In the years after Dover and Foucault, research on ancient sexuality
focussed on reconstructing the conventional norms—the rules of the game,
so to speak—which differed from modern rules: in the case of pederasty,
the assignment of active and passive roles to man and boy respectively,
the age limits, and so on. But conventional rules are normative, not
descriptive; and more recent studies, especially of Roman sexuality,
have sought to fill out the picture with a more subtle appreciation of
the broader realities of sexual life in the ancient world.(2)
Studies of Greek pederasty have emphasized the Archaic and Classical
periods to the exclusion of the later literature which actually
sup-plies most of our explicitly erotic material, such as Strato’s
collection of pederastic epigrams, preserved as Book 12 of the Greek
Anthology.(3) Because of this limited focus, Dover’s classic study
dismissed Strato in a footnote (4); and his attitude seems to have
prevailed over Buffière’s sensitive appreciation of this poet as a keen
observer of the “detours” of sexual mores.(5)
Strato will be an important source for expanding and deepening our
understanding of the extent to which the Greeks could appreciate the
ironies and limitations of their own sexuality. At the end of his
anthology (AP 12.258), he offers a revealing disclaimer: Don’t think all
the sentiments expressed are my own, he says; “I tailor what I write to
different boy-lovers in each case.” The poems bear this out. For
example, the persona of 12.227 asserts that when one looks at a boy on
the street, one should look at his face, but it is gauche to turn around
for the rear view after passing. But the speaker in 12.223, who is too
shy to look the boy in the eye, does exactly that. Again, some poems,
like 12.248, suggest a desire to stretch the conventional pederastic age
limits, while others, like 12.204, reassert them.
Some of these poems toy with aspects of the pederastic paradigm which
perhaps seemed as arbitrary to late ancient pederasts as they do to
modern researchers. For example, what about the assumption, found
repeatedly in Strato, that boys dread the appearance of body hair, as if
they do not want to mature and switch roles? How does this relate to
the view that boys did not enjoy being passive, but did it as a favour?
Is it just patronising sarcasm, or does it suggest that “pathic” desire
was more common than society liked to admit? There is much worth
studying in Strato. The poems with diverging points of view may have
been inspired by the rhetorical technique of the Second Sophistic; but
to be effective as erotic epigrams, they must have reflected social
realities as well. So they might be relevant, e.g., to claims that there
was something like a homosexual subculture. When Strato finally
receives as much attention as Martial has received, students of ancient
sexuality will scrutinize his poems—and their translations—in connection
with such issues.
The recent appearance of Daryl Hine’s fresh and imaginative
translation (6) may stimulate interest in Strato’s anthology. Hine
himself is a poet. But precisely those qualities which make enjoyment of
the poems more accessible for the general reader may cause difficulty
when his book is consulted by people studying ancient sexuality. Whereas
earlier translations used to distort erotic content for reasons of
censorship, Hine makes brilliant adaptations to create amusing epigrams
with erotic twists and sociocultural allusions to which a modern reader
can relate. But sexual historians need an accurate conveyance of the
original content.
There is a problem here, to which a concept current among
professional translators may be pertinent. Professionals are expected to
tailor their methods for their clients. Commercial and government
offices, for example, often require that the translated version of a
document read as if it were originally written in that language. The
reader is not to be reminded that this is a translation, even if content
must be altered. A simple, real example is chocolate bars labelled
“made in Canada” and “fait au Québec.” The message is that the
customer is supporting her domestic economy; but even federalist
Quebecers tend to regard the province as their economic homeland. This
is sometimes called “cultural translation,” and it is very relevant to
erotic literature. But it would not suit lawyers, for example. They may
even wish to cross-examine the translator to know exactly what was
changed and why.
In the case of classical erotic epigrams, there is a similar tension
between the needs of readers and researchers. But today the translator’s
readership comprises a complicated spectrum between these two groups.
Research on ancient sexuality has been published by philosophers and art
historians, by professors of English and comparative literature, as
well as by classicists. Even classicists consult translations for
teaching purposes. On the other hand, many general readers are more
aware of linguistic pluralism and the difficulties of translation than
used to be the case.
Moreover, sexuality and humour are very time-bound and culture-bound
phenomena. Even within the corpus of North American erotic poetry, there
is a separate tradition of less known poets like Dennis Kelly, Harold
Norse in his love poems, or Perry Brass, addressing gay readers, while
other gay poets, like Tom Gunn, are better known because they composed
for a general readership. If this lesser cultural barrier has obstructed
effective communication between poets and readers representing
different segments of our own society, how much wider a gap must be
bridged to express Strato’s desires and wit!
