seasons,
son of the Cyprian,
whom dew-lidded Persuasion birthed among rose-blossoms.
—Ibykos/Ibycus (circa 540 BC), loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
More Ancient Greek Epigrams and Epitaphs
If you liked these modernizations of ancient Greek epigrams, there are more
later on this page. Next are some of my translations of the epigrams of
Sappho, one of the first great lyric poets, and arguably the first great female
poet whose name we know today…
SAPPHO OF LESBOS
Sappho, fragment 42
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Eros harrows my heart:
wild winds whipping desolate mountains
uprooting oaks.
Sappho, fragment 155
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
A short transparent frock?
It's just my luck
your lips were made to mock!
Sappho, fragment 156
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
She keeps her scents
in a dressing-case.
And her sense?
In some undiscoverable place.
Sappho, fragment 130
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
May the gods prolong the night
—yes, let it last forever!—
as long as you sleep in my sight.
I sought the Goddess in your body's curves and crevasses.—attributed to
Sappho, translation by Michael R. Burch
Sappho, fragment 137
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Gold does not rust,
yet my son becomes dust?
Sappho, fragment 52
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
The moon has long since set;
the Pleiades are gone;
now half the night is spent
yet here I lie, alone.
The following Sappho translations can be found at this link: Sappho
Translations by Michael R. Burch
Sappho, fragment 1: Hymn to
Aphrodite
Sappho, fragment 2:
Come, Cypris, from Crete
Sappho, fragment 16: “Helen’s Eidolon” or “Some People
Say”
Sappho, fragment 31: To the brightness of Love
Sappho, fragment 55: Lady without the roses of Pieria
Sappho, fragment 57: That hayseed tart bewitches your heart?
Sappho, fragment 94: Shepherds trample the hyacinth
Sappho, fragment 100: Most
delicate linen
Sappho, fragment 100: The softest pallors grace her
lovely face
Sappho, fragment 122: A tender maiden plucking flowers
Sappho, fragment 125: Love, bittersweet Dispenser of
pain
Sappho, fragment 129: They say
Sappho's sweetest utterance
Sappho, fragment 132: Love, the child of Aphrodite and
heaven
Sappho, fragment 133: Of all the stars the fairest,
Hesperus
Sappho, fragment 134: Selene came to Endymion
Sappho, fragment 138: The beautiful courtesan Rhodopis
Sappho, fragment 140: Phaon ferried the Goddess across
Sappho, fragment 145: If you're squeamish
Sappho, fragment 145: Prometheus the Fire-Bearer
Sappho, fragment 146: No buzzing bee, nor honey
Sappho, fragment 148: A vagabond friendship, repent
Rhodopis!
Sappho, fragment 153: Queen Dawn
Sappho, fragment 156:
Your voice: a sweeter liar than the lyre
Sappho, fragment 169: Foolish man!
Sappho, fragment 201: Death is evil; the Gods agree
The Sappho translations above can be found at this link: Sappho
Translations by Michael R. Burch
HOMER
Surrender to sleep at last! What an ordeal, keeping watch all night, wide awake.
Soon you’ll succumb to sleep and escape all your troubles. Sleep. —
Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Passage home? Impossible! Surely you have something else in mind, Goddess,
urging me to cross the ocean’s endless expanse in a raft. So vast, so
full of danger! Hell, sometimes not even the sea-worthiest ships can prevail,
aided as they are by Zeus’s mighty breath! I’ll never set foot on a raft,
Goddess, until you swear by all that’s holy you’re not plotting some new
intrigue! — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Let’s hope the gods are willing. They rule the vaulting skies. They’re stronger
than men to plan, execute and realize their ambitions. — Homer, loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Few sons surpass their fathers; most fall short, all too few overachieve. —
Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man they
love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the dust. —
Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Any moment might be our last. Earth’s magnificence? Magnified because we’re
doomed. You will never be lovelier than at this moment. We will never pass this
way again. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Beauty! Ah, Terrible Beauty! A deathless Goddess, she startles our eyes! —
Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Many dread seas and many dark mountain ranges lie between us. — Homer, loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The lives of mortal men? Like the leaves’ generations. Now the old leaves
fall, blown and scattered by the wind. Soon the living timber bursts forth green
buds as spring returns. Even so with men: as one generation is born, another
expires. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Since I’m attempting to temper my anger, it does not behoove me to rage
unrelentingly on. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Overpowering memories subsided to grief. Priam wept freely for Hector, who
had died crouching at Achilles’ feet, while Achilles wept himself, first for his
father, then for Patroclus, as their mutual sobbing filled the house. — Homer,
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Genius is discovered in adversity, not prosperity. — Homer, loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ruin, the eldest daughter of Zeus, blinds us all with her fatal madness. With
those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, she glides over our
heads, trapping us all. First she entangles you, then me, in her lethal net. —
Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death and Fate await us all. Soon comes a dawn or noon or sunset when someone
takes my life in battle, with a well-flung spear or by whipping a deadly arrow
from his bow. — Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man
they love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the
dust.—Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
For the gods have decreed that unfortunate mortals must suffer, while they
themselves are sorrowless.
—Homer (circa 800 BC), Iliad 24.525-526, loose translation/interpretation
by Michael R. Burch
It is best not to be born or, having been born, to pass on as swiftly as possible.
—attributed to Homer (circa 800 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Aeschylus Epigrams
Though they were steadfast among spears, dark Fate destroyed them
as they defended their native land, rich in sheep;
now Ossa’s dust seems all the more woeful, where they now sleep.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Aeschylus
Aeschylus, graybeard, son of Euphorion,
died far away in wheat-bearing Gela;
still, the groves of Marathon may murmur of his valor
and the black-haired Mede, with his mournful clarion.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Aeschylus
Anacreon Epigrams
Here he lies in state tonight: Great is his Monument!
Yet Ares cares not, neither does War relent.
—Anacreon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Yes, bring me Homer’s lyre, no doubt,
but first yank the bloodstained strings out!
—Anacreon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here we find Anacreon,
an elderly lover of boys and wine.
His harp still sings in lonely Acheron
as he thinks of the lads he left behind ...
—Anacreon or the Anacreontea, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Callimachus Epigrams
Here Saon,
son of Dicon,
now rests in holy sleep:
don't say the good die young, friend,
lest gods and mortals weep.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Callimachus
Once sweetest of the workfellows,
our
shy teller of tall tales
—fleet Crethis!—who excelled
at every childhood game . . .
now you sleep among long shadows
where everyone’s the same . . .
—Michael R. Burch,
after Callimachus
My friend found me here,
a shipwrecked corpse on the beach.
He heaped these strange boulders above me.
Oh, how he would wail
that he “loved” me,
with many bright tears for his own calamitous life!
Now he sleeps with my wife
and flits like a gull in a gale
—beyond reach—
while my broken bones bleach.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Callimachus
Glaucus Epigrams
Does my soul abide in heaven, or hell?
Only the sea gulls in their high, lonely circuits may tell.
