Yes, I imagine TS Evans thought of this piece as purely hemiambic. The problem is that in the Anacreontea (+ the short frs. of Anacreon in hemiambs) the initial anceps doesn’t admit resolution (ever, I think). The collection separates the hemiambic poems from the anaclastic ion. dim. to a remarkable degree, even though the two types of anacreontics are so similar. I’m not sure I follow your second point. That same short (X — u —) is usually short in the anacl. ion. dim. poems (e.g., δοτε μοι λυρην Ομηρου/φονιης ανευθε χορδης).
As for the laughing sky, Quintus, drawing on the same Homeric image, has:
I think you are right. The composers have combined two closely associated verse forms, the main one the regular hemiamb (x—u—u——), the other what is evidently regarded as a variant of it, uu—u—u——. At a rough count just 12 of the lines take this variant form. I was calling it a hemiamb with resolved anceps, but in this anacreontic context it could well be classified as an anaclastic ionic dimeter; the distinction between iambic and ionic has blurred severely by this point. Still, given the preponderance of the standard hemianb, I prefer to think of them all as 7-foot lines, admitting any one of three forms (short, long, double-short) for the first element; and you say you imagine that’s how the Evanses thought of them too.
Thanks for bringing more clarity to this. You probably know more about the Anacreontea than I do.
Has anyone read Quintus? I have a copy somewhere, but it’s one text I haven’t tackled, along with Nonnus. No sure my remaining years will be enough to get to either of them.
In Iliad 19: 362 “αιγλη δ’ ουρανον ικε, γελασσε δε πασα περι χθων | χαλκου υπο στεροπου”, could “and all the earth around laughed/smiled”, could “all Earth” here be short for “all people on Earth”, and it could merely a hyperbolic way of saying that everyone in the Greek army’s camp cheered at the sight?
I seem to remember that the verb root ͑ικ-“go, come, reach” was originally ͑ϝικ- ; if so, the poet ignoring the digamma in “ουρανον ͑ικε” is a sign of late composition for that bit of text.
It was originally *seik-, cognates seen in Lithuanian, Tocharian, and Germanic. But even if it did have a digamma, there’s only so much you can conclude from it.
Not too much; I wish I had more time for Quintus and other late ancient poetry. Some day! (I’m in the thick of preparing for Gk & Lat comps at the moment, so unfortunately there’s not much time to stray far from the center of the classical canon.) ὁ βίος βραχύς, ἡ δὲ τέχνη μακρή…
The editor of the Budé, Francis Vian, is generally well regarded, I believe. He also edited Apollonius and Nonnus. His edition of Apollonius is the “go-to” edition, if I’m not mistaken.
Vian’s Budés are excellent (though I have many quarrels with his Apollonius). For later Greek epic Livrea is the man. (He’s been retired a good while but still active I think; Vian died almost a decade ago at age 91.) I’ve dabbled a fair bit in Quintus and in Nonnus but haven’t read either of them all the way through, and neither of them is on my things to do before I die list.
Nonnus is amazing, technically supreme and thoroughly steeped in Homer and Homeric scholarship. Who would have thought that Upper Egypt had so vibrant a Greek culture in the 5th century? Cavafy admired him.
Musaeus (post-Nonnus) is more manageable, and I recommend him. Fun to read after Apollonius, or even coming direct from Homer. There’s an excellent Loeb edition by Thomas Gelzer, going far beyond the usual requirements of a Loeb. He was fantastically popular in the Renaissance (mistaken at first for the legendary archaic Musaeus), and inspired Byron to emulate Leander’s cross-channel swim.
Here’s the first three lines, to whet your appetite. Not to everyone’s taste, I know.
Εἰπέ, θεά, κρυφίων ἐπιμάρτυρα λύχνον ἐρώτων
καὶ νύχιον πλωτῆρα θαλασσοπόρων ὑμεναίων
καὶ γάμον ἀχλυόεντα, τὸν οὐκ ἴδεν ἄφθιτος Ἠώς,
On the Latin side I’ve recently been greatly taken with Statius’ Thebaid, and have read the whole thing. I put it off for the longest time because I hate the Silvae, but I enjoyed the Achilleid and moved on to the Thebaid (admittedly under the impulse of a papyrus commentary on what I take to be Antimachus’ Thebaid). If you like lush pull out all the stops stuff, try it. Expect to recognize Vergil (whom you have to know), but don’t expect Vergil.