Already before Dover’s study, a very competent uncensored translation
of Strato had been published by the renowned French novelist Roger
Peyrefitte. (7) It is revealing to compare this with Hine’s translation,
because Peyrefitte’s approach is more conservative, so that one might
initially expect it to be a more reliable historical source. My
objectives in the present paper are, first, by comparing Hine’s
translation with Peyrefitte’s, to reveal how much information of
potential interest to researchers was sacrificed to craft effective
poems; and second, to stimulate thought about translation methods which
might alleviate this problem. Although critical observations are
implicit in my discussion, I do not attempt to provide a balanced review
of Hine’s work, much less a comparative review of both translations. I
take Hine’s version of Strato to represent an imaginative, relatively
free translation which is widely read, and I examine it only in order to
illustrate the difficulties which arise when either type of translation
is used as source material for the study of ancient sexuality
Sometimes the cultural gap is so wide that the poems are hardly
translatable. AP 12.225 is a series of obscure astronomical and
mythological puns. I shall not discuss them in detail, but some
explanations may be found in Paton’s (8) and Peyrefitte’s notes.
Paton’s translation (in the Loeb series) is relatively literal, so that we may quote it for reference:
When the sunlight is rising at dawn, never should you join the blazing
Dog with the Bull lest one day, when Demeter, Mother of Grain, has
been given a soaking, you wet Heracles’ hairy wife.
Hine writes:
At cock crow there is never any need
To do it doggy style or milk the bull,
Or to besprinkle with your liquid seed
Your Ganymede’s pubescent patch of wool.
No astronomy and little mythology need be invoked to understand this.
The meaning of these images is clear enough; but what is the point? Why
not at dawn? In spite of Hine’s radical alteration of the content, the
meaning of the poem remains obscure.
Peyrefitte offers footnotes: The constellations of the Dog and the
Bull, he tells us, are plays on κὐνα (“dog”), which also means “le frein du prépuce,” and ταὐρῳ (“bull”) which can mean the perineum. As regards Hercules, he tells us, “La massue est un des noms grecs du membre viril.”
The text, unfortunately, does not refer to Hercules’ club but to his
wife. Although Peyrefitte’s notes are helpful, they are seldom adequate
for researchers, who in this case would benefit from checking out the
notes offered by Paton and other translators as well.
More casual readers, however, will probably find this poem obscure
even with the explanations provided, and just move on. Perhaps that is
why Peyrefitte’s translation was not received with due enthusiasm. A
compromise between different readers’ needs does not work.
Possibly the effect of this poem could be mimicked by a series of
astrological puns with sexual innuendos; but it is significant that both
Paton and Peyrefitte resort to translator’s notes. No matter how a
translator interprets such a poem, it is not directly translatable, and
some explanation is needed.
The problem in 12.225 is insufficient understanding; but Hine’s
version of 12.187 involves positive misinformation. The crux here lies
in translating the enigmatic punch line at the end of this difficult
poem. And it exemplifies how Hine and Peyrefitte, respectively, handle
word plays. Hine usually substitutes a joke that works in English,
whereas Peyrefitte explains the Greek joke in a footnote. Again, we may
refer to Paton’s relatively literal translation:
How, Dionysius, shall you teach a boy to
read when you do not even know how to make the transition from one note
to another? You have passed so quickly from the highest note to a deep
one, from the slightest rise to the most voluminous. Yet I bear you no
grudge; only study, and striking both notes say Lambda and Alpha to the
envious.
Paton adds a footnote on lambda and alpha: Probably, he says, they
have “some sort of sexual meaning. There is double meaning in all the
rest of the epigram, but it is somewhat obscure and had best remain so.”
With this touching expression of the scholarly devotion to knowledge
which typified his age, Paton dismisses the epigram, leaving it quite
untranslated as far as cross-cultural understanding is concerned.
Maxwell-Stuart and W.M. Clarke, (9) noticing a series of possible
musical puns, (10) infer that the action is accompanied by instrumental
music, and they elaborate fanciful interpretations of the action in each
line based on this supposition. Significantly, however, their
interpretations of the puns and action differ. Since ἀναγινώσκειν
plainly means “to read,” I do not see any need to postulate instrumental
music. Instead, I believe that the setting is a reading lesson and the
tones in question are the polytonic accents of Greek being read aloud.