Michael R. Burch,
after Glaucus
All this vast sea is his Monument.
Where does he lie—whether heaven, or hell?
Perhaps when the gulls repent—
their shriekings may tell.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Glaucus
Ares
by Hesiod
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Ares, exceeding all men in manliness, bronze-harnessed charioteer, golden-helmed
gladiator, strong-armed spear-hurler, dauntless shield-bearer, courageous of
heart, father of warlike Victory, able ally of Themis and Divine Law, dauntless
defender of Olympus, savior of men’s cities, scourge of the rebellious,
sceptered king of the righteous, whirling your fiery sphere among the planets in
their sevenfold courses through heavens wherein your blazing steeds bear you
above the third firmament; hear me, O mighty helper of men, gracious giver of
unflagging youth! Beam down a kindly ray from above to brighten my life; give me
the strength of Ares, that I may banish bitter cowardice from my heart and
defeat my soul’s deceitful impulses; help me restrain those dark furies urging
me to seek the paths of strident strife. But rather, O Blessed One, lend me your
boldness to abide within the benevolent laws of peace, avoiding conflict, hatred
and the destructive demons of death. Amen.
Ibykos/Ibycus Epigrams
Ibycus has been called the most love-mad of poets.
Euryalus, born of the blue-eyed Graces,
scion of the bright-tressed Seasons,
son of the Cyprian,
whom dew-lidded Persuasion birthed among rose-blossoms.
—Ibykos/Ibycus (circa 540 BC), loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Ibykos/Ibycus
Fragment 286, circa 564 B.C.
this poem has been titled "The Influence of Spring"
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Come spring, the grand
apple trees stand
watered by a gushing river
where the maidens’ uncut flowers shiver
and the blossoming grape vine swells
in the gathering shadows.
Unfortunately
for me
Eros never rests
but like a Thracian tempest
ablaze with lightning
emanates from Aphrodite;
the results are frightening—
black,
bleak,
astonishing,
violently jolting me from my soles
to my soul.
Originally published by The Chained Muse
Ibykos/Ibycus
Fragment 282, circa 540 B.C.
Ibykos fragment 282, Oxyrhynchus
papyrus, lines 1-32
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
...
They also destroyed the glorious city of Priam, son of Dardanus,
after leaving Argos due to the devices of death-dealing Zeus,
encountering much-sung strife over the striking beauty of auburn-haired Helen,
waging woeful war when destruction rained down on longsuffering Pergamum
thanks to the machinations of golden-haired Aphrodite ...
But now it is not my intention to sing of Paris, the host-deceiver,
nor of slender-ankled Cassandra,
nor of Priam’s other children,
nor of the nameless day of the downfall of high-towered Troy,
nor even of the valour of the heroes who hid in the hollow, many-bolted horse
...
Such was the destruction of Troy.
They were heroic men and Agamemnon was their king,
a king from Pleisthenes,
a son of Atreus, son of a noble father.
The all-wise Muses of Helicon
might recount such tales accurately,
but no mortal man, unblessed,
could ever number those innumerable ships
Menelaus led across the Aegean from Aulos ...
"From Argos they came, the bronze-speared sons of the Achaeans ..."
Simonides
Cloud-capped Geraneia, cruel mountain!
If only you had looked no further than Ister and Scythian
Tanais, had not aided the surge of the Scironian
sea’s wild-spurting fountain
filling the dark ravines of snowy Meluriad!
But now he is dead:
a chill corpse in a chillier ocean—moon led—
and only an empty tomb now speaks of the long, windy voyage ahead.
—Michael R. Burch, after Simonides
Dead as you are, though you lie
still as stone,
huntress Lycas,
my great Thessalonian hound,
the wild beasts still fear your white bones;
craggy Pelion remembers your valor,
splendid Ossa, the way you would bound
and bay at the moon for its whiteness,
bellowing
as below we heard valleys resound.
And how brightly with joy you would canter and run
the strange lonely peaks of high Cithaeron!
Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
These men earned a crown of imperishable glory,
Nor did the maelstrom of death obscure their story.
Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
Passerby,
Tell the Spartans we lie
Lifeless at Thermopylae:
Dead at their word,
Obedient to their command.
Have they heard?
Do they understand?
Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
Erinna
Erinna is widely considered second only
to Sappho among the ancient Greek female poets. Little is known about her life; Erinna has been called a
contemporary of Sappho and her most gifted student, but she may have lived up to
a few hundred years later. This poem, about a portrait of a girl or young woman
named Agatharkhis, has been called the earliest Greek ekphrastic epigram (an
epigram describing a work of art):
This portrait is the work of sensitive, artistic hands.
See, noble Prometheus, you have human equals!
For if whoever painted this girl had only added a voice,
she would have been Agatharkhis entirely.
—Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Passing by, passing by my oft-bewailed pillar,
shudder, my new friend to hear my tragic story:
of how my pyre was lit by the same fiery torch
meant to lead the procession to my nuptials in glory!
O Hymenaeus, why did you did change
my bridal song to a dirge? Strange!
—Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
You, my tall Columns, and you, my small Urn,
receptacle of Hades’ tiny pittance of ash—
remember me to those who pass by
my grave, as they dash.
Tell them my story, sad as it is:
that this grave sealed a young bride’s womb;
that my name was Baucis and Telos my land;
and that Erinna, my friend, etched this poem on my Tomb.
—Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Stele, inscription and lamentable urn
containing my meager remains, now property of Hades,
tell passersby my story, sad as it is:
how this mausoleum sealed a young bride’s womb;
that my name was Baucis,
Telos my land;
and that my friend Erinna etched this epigram on my Tomb.
—Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Erinna engraved this epigram on my tombstone.
—Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Translator’s note: Erinna has been attributed to
different locations, including Lesbos, Rhodes, Teos, Telos and Tenos. Telos
seems the most likely due to her Dorian dialect. Erinna wrote in a mixture
of Aeolic and Doric Greek. In 1928, Italian archaeologists excavating at Oxyrhynchus discovered a tattered piece of papyrus containing 54 lines
of Erinna’s lost epic “Distaff.” This work, like the epigrams above, was
also about her friend Baucis or Baukis.
Here only a voice’s useless echo reaches Hades
where there is not an ear among the unseeing dead.
—Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Excerpts from “Distaff”
by Erinna
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
… the moon rising …
… leaves falling …
… waves lapping a windswept shore …
… and our childish games, Baucis, do you remember? …
… Leaping from white horses into the deeper waves,
running on reckless feet through the great courtyard.
“You’re it!’ I cried, ‘You’re the Tortoise now!”
