Ovid’s Prayer for Corinna, “Amores, II.13”

Roman wall painting.

You may well know his epic poem, Metamorphoses, a collection of myths linked by the theme of change, and undoubtedly the most renowned Latin poem after Virgil’s Aeneid. Ovid wrote many delightful poems, including the silly didactic Ars Amatoria (The Art of Love), and his eclectic Amores (Loves).

One of the Amores (Loves) is of particular interest, a prayer for his girlfriend Corinna, who has an abortion and lies between life and death. It is, as far as I know, one of only two Latin poems to treat this controversial subject in detail, the second also being by Ovid. Ovidians say the word onus (burden) is used of the fetus for the first time in Latin here; and gravidus venter (swollen belly) the first time for “pregnant womb.” Fascinated by the odd juxtaposition of Ovid’s examination of his love and anger and the formal prayer to Isis, I decided to translate this. You can find the Latin poem below my translation.

My translation of Amores, II.13

When she rashly shook the burden from her womb,
Corinna lay weakened, in doubt of her life.
Having borne such peril without my knowledge
She deserved my anger, but anger died from fear.
She had conceived by me, or so I trust:
But that could be my theory, not fact.
I pray to you, Isis, dweller of Paraetoneum
and the fertile plains of Canopus,
Memphis and palm-bearing Pharon,
And where the swift Nile, having fallen
In a wide bed, travels through seven mouths
Into the waters of the sea;
I pray by your Isis-rattles,
by the revered head of Anubis,
may pious Osiris love your sacred rites,
May the slow serpent slink around the altar
And may horn-bearing Apis, sacred bull,
accompany you in procession.
Turn your face hither and spare two in one:
You will give my mistress life, she to me.
Having honored you often, she sits on certain days
when the crowd of priests waters your laurel.
And you, Ilithyia, having pitied the pregnant girls
Whose hidden burden distends their bodies,
Be gentle here and well-disposed to my prayers.
She is worthy whom you command to your service.
I myself, in white robes, will burn incense on
your smoky altars. I myself will bear gifts
to your feet and prayers. Let me add
the title, “Ovid for your saving Corinna”:
Just make a place for the inscription and gifts.
and if it is lawful to have given warning in such fear, let it be enough
for you to have fought on this side in the battle.

Ovid’s poem in Latin

XIII

Dum labefactat onus gravidi temeraria ventris,
    in dubio vitae lassa Corinna iacet.
illa quidem clam me tantum molita pericli
    ira digna mea; sed cadit ira metu.
sed tamen aut ex me conceperat—aut ego credo;
     est mihi pro facto saepe, quod esse potest.
Isi, Paraetonium genialiaque arva Canopi
    quae colis et Memphin palmiferamque Pharon,
quaque celer Nilus lato delapsus in alveo
    per septem portus in maris exit aquas,
per tua sistra precor, per Anubidis ora verendi—
    sic tua sacra pius semper Osiris amet,
pigraque labatur circa donaria serpens,
    et comes in pompa corniger Apis eat!  
huc adhibe vultus, et in una parce duobus!
    nam vitam dominae tu dabis, illa mihi.
saepe tibi sedit certis operata diebus,
    qua cingit laurus Gallica turma tuas.
Tuque laborantes utero miserata puellas,
    quarum tarda latens corpora tendit onus,
lenis ades precibusque meis fave, Ilithyia!
    digna est, quam iubeas muneris esse tui.
ipse ego tura dabo fumosis candidus aris,
    ipse feram ante tuos munera vota pedes.
adiciam titulum: ‘servata Naso Corinna!’
    tu modo fac titulo muneribusque locum.
Si tamen in tanto fas est monuisse timore,
    hac tibi sit pugna dimicuisse satis!

Emily Dickinson: We talked as Girls do – (392)

This is one of my favorite poems by Emily Dickinson. I love the short stanzas, including the dash as her favorite punctuation mark, but the meaning, as so often, is cryptic. She can admittedly be ironic, morbid, witty, dark, and a bit saucy. I was intrigued by the concept of 19th-century girl talk, and “identified myself” with the “We” of the poem. Oh, this is light Emily, I thought gratefully – but then she mentions “the Grave” in the third line – And then all the dashes disappear in the last stanza, which seems very dark.

I will post a short, very slightly more serious piece on her poetry soon. I must think and compose myself first. Meanwhile, enjoy!

We talked as Girls do – (392)

We talked as Girls do— 
Fond, and late— 
We speculated fair, on every subject, but the Grave— 
Of ours, none affair— 

We handled Destinies, as cool— 
As we—Disposers—be— 
And God, a Quiet Party 
To our Authority— 

But fondest, dwelt upon Ourself 
As we eventual—be— 
When Girls to Women, softly raised 
We—occupy—Degree— 

We parted with a contract 
To cherish, and to write 
But Heaven made both, impossible 
Before another night.