Although polytonic accents may have been obsolescent in everyday speech
at Strato’s time, they might still be observed in the schools. Aside
from whatever additional layers of innuendo may be involved, at least
some of the humour turns on the instructor’s flamboyant elocution. Hine
appears to share this interpretation, and overall his translation
expresses it fairly well:
How teach a boy that fundamental skill,
sight-reading, when your voice is changing still?
From shrill soprano to gruff bass you swoop
So quickly, from a whisper to a whoop.
But study harder, show the envious
Active and passive, Dionysius.
However, notice that, instead of explaining that Greek was polytonic
and was read aloud, Hine has altered the scene of the poem to make it
understandable to modern readers. There is no indication in the Greek
that the instructor is a boy whose “voice is changing still.” This is no
twelve-year-old teacher, but an effeminate grammaticus.
There is no consensus as to the meaning of “alpha and lambda” in the
punch line. Peyrefitte suggests in a footnote that lambda is the first
letter of the Greek word for “lick” and alpha the first letter of the
word for “masturbate.” However, he does not mention other
interpretations that are discussed by Maxwell-Stuart and Clarke. And an
alert researcher may wish to know all of them, once he grasps the
implications of Hine’s translation.
For, the translation “active and passive” would not be justified on
most interpretations of lambda and alpha. “Licking,” for example, albeit
perhaps beyond what was expected of the older, active partner and thus
suggestive of lechery, would not imply full reciprocation.
Also the musical meaning of alpha and lambda, which represented high
and low notes respectively—which is consistent with a polytonic reading
lesson, as Greek used just two tones (the circumflex being
transitional)—would not justify Hine’s translation. Neither does it seem
to be Hine’s intent to express the original joke. Rather, this is a
joke that fits the “reading lesson” setting in a way that is directly
understandable—and amusing—to a modern reader. Unfortunately, it wrongly
suggests a versatility of active and passive roles on the part of the
speaker, while we have also been misled as to his age.
Given the obscurity of the original, a less specific innuendo, like
“Show them all from A to Z,” might be better. Here again, however,
precisely because the meaning of the poem is both obscure and disputed,
some explanation is called for.
In 12.211, a man tries to seduce a slave boy. After all, he argues,
you are not new to this. You gave it to your master, so why not give it
to me? It won’t be so one-way with me, it will be more friendly and
reciprocal. This poem touches a number of issues of interest to sexual
historians: how men related to slave boys, their own and others’; to
what extent the Archaic educational aspect of pederasty could still
apply; and the issue of reciprocity.
The critical text for our purpose is line 4 in the Greek:
Why do you grudge giving it to another, and receiving the same?
In the Greek, the implication of ταὐτο λαβών (“receiving the same”)
is clear. At this point in the poem, the boy can only understand this as
an offer that if he puts out, he may screw his seducer. As the speech
continues, however, this is watered down. He will have just as much fun,
he is assured; but the only promise relating to who does what is that
he will be asked, and not ordered. The implied offer to roll over for
the boy would be a breach of the norm; and if it is dangled only to be
withdrawn, the fact that a Greek reader would find this amusing is also
significant. But Hine’s translation of ταὐτο λαβών misses this entirely
(“Why not give someone else what you’ve got?”). And Peyrefitte—who
writes “si la couche de ton maître t’a fait expert, pourquoi refuses-tu de donner à un autre, ayant reçu cela”—seems
to refer ταὐτο λαβών to the boy’s instruction, rather than his
penetration; but that is not “the same thing” that the boy will exchange
with his seducer.
My comparison of Hine and Peyrefitte already suggests the approach that I would propose.
When Hine modifies a poem, we sometimes find more accurate background
information in other translators’ footnotes. Some erotic translators
have already felt compelled to resort occasionally to extensive notes.
Hooper uses them in his translation of the Priapus poems, as did
Barnstone in his Sappho. (11) I would take this farther. Translations of
this kind of literature should be accompanied by an explicit analysis
and commentary explaining the poem in its cultural context, and how the
translation differs, and why—and perhaps also by a literal translation.
An example of a commentary which is very close to what I have in mind is
Reginald Gibbons’ notes on his translation of Luis Cernuda’s poem A un poeta muerto.