But when your turn came to pursue your pursuers,
you darted beyond the courtyard,
dashed out deep into the waves,
splashing far beyond us …
… My poor Baucis, these tears I now weep are your warm memorial,
these traces of embers still smoldering in my heart
for our silly amusements, now that you lie ash …
… Do you remember how, as girls,
we played at weddings with our dolls,
pretending to be brides in our innocent beds? …
… How sometimes I was your mother,
allotting wool to the weaver-women,
calling for you to unreel the thread? …
… Do you remember our terror of the monster Mormo
with her huge ears, her forever-flapping tongue,
her four slithering feet, her shape-shifting face? …
… Until you mother called for us to help with the salted meat …
… But when you mounted your husband’s bed,
dearest Baucis, you forgot your mothers’ warnings!
Aphrodite made your heart forgetful …
… Desire becomes oblivion …
… Now I lament your loss, my dearest friend.
I can’t bear to think of that dark crypt.
I can’t bring myself to leave the house.
I refuse to profane your corpse with my tearless eyes.
I refuse to cut my hair, but how can I mourn with my hair unbound?
I blush with shame at the thought of you! …
… But in this dark house, O my dearest Baucis,
My deep grief is ripping me apart.
Wretched Erinna! Only nineteen,
I moan like an ancient crone, eying this strange distaff …
O Hymen! … O Hymenaeus! …
Alas, my poor Baucis!
On a Betrothed Girl
by Erinna
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
I sing of Baucis the bride.
Observing her tear-stained crypt
tell Death who dwells underground:
"Thou art envious, O Death!"
Her monument reminds passersby
of the bitter misfortune of Baucis —
how her father-in-law burned the poor girl on a pyre
lit by bright torches meant to light her marriage train home.
While thou, O Hymenaeus, transformed her harmonious bridal song into the
mournful wail of the threnos.
Hymen! O Hymenaeus!
threnos: threnody, a wailing ode, song, hymn or poem of mourning
composed and/or performed as a memorial to a dead person.
Anyte
Anyte of Tegea (fl. 300 BC) was a Hellenistic poet from Tegea in Arcadia.
Little is known about her life, but 24 epigrams attributed to her appeared in the
Greek Anthology, with 19 generally considered authentic. Anyte was one of nine
outstanding ancient female poets listed by Antipater of Thessalonica in the
Palatine Anthology. Anyte has been credited with inventing the pastoral epigram
and her invention may have influenced Theocritus. It was adapted by later poets,
including Ovid.
Stranger, rest your weary legs beneath the elms;
hear how coolly the breeze murmurs through their branches;
then take a bracing draught from the mountain-fed fountain;
for this is welcome shade from the burning sun.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here I stand, Hermes, in the crossroads
by the windswept elms near the breezy beach,
providing rest to sunburned travelers,
and cold and brisk is my fountain’s abundance.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sit here, quietly shaded by the luxuriant foliage,
and drink cool water from the sprightly spring,
so that your weary breast, panting with summer’s labors,
may take rest from the blazing sun.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is the grove of Cypris,
for it is fair for her to look out over the land to the bright deep,
that she may make the sailors’ voyages happy,
as the sea trembles, observing her brilliant image.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
For her grasshopper, the night-fiddler,
and her tiny oak-dwelling cicada,
little Myro built a funeral mound
then shed a maidenly tear,
for unpersuadable Hades had made off with her playmates!
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Often lamenting at the tomb of her daughter,
Cleina, the mother, cried out for her dear dead child,
departed too soon.
Entreating the soul of understanding Philaenis,
who had crossed the pale Acheron unmarried.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
According to Nicole Loraux, no public comment on a woman’s death was
considered acceptable in classical Athens. The standard of public silence for an
unmarried woman who died would have been even more severe.
I mourn the maiden Antiba, for whom many men
came courting to her father’s house,
attracted by her beauty and wisdom,
but alas annihilating Fate hurled her beyond their reach.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Forgoing a bedchamber and marriage’s warm rites,
your mother placed upon this cold albescent tomb
a maiden statue, having your form and likeness,
so that you, Thersis, can yet be remembered and saluted.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
You perished beside a deeply-rooted bush,
Locris, swiftest of the ebullient noisesome puppies,
as a speckle-necked snake injected its cruel poison
into your nimble limb.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The young men buried you, their captain, Pheidias.
Dying, you doomed them to dark grief,
like children for their mother.
And yet your headstone sings this beautiful song …
That you died fighting for your beloved country.
—Anyte, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here “noisesome” is a bit of a coinage as I mean both noisy and bothersome,
although I’m sure Anyte would have been glad to get that bit of frisky trouble
back.
Nossis
Nossis (fl. 300 BC) was a Hellenistic poet from Epizephyrian Locris in Magna
Graecia. Probably well-educated and from a noble family, she had twelve epigrams
in the Greek Anthology, with one possibly written by another poet in imitation
of her style, which would have made her a poet of note at that time.
There is nothing sweeter than love.
All other delights are secondary.
Thus, I spit out even honey.
This is what Gnossis says:
Whomever Aphrodite does not love,
Is bereft of her roses.
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Most reverend Hera, the oft-descending from heaven,
attend your Lacinian shrine fragrant with incense
and there receive the linen mantle your noble child Nossis,
daughter of Theophilis and Cleocha, has woven for you.
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Apparently Theophilis was Nossis's mother and Cleocha her grandmother.
Stranger, if you sail to Mitylene, her homeland of beautiful dances,
to indulge in the most exquisite graces of Sappho,
remember I also was loved by the Muses, who bore me and reared me in Locris.
My name, never forget it!, is Nossis. Now go!
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Pass me by with ringing laughter, then award me
an appreciative word: I am Rhinthon, scion of Syracuse,
the Muses’s smallest nightingale; yet with my tragic burlesques
I was able to pluck an ivy, uniquely my own.
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Rhinthon was a parodist in an age when the laurels went to dramatists like
Aeschylus, Euripides and Sophocles.
Let’s visit Aphrodite’s shrine to see her statue,
finely wrought and embellished with gold,
which Polyarchis the courtesan dedicated to her,
having made a fortune from her body’s splendor!
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Aphrodite will receive this gift, joyfully, I think,
it being Samthya’s own headdress,
for it’s elaborate and fragrantly perfumed.
With it she also anoints the beautiful Adonis.
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Sabaethis’s image is known from afar
due to its stature and beauty.
Even here we recognize her prudence, her kindness.
Godspeed, blessed lady!
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This tablet portrays Thaumareta, aptly conveying
the ripeness and pride of the tender-eyed girl.
Even your watchdog would wag its tail,
thinking her its mansion’s mistress!
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Melinna is finely wrought. Her tender face!
See how she seems to gaze at us benignly!
How splendidly the daughter resembles her mother!
Isn’t it nice when children duplicate their parents?
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The Bruttians flung these shields aside
as they fled from the fleet-footed Locrians.
Now hung from temple ceilings, the shields
praise the Locrians’ valor. Nor do they desire
the arms of the cowards they deserted.
—Nossis, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Callo
In the next poem Callo, a female poet, dedicates her picture to Aphrodite:
Callo placed this tablet in blonde Aphrodite’s temple,
a portrait she painted, faithful in every regard.
See how tenderly she stands! See how her charm blossoms!
May she flourish, for her conduct is blameless.
