Venetian Epigrams

The heathen put lively decorations on tombs and urns: A chorus of Bacchic women and fauns dancing about, Making colourful rows. Creatures with cloven feet Force a rough note free from the blaring horn. Cymbals and drums report, the marble moves, makes music, And you birds jostling for fruit, how gorgeous the taste in your beaks!

You're oblivious of all the reverberations, as is Cupid,

Whose torch lights the merry way in the motley throng.

So repletion conquers death, and the ashes within seem

To rejoice in life still, in the frozen scene.

And now I offer the richly-textured life of this page

In the hope that one day it will wrap the poet's sarcophage.

2

I had just seen the dazzling sun, the bright blue sky, Rocky outcrops thick with wreaths of tumbling ivy, And a winegrower tying the vine to a poplar tree — When a balmy wind from Virgil's cradle blew towards me. Suddenly, there were the Muses in disjointed conversation Round their friend, the happy traveller at his destination.

3

As if she were still here, my arms hold her captive

And my heart still pushes forward to my love.

With my head still resting on her knees

I stare at those gorgeous lips, and those eyes.

Call me a wimp for how I spend my days,

I know it's no good — but wait till I tell you:

This coach has been taking me away for twenty days.

I've turned my back on the only happiness I knew.

These coachmen are unbiddable. The servants are all of a kind.

They have nothing but lies and deceit in mind,

And the only way of getting out is with the postman.

Postboys rule here — and then there's Customs!

You'll say I'm all contradictions when here I am at rest

In my lover's paradise, just like Rinaldo the blessed.

I know myself well; my body's on the move

While my soul stays back in the lap of my love.

4

This is the Italy I left, the roads still dusting over,

The visitor fleeced even if he keeps looking over his shoulder.

You search in vain for German honesty in every corner:

Everything's hustle and bustle, but no good breeding and no order.

They're all out for what they can get, they're suspicious and vain,

And it's the same story among the nobility at court.

A beautiful country! But I'll never find Faustina again.

This isn't the same Italy I left with a heavy heart.

5

I lay stretched in the gondola and steered among the boats. That float in the Grand Canal, many of them laden down. You'll find all kinds of produce there for every taste, Wheat, vegetables, every kind of timber, wine. As the gondola bolted through a stray laurel berry Stung my cheek. I shouted, 'Daphne, are you out to get me? Don't I deserve better!' The nymph whispered then — and smiled, 'Be quiet! The penalty's light. A poet's crimes are mild.

6

Whenever I see a pilgrim I'm overcome by emotion. The way human beings are inspired by false notions!

7

Nazarene! You saved your people well with suffering And miracles — but what option have your followers now? As Christians, they are meant to live and bring up children, But all that vital joy means nothing to your dismal power. A sound young man who sets his heart against corruption Will find himself tormented by his own desires. Come down again and suffer, you God of creation, Come and save your people from their compounded pain, Cut off the source of joy and life by working wonders And, Stephen, I'll play the part of Paul, as you require.

8

I had a sweetheart once, the dearest thing I had!

But now she's gone from me! You'll get over it. Enough said.

9

The gondola is like a cradle, the way it gently rocks,

And just like a roomy coffin is the projecting box.

Proper order! We all wobble and drift between the cradle and the grave

Without a care on the Grand Canal to the end of our days.

There goes the Nuncio beside the Doge in stately procession To the burial of a lord. One of them seals the grave. I don't know what the Doge thinks of this, but the other one Smiles at the solemnity of the great charade.

11

What's the rush? Why all the shouting? People need to eat,

To raise children and feed them as best they can.

Take note, traveller, and do the same at home.

To do that well is enough for any man.

12

When a master chef prepares a rich banquet for his guests He makes his food a blend of different ingredients. You enjoy this little book in the same way, and can hardly tell The different things you like. No matter, here's to your health.

13

Who shall I give this book to? To the Duchess who gave it to me.

She is the one who provided an Italy in Germany.

'You have the nerve to write unseemly things in German?' — My friend,

It may be German to us but it's Greek to the rest of the world.

15

Naugerius burnt Martial because his taste was too fastidious. Will you throw away the silver because it isn't gold, you idiot?

16

Horace earned the little he desired. You can wish for less. With greater merit and still lack his success.

17

Would you listen to those clerics! How they've made it their business

To turn up and just spout, day in, day out.

I won't have a word said against them; they've understood this:

He's a happy fellow who's still blethering on tomorrow!

18

St Mark's on Holy Thursday evening, a conman priest

Appears on stage to show us remnants of his god,

When a crazy girl in blind, hysterical frenzy cries,

'Show us the relics! Show us the relics of the Lord!'

Ah, what use to you is a piece of him who slackened on the cross?

What you need is a little part of that fellow from Lampsacus.