(12) Gibbons describes the historical circumstances of the executions
under Franco, discusses the different layers of meaning of a key Spanish
word in the poem, and attempts to strike a balanced appreciation of the
influence of Cernuda’s homosexuality on his feeling of alienation as an
artist in this and other poems. However, I would place the commentary
on the same page, so that the reader is invited, with equal convenience,
either to read or to skip it.
Of course, a literal translation with a detailed commentary would not
convey the “feel” of a poem. The best way to carry the thrust of a poem
across a cultural gap is something poets have been doing for centuries:
writing free adaptations inspired by their predecessors. A fully modern
adaptation—a poem “after Strato”—would not, standing alone, convey
historical content; but presented together with a literal translation
and commentary, it can finally achieve a genuine cultural translation of
the erotic and humorous thrust of the original.
As I have shown, Hine sometimes moves in this direction. His
rendition of 12.233, for example, is not so much translation as
adaptation. The original predicts how a proud young actor’s career will
decline as he ages, playing on the titles of a series of plays by
Menander. The boy regards his youth as a “Treasure,” but it will pass
like a “Shade,” leaving him “Despised.” Hine substitutes famous movie
titles: The boy will pass from “My Secret Garden” to the “Midnight
Cowboy” when his beauty is “Gone with the Wind.” Another fine example of
an adaptation which represents a cultural translation is J.D.
McClatchy’s “Late Night Ode” after Horace, Carm. 4.1, (13) where, for
example, the exemplary young advocate and lover Paulus Maximus is
represented by “the blond boychick lawyer, entry level at eighty grand …
[whose] answering machine always has room for one more.”
I have experimented with my proposal on 12.3.
A fairly literal translation might be:
Boys’ prongs, Diodorus, fall into three categories. Now learn their names:
Call the untouched one “lalu”; when it swells, call it “coco”; it’s a
“liz-ard” when tossed in your hand. At the final stage, you know what
it’s called.
The commentary which I would attach to my translation might read as follows:
The persona of this poem is instructing one Diodorus, who seems to be
a neophyte in pederasty, on masturbating boys. Each of three stages
from erection to orgasm is assigned a stereotyped babytalk term commonly
applied to boys’ genitals. The babytalk is playful and suggests the
youth of the quarry, as well as the apparent inexperience of Diodorus
himself. At the same time, the sexual aspect is described vividly. The
penis is “tossed” in the hand, where the word for “tossed” (σαλευομένην)
is a vivid image for masturbation; defined by Liddell and Scott as
“cause to rock, roll or vibrate … shake in measurement … roll, toss,
move up and down,” the word is used, e.g., for the movement of ships in a
storm. But the punch line, where the instructor notes cynically that
Diodorus knows damned well what comes next, reveals that Diodorus is not
so inexperienced after all.
In constructing a modern adaptation, babytalk will not work. It might
suggest an inappropriate comparison with pre-teen pederasty, while its
application to today’s street-wise teenagers would be silly.(14) Indeed,
even the frank and playful attitude toward seducing adolescent males
can hardly be expressed with an appropriately light tone in the
discourse of the dominant (“straight”) culture. Translating for that
culture would require bowdlerization. I would turn instead for
inspiration to separate traditions of modern gay poetry and art which,
regardless of their own differences from the Greek pederastic tradition,
are better suited for reception of such epigrams, if only because of
their more positive attitude toward same-sex relations, and indeed
toward sex in general. To express the tone of this poem and the point of
the punch line, we need a different set of stereotypes to replace the
babytalk. I would use cliché lines from seduction scenes in pornographic
videos, alternating with lines in a playful meter. And I would replace
the enigmatic reference to a climactic name with a more familiar sequel
in such videos. So my poem after Strato would read:
Now, Bruce, teenagers
come in three stages:
Learn how to make them
so you can take them.
When a boy’s erection
mounts up for inspection,
say …“Oh yeah …”
If he moans when your grip
slips his skin over the tip,
say … “Mmmm, you like that, don’t you …”
Next comes the best … but you know the rest;
Don’t talk with your mouth full!
However much this
differs from the Greek epigram, both poems poke fun at familiar
stereotypes and lead to an amusing revelation of the “neophyte”’s
experienced status.