—Callo, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Corinna
Corinna or Korinna was an ancient Greek poet who lived in Tanagra, Boeotia,
where she wrote in the Boeotian dialect of Greek and achieved wide fame sometime
between the fifth and third centuries BC. Her work survives only in fragments
and in several shorter pieces quoted by ancient grammarians. She wrote primarily
about Boeotian mythology. According to one source, she defeated Pindar in five
poetry competitions!
I come to sing of heroes' and heroines' courageous deeds.—Corinna, loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mount Helicon, father of fair offspring, friend of the wayfarer, beloved of
the Muses!—Corinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Terpsichora calls me to sing beautifully of heroes
for Tanagra's white-clad daughters and my city rejoices,
hearing my clear, evocative voice.
—Corinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Terpsichora was the Muse associated with the choral dance.
I indeed censure even sweet-voiced Myrtis,
for, having been born a woman,
she chose to compete against Pindar!
—Corinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
THE SINGING CONTEST OF HELICON AND CITHAERON
by Corinna
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The text in brackets was missing and has been filled in imaginatively.
[The chorus gathered] well-garlanded atop Olympus [as the musicians tuned
their] lyre-strings [to the] mountains’ [great height and] rarefied air, while
tribes of asses [brayed and jockeyed for position,] as always [a discordant]
family. Then Cithaeron sang of how the Curetes had sheltered the goddess’s
sacred offspring in a cave without the knowledge of crooked-minded Cronus, since
blessed Rhea had stolen him away, winning great honor from the Immortals. Such
was Cithaeron’s song that, when it was done, the Muses immediately instructed
the Blessed Ones to cast their secret ballot-stones into gleaming gold urns.
Then they all rose together, declaring Cithaeron the winner, whereupon Hermes
heartily proclaimed Cithaeron victorious with a loud cry, and the Blessed Ones,
rejoicing, decorated him with garlands as he danced with joy. But Helicon hurled
down ten thousand boulders in disgust!
According to Greek mythology, the Curetes (aka Korybantes, Corybantes,
Corybants and Kurbantes) were armed and crested dancers who worshipped the
Phrygian goddess Cybele with drumming and dancing. The holy babe stolen by Rhea
was Zeus.
Moero
Moero or Myro (fl. 300 BC) was a Byzantine poet who was highly regarded in
antiquity. Meleager mentioned her with Sappho and Anyte in the opening catalogue
of his Garland, while Antipater of Thessalonica ranked her among the top nine
ancient female poets.
You lie here, grapes, beneath Aphrodite’s golden portico,
full to the brim with Dionysus’s nectar,
but your mother-vine can no longer lovingly wrap her branches around you,
nor protect you beneath her tender leaves.
—Moero, Greek Anthology 6.119, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hamadryad Nymphs, river-daughters, ambrosial beings
treading the depths with rose-petaled feet,
hail!, and may you always remember and safeguard Kleonymos,
who placed these lovely votive images beneath the pines for you, O goddesses!
—Moero, Greek Anthology 6.189, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Mnemosyne
by Moero
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Zeus was nursed to manhood on Crete where none of the Blessed Ones knew him,
yet he continued to grow in strength and vigor. Secure inside a sacred cave, he
was nurtured by timid doves bearing ambrosia from the Ocean streams. Meanwhile a
great eagle drawing nectar from a rock brought it continually in its beak for
prudent Zeus to drink. Thus after he had conquered his father Cronus, victorious
Zeus made the eagle immortal, bequeathing him heaven. He likewise bestowed
honour on the timid doves, making them heralds of summer and winter.
Moero seems to be alluding to an observation by Circe in the Odyssey:
No winged creatures passed through the way of the Clashing Rocks, not even timid
doves bearing ambrosia to father Zeus! —Homer, translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Excerpts from THE BACCHAE
by Euripides
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I am Dionysus, son of Zeus,
returned to Thebes, my birthland.
My mother, Cadmus’s daughter, Semele,
midwived by fire, delivered by the lightning’s bellowing thunder.
Here I take my stand, a pale god, incognito, come disguised as a man.
Here beside Dirce’s stream and the headwaters of Ismenus.
Here before her shrine I see my lightning-conceived mother's grave.
While amid the ruins of her shattered palace Zeus’s eternal flame still
smolders,
lit long ago in undying witness of Hera's lethal fury against my mother.
But Cadmus, founder of Thebes, has earned my praise,
for he made this tomb a shrine, one sacred to my mother.
And was it not I who shaded her grave with these encircling vines’ greenery?
Far behind me now lie the golden-rivered lands of Lydia and Phrygia, where my
journey began.
Overland I trekked, across the Persian steppes where the sun beats so fiercely
down,
through fastness of Bactria and Media’s grim wastes.
At last to rich Arabia I came…
***
The labors of a god are hard—
hard, yes, and yet his service is sweet.
Sweet to serve, sweet to rejoice:
Bacchus! Evohi!
***
Thus his mother bore him once,
in lightning-struck, bitter labor,
consumed by flames flying forth from Zeus;
thus she died, untimely torn,
on her birth-bed, dead, enlightninged!
Yet of light her son was born!
Dionysus!
EURIPIDES EPIGRAMS
Love distills the eyes’ desires, love bewitches the heart with its
grace.—Euripides, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fools call wisdom foolishness.—Euripides, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
One true friend is worth ten thousand kin.—Euripides, loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Not to speak one’s mind is slavery.—Euripides, loose translation/interpretation
by Michael R. Burch
I would rather die standing than kneel, a slave.—Euripides, loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Fresh tears are wasted on old griefs.—Euripides, loose
translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Euripides was pretty good, wasn't he? I try to translate him in as few words as
possible, hoping to stay out of his way.—Michael R. Burch
Plato Epigrams
These epitaphs and other epigrams have been ascribed to Plato ...
Mariner, do not ask whose tomb this may be,
But go with good fortune: I wish you a kinder sea.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
We left the thunderous Aegean
to sleep peacefully here on the plains of Ecbatan.
Farewell, renowned Eretria, our homeland!
Farewell, Athens, Euboea's neighbor!
Farewell, dear Sea!
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
We who navigated the Aegean’s thunderous storm-surge
now sleep peacefully here on the mid-plains of Ecbatan:
Farewell, renowned Eretria, our homeland!
Farewell, Athens, nigh to Euboea!
Farewell, dear Sea!
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
This poet was pleasing to foreigners
and even more delightful to his countrymen:
Pindar, beloved of the melodious Muses.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
Some say the Muses are nine.
Foolish critics, count again!
Sappho of Lesbos makes ten.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
Even as you once shone, the Star of Morning, vastly above our heads,
even so you now shine, the Star of Evening, eclipsing the dead.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
Why do you gaze up at the stars?
Oh, my Star, that I were Heaven,
to gaze at you with many eyes!
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
Every heart sings an incomplete song,
until another heart sings along.
Those who would love long to join in the chorus.
At a lover’s touch, everyone becomes a poet.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
The Apple
ascribed to Plato
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Here’s an apple; if you’re able to love me,
catch it and chuck me your cherry in exchange.
But if you hesitate, as I hope you won’t,
take the apple, examine it carefully,
and consider how briefly its beauty will last.
Sophocles Epigrams
One of the first great voices to
directly question whether human being should give birth was that of Sophocles,
around 2,500 years ago ...
Not to have been born is best,
and blessed
beyond the ability of words to express.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
It’s a hundred times better not be born;
but if we cannot avoid the light,
the path of least harm is swiftly to return
to death’s eternal night!
—Sophocles, Oedipus at Colonus, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Never to be born may be the biggest boon of all.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Oblivion: What a boon, to lie unbound by pain!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
The happiest life is one empty of thought.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Consider no man happy till he lies dead, free of pain at last.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
What is worse than death? When death is desired but denied.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
When a man endures nothing but endless miseries, what is the use of hanging
on day after day,
edging closer and closer toward death? Anyone who warms his heart with the false
glow of flickering hope is a wretch! The noble man should live with honor and
die with honor. That's all that can be said.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Children anchor their mothers to life.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
How terrible, to see the truth when the truth brings only pain to the seer!
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Wisdom outweighs all the world's wealth.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Fortune never favors the faint-hearted.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Wait for evening to appreciate the day's splendor.
—Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose translation/interpretation by Michael R.
Burch
Antipater Epigrams
Mnemosyne was stunned into astonishment when she heard honey-tongued Sappho,
wondering how mortal men merited a tenth Muse.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
O Aeolian land, you lightly cover Sappho,
the mortal Muse who joined the Immortals,
whom Cypris and Eros fostered,
with whom Peitho wove undying wreaths,
who was the joy of Hellas and your glory.
O Fates who twine the spindle's triple thread,
why did you not spin undying life
for the singer whose deathless gifts
enchanted the Muses of Helicon?
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here, O stranger, the sea-crashed earth covers Homer,
herald of heroes' valour,
spokesman of the Olympians,
second sun to the Greeks,
light of the immortal Muses,
the Voice that never diminishes.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This herald of heroes,
this interpreter of the Immortals,
this second sun shedding light on the life of Greece,
Homer,
the delight of the Muses,
the ageless voice of the world,
lies dead, O stranger,
washed away with the sea-washed sand ...
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
As high as the trumpet's cry exceeds the thin flute's,
so high above all others your lyre rang;
so much the sweeter your honey than the waxen-celled swarm's.
O Pindar, with your tender lips witness how the horned god Pan
forgot his pastoral reeds when he sang your hymns.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here lies Pindar, the Pierian trumpet,
the heavy-smiting smith of well-stuck hymns.
Hearing his melodies, one might believe
the immortal Muses possessed bees
to produce heavenly harmonies in the bridal chamber of Cadmus.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Harmonia, the goddess of Harmony, was the bride of Cadmus, so his bridal chamber
would have been full of pleasant sounds.
Praise the well-wrought verses of tireless Antimachus,
a man worthy of the majesty of ancient demigods,
whose words were forged on the Muses' anvils.
If you are gifted with a keen
ear,
if you aspire to weighty words,
if you would pursue a path less traveled,
if Homer holds the scepter of song,
and yet Zeus is
greater than Poseidon,
even so Poseidon his inferior exceeds all other Immortals;
and even so
the Colophonian bows before Homer,
but exceeds all other singers.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I, the trumpet that once blew the bloody battle-notes
and the sweet truce-tunes, now hang here, Pherenicus,
your gift to Athena, quieted from my clamorous music.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Behold Anacreon's tomb;
here the Teian swan sleeps with the unmitigated madness of his love for lads.
Still he sings songs of longing on the lyre of Bathyllus
and the albescent marble is perfumed with ivy.
Death has not quenched his desire
and the house of Acheron still burns with the fevers of Cypris.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
May the four-clustered clover, Anacreon,
grow here by your grave,
ringed by the tender petals of the purple meadow-flowers,
and may fountains of white milk bubble up,
and the sweet-scented wine gush forth from the earth,
so that your ashes and bones may experience joy,
if indeed the dead know any delight.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Stranger passing by the simple tomb of Anacreon,
if you found any profit in my books,
please pour drops of your libation on my ashes,
so that my bones, refreshed by wine, may rejoice
that I, who so delighted in the boisterous revels of Dionysus,
and who played such manic music, as wine-drinkers do,
even in death may not travel without Bacchus
in my sojourn to that land to which all men must come.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Anacreon, glory of Ionia,
even in the land of the lost may you never be without your beloved revels,
or your well-loved lyre,
and may you still sing with glistening eyes,
shaking the braided flowers from your hair,
turning always towards Eurypyle, Megisteus, or the locks of Thracian Smerdies,
sipping sweet wine,
your robes drenched with the juices of grapes,
wringing intoxicating nectar from its folds ...
For all your life, old friend, was poured out as an offering to these three:
the Muses, Bacchus, and Love.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Smerdies, also mentioned by the poet Simonides, was a Thracian boy loved by
Anacreon. Simonides also mentioned Megisteus. Eurypyle was a girl also mentioned
by the poet Dioscorides. So these seem to be names associated with Anacreon. The
reference to "locks" apparently has to do with Smerdies having his hair cut by
Anacreon's rival for his affections, in a jealous rage.
You sleep amid the dead, Anacreon,
your day-labor done,
your well-loved lyre's sweet tongue silenced
that once sang incessantly all night long.
And Smerdies also sleeps,
the spring-tide of your loves,
for whom, tuning and turning you lyre,
you made music like sweetest nectar.
For you were Love's bullseye,
the lover of lads,
and he had the bow and the subtle archer's craft
to never miss his target.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Erinna's verses were few, nor were her songs overlong,
but her smallest works were inspired.
Therefore she cannot fail to be remembered
and is never lost beneath the shadowy wings of bleak night.
While we, the estranged, the innumerable throngs of tardy singers,
lie in pale corpse-heaps wasting into oblivion.
The moaned song of the lone swan outdoes the cawings of countless jackdaws
echoing far and wide through darkening clouds.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Who hung these glittering shields here,
these unstained spears and unruptured helmets,
dedicating to murderous Ares ornaments of no value?
Will no one cast these virginal weapons out of my armory?
Their proper place is in the peaceful halls of placid men,
not within the wild walls of Enyalius.
I delight in hacked heads and the blood of dying berserkers,
if, indeed, I am Ares the Destroyer.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
May good Fortune, O stranger, keep you on course all your life before a fair
breeze!
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Docile doves may coo for cowards,
but we delight in dauntless men.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Here by the threshing-room floor,
little ant, you relentless toiler,
I built you a mound of liquid-absorbing earth,
so that even in death you may partake of the droughts of Demeter,
as you lie in the grave my plough burrowed.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
This is your mother’s lament, Artemidorus,
weeping over your tomb,
bewailing your twelve brief years:
"All the fruit of my labor has gone up in smoke,
all your heartbroken father's endeavors are ash,
all your childish passion an extinguished flame.