Looking briefly back at 12.211, it poses a
difficult challenge. Apart from the aspects which I have already
discussed, I do not think that modern readers can really relate to the
slave situation. The very mention of a “master” may invoke an entirely
different set of associations for modern readers which is not
appropriate. I would be tempted, after a suitable commentary, to simply
drop it and focus solely on the issue of reciprocity, which is still
relevant for homosexuals today, and write something like this:
What are you afraid of?
You’ve been screwed before.
I know. You don’t like being treated as a whore; Taken for granted, left awake and hard.
Put out for me; I promise, you’ll enjoy it too.
We’ll romp and have a lively chat … with me on top of you.
I have chosen mainly passages relating to one aspect of the
pederastic paradigm, viz., the issue of reciprocation. My discussion
also applies, of course, to other issues. To cite one brief example,
consider the question of the boys’ social status. The traditional view
is that they were mainly nobility in the Archaic period, but slaves or
prostitutes in Strato’s time. However, the beautiful youths in 12.195
are described as εὐγενέτας, “well born”—which Hine renders as
“acclaimed.”
The approach of earlier generations to translating classical erotica
combined untranslated passages for scholars with tedious literal
renditions for the general reader. Newer versions like those by Hine and
Peyrefitte mark great progress, but still do not serve well the varied
needs of their modern readership. No translation can do everything for
all readers, but I think we can do better. My intention in this paper
has been to stimulate thought and discussion among translators and
classicists about approaches which will better suit the different needs
involved in the study of ancient sexuality, not to provide an
instruction manual. Obviously, the right mix of analysis, translation
and adaptation will vary for different poems and authors.
On the other hand, I shall venture to offer some very specific
instructions for readers with a limited knowledge of Greek. You should
do exactly as I have done in the present paper: consult at least two
different translations. This simple precaution will reveal the extent of
possible discrepancies, and confirm whether the nuance which is the
core of your interest is present in the original or only in one
translation. In the absence of a commentary by the translator, it may
also be helpful to notice any indications of her or his own attitude on
questions of interest, e.g., in other publications. And of course you
should seriously consider better learning Greek.
Notes
(1)
I am obliged to James Butrica and Beert
Verstraete for reading draft versions of this paper. David Creese’s
comments when I read it at the 2004 annual meeting of the Classical
Association of Canada induced me to reconsider one of the passages
discussed.
(2)
Most recently, John R. Clarke, Roman Sex
(New York 2003); for a concise account of this development, see
Beert Verstraete, “New pedagogy on ancient pederasty,” The Gay
and Lesbian Review 11.3 (May-June 2004) 13–14.
(3)
E.g., William Armstrong Percy III,
Pederasty and Pedagogy in ArchaicGreece (Urbana/Chicago 1996).
(4) K.J. Dover,
Greek Homosexuality (Cambridge MA 1978) 15 n. 30.
(5) Felix Buffière, Eros
adolescent (Paris 1980) 303–306.
(6)
Daryl Hine, Puerilities (Princeton 2001).
(7)
Roger Peyrefitte, La
Muse garconnière (Paris 1973).
(8)
W.R. Paton, trans., The Greek Anthology
vol. IV (Cambridge MA 1971)
280–418.
(9)
P.G. Maxwell-Stuart, “Strato and the Musa
Puerilis,” Hermes 100 (1972)
215–240
and W.M. Clarke, “Problems in Strato’s Paidike Mousa,” AJP 99
(1978) 433–441.
(10)
For example, the phrase ὰπ' ἰσχνοτάτης εἰς τάσιν ὀγκοτάτην,
“from
the weakest to the strongest pitch,” may play on τάσιν =
“tension,” i.e.,
with
reference to an erection.
(11)
Richard W. Hooper, The Priapus Poems
(Urbana/Chicago 1999) and Willis Barnstone,
Sappho (Garden City/New York 1965).
(12)
Luis Cernuda, Selected Poems (New York
1999) 179–180.
(13)
Michael Lassell and Elena Georgiou, The
World in Us: Lesbian and Gay Poetry of the Next Wave (New York 2000)
195–196.
(14)
Hine wisely avoids it. Yet his translation,
though clever, does not really convey the situation: “Diodorus, boys’ things come in three shapes and sizes; learn
them handily; when unstripped it’s a dick, but when stiff it’s a prick:
wanked, you know what its nickname must be.” Why, the reader may ask,
should the unstripped penis be called a dick, and the erect one a prick?
What is the point? And indeed, what is its name when it climaxes?
Culturally, this is not fully translated.