For you have entered the land of the lost,
from which there is no return, never a home-coming.
You failed to reach your prime, my darling,
and now we have nothing but your headstone and dumb dust."
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Everywhere the sea is the sea, the dead are the dead.
What difference to me—where I rest my head?
The sea knows I’m buried.
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Everywhere the Sea is the Sea
by Antipater of Sidon
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Everywhere the Sea is the same;
why then do we idly blame
the Cyclades
or the harrowing waves of narrow Helle?
To protest is vain!
Justly, they have earned their fame.
Why then,
after I had escaped them,
did the harbor of Scarphe engulf me?
I advise whoever finds a fair passage home:
accept that the sea's way is its own.
Man is foam.
Aristagoras knows who's buried here.
Orpheus, mute your bewitching strains
by Antipater of Sidon
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Orpheus, mute your bewitching strains;
Leave beasts to wander stony plains;
No longer sing fierce winds to sleep,
Nor seek to enchant the tumultuous deep;
For you are dead; each Muse, forlorn,
Strums anguished strings as your mother mourns.
Mind, mere mortals, mind—no use to moan,
When even a Goddess could not save her own!
Orpheus, now you will never again enchant
by Antipater of Sidon
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Orpheus, now you will never again enchant the charmed oaks,
never again mesmerize shepherdless herds of wild beasts,
never again lull the roaring winds,
never again tame the tumultuous hail
nor the sweeping snowstorms
nor the crashing sea,
for you have perished
and the daughters of Mnemosyne weep for you,
and your mother Calliope above all.
Why do mortals mourn their dead sons,
when not even the gods can protect their children from Hades?
—Antipater of Sidon, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
The High Road to Death
by Antipater of Sidon
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Men skilled in the stars call me brief-lifed;
I am, but what do I care, O Seleucus?
All men descend to Hades
and if our demise comes quicker,
the sooner we shall we look on Minos.
Let us drink then, for surely wine is a steed for the high-road,
when pedestrians march sadly to Death.
The Seven Wonders of the Ancient World
by Antipater of Sidon
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
I have set my eyes upon
the lofty walls of Babylon
with its elevated road for chariots
... and upon the statue of Zeus
by the Alpheus ...
... and upon the hanging gardens ...
... upon the Colossus of the Sun ...
... upon the massive edifices
of the towering pyramids ...
... even upon the vast tomb of Mausolus ...
but when I saw the mansion of Artemis
disappearing into the cirri,
those other marvels lost their brilliancy
and I said, "Setting aside Olympus,
the Sun never shone on anything so fabulous!"
More Athenian Epitaphs
Be ashamed, O mountains and seas: these were men of valorous breath.
Assume, like pale chattels, an ashen silence at death.
Michael R. Burch,
after Parmenio
These men earned a crown of imperishable glory,
Nor did the maelstrom of death obscure their story.
Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
They observed our fearful fetters, marched against encroaching darkness.
Now we gravely extol their excellence: Bravely, they died for us.
Michael R. Burch,
after Mnasalcas
Stranger, flee!
But may Fortune grant you all the prosperity
She denied me.
Michael R. Burch,
after Leonidas of Tarentum
I am loyal to you, master, even in the grave:
Just as you now are death's slave.
Michael R. Burch,
after Dioscorides
Dead as you are, though you lie
still as stone,
huntress Lycas,
my great Thessalonian hound,
the wild beasts still fear your white bones;
craggy Pelion remembers your valor,
splendid Ossa, the way you would bound
and bay at the moon for its whiteness,
bellowing
as below we heard valleys resound.
And how brightly with joy you would canter and run
the strange lonely peaks of high Cithaeron!
Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
I lie by stark Icarian rocks
and only speak when the sea talks.
Please tell my dear father that I gave up the ghost
on the Aegean coast.
Michael R. Burch,
after Theatetus
Everywhere the sea is the sea, the dead are the dead.
What difference to me—where I rest my head?
The sea knows I'm buried.
Michael R. Burch,
after
Antipater of Sidon
Little I knew—a child of five—
of what it means to be alive
and all life's little thrills;
but little also—(I was glad not to know)—
of life's great ills.
Michael R. Burch,
after after Lucian
Not to have been born is best,
and blessed
beyond the ability of words to express.
―Sophocles (circa 497-406 BC), loose
translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
The Seikilos Epitaph
by Michael R. Burch, after Seikilos of Euterpes
Shine, while you live;
blaze beyond grief,
for life is brief
and Time, a thief.
The Seikilos Epitaph is the oldest
known surviving complete musical composition which includes musical notation. It
is believed to date to the first or second century AD. The epitaph appears to be
signed “Seikilos of Euterpes” or dedicated “Seikilos to Euterpe.” Euterpe was
the ancient Greek Muse of music.
The Complete Athenian Epitaphs
These are epitaphs (a form of epigram) translated from inscriptions on ancient Greek tombstones
and other monuments. I use the term "after" in my
translations because these are loose translations and interpretations, rather than
literal, word-for-word translations. The poets represented here include some of the most
famous names in ancient Greek literature, including Anacreon, Antipater of Sidon, Erinna, Glaucus, Ibycus, Plato,
Sappho and Simonides. There are a few Roman epigrams as well.—Michael R. Burch, editor, The HyperTexts
The Most Famous of Ancient Greek Epitaphs
Passerby,
Tell the Spartans we lie
Lifeless at Thermopylae:
Dead at their word,
Obedient to their command.
Have they heard?
Do they understand?
—Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
And a possible response ...
They observed our fearful fetters, marched against encroaching darkness.
Now we gravely extol their excellence: Bravely, they died for us.
―Michael R. Burch, after Mnasalcas
The First Complete Musical Composition
Shine, while you live;
blaze beyond grief,
for life is brief
and Time, a thief.
—Michael R. Burch,,
after Seikilos of Euterpes
The so-called Seikilos Epitaph is the oldest
known surviving complete musical composition which includes musical notation. It
is believed to date to the first or second century AD. The epitaph appears to be
signed “Seikilos of Euterpes” or dedicated “Seikilos to Euterpe.” Euterpe was
the ancient Greek Muse of music.
The Sea Knows I'm Buried
Mariner, do not ask whose tomb this may be,
but go with good fortune: I wish you a kinder sea.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
We who left behind the Aegean’s bellowings
Now sleep peacefully here on the mid-plains of Ecbatan:
Farewell, dear Athens, nigh to Euboea,
Farewell, dear sea!
—Michael R. Burch,
after Plato
There are more Plato translations later on this page.
Stranger, flee!
But may Fortune grant you all the prosperity
she denied me.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Leonidas of Tarentum
Does my soul abide in heaven, or hell?
Only the sea gulls
in their high, lonely circuits may tell.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Glaucus
Blame not the gale, nor the inhospitable sea-gulf, nor friends’ tardiness,
mariner! Just man’s foolhardiness.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Leonidas of Tarentum
Everywhere the sea is the sea, the dead are the dead.
What difference to me—where I rest my head?
The sea knows I’m buried.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Antipater of Sidon
Laments for Fallen Warriors
These men earned a crown of imperishable glory,
nor did the maelstrom of death obscure their story.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
Here he lies in state tonight: Great is his Monument!
Yet Ares cares not, neither does War relent.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Anacreon
They observed our fearful fetters,
marched to confront the encroaching darkness.
Now we extol their excellence:
Bravely, they died for us.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Mnasalcas
Be ashamed, O mountains and seas,
that these valorous men lack breath.
Assume, like pale chattels,
an ashen silence at death.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Parmenio
Laments for Fallen Children
Stripped of her stripling, if asked, she’d confess:
“I am now less than nothingness.”
—Michael R. Burch, after Diotimus
I lived as best I could, and then I died.
Be careful where you step: the grave is wide.
—Michael R. Burch,
Epitaph for a Palestinian Child
Masters and Slaves
I am thine, O master, loyal even in the grave:
just as you are now death’s slave.
—Michael R. Burch, after Dioscorides
The Sea Knows I'm Buried, Part II
I lie by stark Icarian rocks
and only speak when the sea talks.
Please tell my dear father I gave up the ghost
on the Aegean coast.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Theatetus
Sail on, mariner, sail on,
for while we were perishing,
greater ships sailed on.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Theodorides
All this vast sea is his Monument.
Where does he lie—whether heaven, or hell?
Perhaps when the gulls repent—
their shriekings may tell.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Glaucus
His white bones lie bleaching on some inhospitable shore:
a son lost to his father, his tomb empty; the poor-
est beggars have happier mothers!
—Michael R. Burch,
after Damegtus
Here I lie with sea-enclosed Cyzicus shrouding my bones.
Faretheewell, O my adoptive land that reared me and suckled me;
I again rest at your breast.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Erycius
Laments for Lives Cut Short
A mother only as far as the birth pangs,
my life cut short at the height of life’s play:
only eighteen years old, so brief was my day.
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
Having never earned a penny
nor seen a bridal gown address the floor,
still I lie here with the love of many,
to be the love of yet one more.
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
Little I knew—a child of five—
of what it means to be alive
and all life’s little thrills;
but little also—(I was glad not to know)—
of life’s great ills.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Lucian
Pity this boy who was beautiful, but died.
Pity his monument, overlooking this hillside.
Pity the world that bore him, then foolishly survived.
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
Insatiable Death! I was only a child!
Why did you snatch me away, in my infancy,
from those destined to love me?
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
Tell Nicagoras that Strymonias
at the setting of the Kids
lost his.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Nicaenetus
Here Saon, son of Dicon, now rests in holy sleep:
say not that the good die young, friend,
lest gods and mortals weep.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Callimachus
The light of a single morning
exterminated the sacred offspring of Lysidice.
Nor do the angels sing.
Nor do we seek the gods’ advice.
This is the grave of Nicander’s lost children.
We weep at its bitter price.
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
Pluto, delighting in tears,
why did you bring our son, Ariston,
to the laughterless abyss of death?
Why—why?—did the gods grant him breath,
if only for seven years?
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
Heartlessly this grave
holds our nightingale speechless;
now she lies here like a stone,
who voice was so marvelous;
while sunlight illumining dust
proves the gods all reachless,
as our prayers prove them also
unhearing or beseechless.
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
I, Homenea, the chattering bright sparrow,
lie here in the hollow of a great affliction,
leaving tears to Atimetus
and all scattered—that great affection.
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
We mourn Polyanthus, whose wife
placed him newly-wedded in an unmarked grave,
having received his luckless corpse
back from the green Aegean wave
that deposited his fleshless skeleton
gruesomely in the harbor of Torone.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Phaedimus
Once sweetest of the workfellows,
our
shy teller of tall tales
—fleet Crethis!—who excelled
at every childhood game . . .
now you sleep among long shadows
where everyone’s the same . . .
—Michael R. Burch,
after Callimachus
Although I had to leave the sweet sun,
only nineteen—Diogenes, hail!—
beneath the earth, let’s have lots more fun:
till human desire seems weak and pale.
—Michael R. Burch,
after an unknown Greek poet
Laments for Animals
Now his voice is prisoned in the silent pathways of the night:
his owner’s faithful Maltese . . .
but will he still bark again, on sight?
—Michael R. Burch,
after Tymnes
Poor partridge, poor partridge, lately migrated from the rocks;
our cat bit off your unlucky head; my offended heart still balks!
I put you back together again and buried you, so unsightly!
May the dark earth cover you heavily: heavily, not lightly . . .
so she shan’t get at you again!
—Michael R. Burch,
after Agathias
Hunter partridge,
we no longer hear your echoing cry
along the forest's dappled feeding ground
where, in times gone by,
you would decoy speckled kinsfolk to their doom,
luring them on,
for now you too have gone
down the dark path to Acheron.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Simmias
Wert thou, O Artemis,
overbusy with thy beast-slaying hounds
when the Beast embraced me?
—Michael R. Burch,
after Diodorus of Sardis
Dead as you are, though you lie as
still as cold stone, huntress Lycas,
my great Thessalonian hound,
the wild beasts still fear your white bones;
craggy Pelion remembers your valor,
splendid Ossa, the way you would bound
and bay at the moon for its whiteness
as below we heard valleys resound.
And how brightly with joy you would leap and run
the strange lonely peaks of high Cithaeron!
—Michael R. Burch,
after Simonides
Laments for Fallen Warriors, Part II
Though they were steadfast among spears, dark Fate destroyed them
as they defended their native land, rich in sheep;
now Ossa’s dust seems all the more woeful, where they now sleep.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Aeschylus
Aeschylus, graybeard, son of Euphorion,
died far away in wheat-bearing Gela;
still, the groves of Marathon may murmur of his valor
and the black-haired Mede, with his mournful clarion.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Aeschylus
The Sea Knows I'm Buried, Part III
Not Rocky Trachis,
nor the thirsty herbage of Dryophis,
nor this albescent stone
with its dark blue lettering shielding your white bones,
nor the wild Icarian sea dashing against the steep shingles
of Doliche and Dracanon,
nor the empty earth,
nor anything essential of me since birth,
nor anything now mingles
here with the perplexing absence of you,
with what death forces us to abandon . . .
—Michael R. Burch,
after Euphorion
My friend found me here,
a shipwrecked corpse on the beach.
He heaped these strange boulders above me.
Oh, how he would wail
that he “loved” me,
with many bright tears for his own calamitous life!
Now he sleeps with my wife
and flits like a gull in a gale
—beyond reach—
while my broken bones bleach.
—Michael R. Burch,
after Callimachus
Cloud-capped Geraneia, cruel mountain!
If only you had looked no further than Ister and Scythian
Tanais, had not aided the surge of the Scironian
sea’s wild-spurting fountain
filling the dark ravines of snowy Meluriad!
But now he is dead:
a chill corpse in a chillier ocean—moon led—
and only an empty tomb now speaks of the long, windy voyage ahead.
—Michael R. Burch, after Simonides
Epigrams on Life
You begrudge men your virginity?
Why? To what purpose?
You will find no one
to embrace you in the grave.
The joys of love are for the living.
But in
Acheron, dear virgin, we shall all lie dust and ashes.
—Michael R. Burch, after Asclepiades
of Samos
Let me live with joy today, since tomorrow is unforeseeable.
—Michael R. Burch, after Palladas
of Alexandria
Ancient Roman Epigrams
Wall, I'm astonished that you haven't collapsed,
since you're holding up verses so prolapsed!
—Ancient Roman graffiti, loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
There is nothing so pointless, so perfidious as human life! ... The ultimate
bliss is not to be born; otherwise we should speedily slip back into the
original Nothingness.
—Seneca, On Consolation to Marcia,
loose translation/interpretation by
Michael R. Burch
Related Pages:
More Ancient Greek Epigrams and Epitaphs
Whew … that's quite a bit of work for someone who was damn sure he'd never translate a line of poetry in his life! I certainly hope you found something worth the time you spent here, especially if you read this far.
Michael R. Burch Main Translation Page & Index:
The Best Poetry Translations of Michael R. Burch
The Best Poetry Translations of Michael R. Burch (sans links)
Translation Pages by Language:
Modern English Translations of Anglo-Saxon Poems by Michael R. Burch
Modern English Translations of Middle English and Medieval Poems
English Translations of Chinese Poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of Female Chinese Poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of French Poets by Michael R. Burch
Germane Germans: English Translations by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of German Poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of Greek poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of Japanese Poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of Japanese Zen Death Poems
English Translations of Ancient Mayan Love Poems
English Translations of Native American Poems, Proverbs and Blessings
English Translations of Roman, Latin and Italian Poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of Tamil Poets
English Translations of Urdu Poets by Michael R. Burch
English Translations of Uyghur Poets by Michael R. Burch
Translation Pages in Roughly Chronological Order:
Enheduanna (circa 2285 BC) the first poet we know by name
The Love Song of Shu-Sin: The Earth's Oldest Love Poem?
Ancient Egyptian Harper's Songs
Ancient Japanese Waka and Haiku
Ancient Greek Epigrams and Epitaphs
Sappho of Lesbos (circa 600 BC) Longer Poems
Sappho of Lesbos Shorter Poems and Fragments
Pindar (500 BC)
Antipater of Sidon (circa 150 BC)
Catullus (circa 50 BC)
Ovid (circa 10 AD)
Sulpicia Translations (circa 100 AD)
Martial Translations (circa 100 AD)
Song of Amergin (?) possibly the oldest poem from the English isles
Anglo-Saxon Poems
Anglo-Saxon Riddles and Kennings
Medieval Poetry Translations (658-1486)
Caedmon's Hymn (circa 658 AD) the oldest extant English poem
Bede's Death Song (circa 735 AD)
Ono no Komachi (circa 850 AD)
Deor's Lament (circa 890 AD)
Wulf and Eadwacer (circa 950 AD)
The Wife's Lament (circa 950 AD)
The Husband's Message (circa 950 AD)
The Ruin (circa 950 AD)
The Seafarer (circa 950 AD)
The Rhyming Poem (circa 950 AD)
Now skruketh rose and lylie flour (circa 1000 AD) is an early English rhyming poem
Middle English Poems
How Long the Night (circa 1200 AD)
Ballads
Sumer is Icumen in (circa 1250 AD)
Fowles in the Frith (circa 1250 AD)
Ich am of Irlaunde (circa 1250 AD)
Now Goeth Sun Under Wood (circa 1250 AD)
Pity Mary (circa 1250 AD)
Urdu Poetry (1253-present)
Amir Khusrow (1253-1325)
Dante (circa 1300 AD)
This World's Joy (circa 1300 AD)
Adam Lay Ybounden (circa 1400 AD)
Geoffrey Chaucer (circa 1400 AD)
I Have a Yong Suster (circa 1430 AD)
Charles d'Orleans (circa 1450 AD)
Leonardo da Vinci (1452-1519)
MICHELANGELO (1475-1564)
Sweet Rose of Virtue (circa 1500 AD)
Lament for the Makaris (circa 1500 AD)
Whoso List to Hunt (1503-1542)
Tom O'Bedlam's Song (circa 1600 AD)
Angelus Silesius (1624-1677)
Matsuo Basho (1644-1694)
Fukuda Chiyo-ni (1703-1775)
Yosa Buson (1716-1764)
Thomas Chatterton (1752-1769) the first English Romantic poet
Kobayashi Issa (1763-1828)
Ho Xuan Huong
(1772-1882)
Mirza Ghalib (1797-1869)
Tegner's Drapa (1820)
Charles Baudelaire (1821-1867)
Paul Verlaine (1844-1896)
Arthur Rimbaud (1854-1891)
Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941)
Renée Vivien (1877-1909)
Allama Iqbal (1877-1938)
Miryam (Miriam) Ulinover (1888-1944)
Ber Horvitz (1895-1942)
Federico Garcia Lorca (1898-1936)
Bertolt Brecht (1898-1956)
Pablo Neruda (1904-1973)
Miklós Radnót (1909-1944)
Wladyslaw Szlengel (1914-1943)
Fadwa Tuqan (1917-2003)
Primo Levi (1919-1987)
Paul Celan (1920-1970)
Kamal Nasser (1924-1973)
Chaya Feldman (1926-1943)
Jaun Elia (1931-2002)
Ahmad Faraz (1931-2008)
Gulzar (1934-)
Mahmoud Darwish (1941-2008)
Nakba (1958-)
Vera Pavlova (1963-)
The following are links to other translations by Michael R. Burch:
Fukuda Chiyo-ni
Veronica Franco
Hafez
Rumi
Rahat Indori
Nasir Kazmi
Eihei Dogen Kigen
Meleager
Masters of Haiku
Rainer Maria Rilke
Alexander Pushkin's tender, touching poem "I Love You"
The Roses of Pieria
Sandor Marai
Takaha Shugyo
Saul Tchernichovsky
Marina Tsvetaeva
Robert Burns: Original Poems and Translations
The Seventh Romantic: Robert Burns
Uncredited Translations by Michael R. Burch
The following are links to other Michael R. Burch poetry pages:
Poetry by Michael R. Burch
Michael R. Burch Longer Poems and Translations
Free Love Poems by Michael R. Burch
My Influences by Michael R. Burch
Michael R. Burch Early Poems Timeline
Bemused by Muses
Poems for Poets
Timeline of Rhyme
Michael R. Burch Free Verse
The Best Poetry Translations of Michael R. Burch
Best Poetry Translations sans links
The HyperTexts