I didn’t get the point about this one:
εμοισ’ ιδον 1x Od.: εμοις ιδον.
No, got it now. εμοισ’ ιδον avoids hiatus, which cannot be if there’s a digamma.
Sorry, I should have replied to the previous post by myself, but edited it instead.
One correction to mwh above:
ενθ’ ιδον Od.12.258: should be 17.118.
Anyway, this is very interesting and it looks like the digamma was respected in some words for longer than in others.
εἴμ᾽ ἐγώ ἀνήρ δύστηνος, ὧι κήδεα θυμῶι
This still needs work, even if you accept correption of -ώ and lengthening of ἀ- in arsis. -τηνος ὧι yields (gasp!) a cretic, and the verse doesn’t have proper caesuras. A fourth-foot caesura requires a second-foot caesura. See my suggestions above.
μυρί᾽, ἃ ρ᾽ αἰὲν ἴδον γε διαμπερὲς ἤματα πάντα – τ’ might work better than ρ᾽
ἴδον γε – Would this count as a caesura (I’m not sure a word-break is treated as occurring before an enclitic particle)? At any rate, ἴδον __ διαμπερὲς sets you up for a problem, because you need a (feminine) caesura after -δον, and the next word can only be a monosyllable ending in a short vowel.
How about πολλα, μ’ἀεικίζοντα διαμπερὲς ἤματα πάντα ? Sacrificing the idea of “knowing” troubles–but in rendering something like this into Greek hexameters, you’re setting yourself up for failure if you aren’t willing to sacrifice some nuance, because the one thing you can’t sacrifice is meter (including proper caesuras).
I’m not sure that two feminine caesuras in a row would be permissible.
It helps to have an extensive repertory of metrically well-formed formulas in your brain, and essentially to be able to think in hexameters.
Quite so. The lack of proper caesuras is unforgivable. Still, instead of putting these verses out of their misery, let me reformulate a bit. I’m taking ὧι with a digamma, so I’m leaving that as it is.
I’m not sure that two feminine caesuras in a row would be permissible.
Yes, yesterday I became very well acquainted with the problem you’re describing!
I think ἴδον γε is, from a phonetic point of view, a single word, inseparable in scansion. Thus this line can only have a feminine caesura. But I don’t think two feminine caesuras in row are not permissible–it’s the most common type of caesura in Homer. Homer is not alternating between masculine and feminine caesura every other line, and the hephthemimeral caesura is rare. An example of consecutive feminine caesuras:
οἰωνοῖσί τε πᾶσι,| Διὸς δ᾽ ἐτελείετο βουλή,
ἐξ οὗ δὴ τὰ πρῶτα| διαστήτην ἐρίσαντε
How about πολλα, μ’ἀεικίζοντα διαμπερὲς ἤματα πάντα ? Sacrificing the idea of “knowing” troubles–but in rendering something like this into Greek hexameters, you’re setting yourself up for failure if you aren’t willing to sacrifice some nuance, because the one thing you can’t sacrifice is meter (including proper caesuras).
These are wise words. And mwh has shown that ἴδον without a digamma is probably not Homeric. Still, I’m persisting in my folly!
Yes, I know! The important lesson here is that we should routinely poetry like poetry, by articulating the verses at least mentally, and not treat the meter as an occasional exercise.
So, let me assassinate Homer once more (and notice a couple of corrected accents!):
ἀνὴρ εἴμ᾽ ἐγὼ δύστηνος, ὧι κήδεα θυμῶι
μυρί᾽, ἃ ρ᾽ αἰὲν ἴδον γε διαμπερὲς ἤματα πάντα
Or, taking Qimmik as my accomplice:
ἀνὴρ εἴμ᾽ ἐγὼ δύστηνος, ὧι κήδεα θυμῶι
πολλά, μ’ ἀεικίζοντα διαμπερὲς ἤματα πάντα
But let me quote a couple of comforting words from Martin West (Greek Metre, p. 36):
“Hexameters with no caesura at all are very occasionally found in inscriptions […], where standards of versification are often atrocious.”
Oops, my “correction” above is obviously not working. ω in ἐγὼ is no longer shortened!
I quit!
“At any rate, ἴδον __ διαμπερὲς sets you up for a problem, because you need a (feminine) caesura after -δον, and the next word can only be a monosyllable ending in a short vowel.”
I wrote this; it’s wrong.
Here I go again:
ἀνὴρ εἴμ᾽ ἐγὼ οἴκτιστος, ὧι κήδεα θυμῶι
μυρί᾽, ἃ ρ᾽ αἰὲν ἴδον γε διαμπερὲς ἤματα πάντα
May the gods have mercy on me.
May they indeed. Gratuitous insertion of γε is known as the remedium H –- oh I forget his name, some 19th cent. ?German/?Dutch scholar who was excessively fond of it in mending corruptions. I think you’ll have to insert another one after οικτιστος too: are you confusing ᾧ relative pronoun with reflexive adjective? And do Greeks ever see κηδεα? (I take it you didn’t like my αμφιβεβηκε, probably for good reason.) But a brave effort. Time to declare victory and go home?
If hexx are too hard, how about having a go at iambics, where you have more freedom, even in tragic ones with their stricter meter? Taking my cue from you:
εγωγ’ ανηρ δυστηνος ειμι δια τελους·
εν τω βιω πεπονθα δεινα προς κακοις,
ουδ’ εκπεφευγα πημονων ποτ’ ουδ’ απαξ·
ουπω ’πεληξα συμφορας εμας γοῶν.
ως ταυτα παντα συλλεγειν βραχει λογω,
ουδεις ποτ’ ην εμου γε δυστυχεστερος.
A very pedestrian pastiche but you can go on for ever in this vein, once you get into the swing of it.
χαιρειν κελευω τηνδε γην Βοιωτιδα
εν ᾗ μ’ ετικτε καξεθρεπτε προσφιλως
μητηρ επειτα τ’ εξεπαιδευεν πατηρ.
χαιρ’· υστατον γαρ σ’ εισορων προσφθεγγομαι.
υμεις τε χαιρεθ’ αἳ νεμεσθ’ ορη ταδε
νυμφαι ροαισι κἀλαταις ομηλικες
συν αις επαιζον ασμενος· και νυν εμοι
λιπειν αναγκη· τουτο πῶς ανεκτεον;
Doggerel, to be sure, but without the problems that attend epic versification.
A reminder of the original:
I am a man of constant sorrow
I’ve seen trouble all my days
I bid farewell to old Kentucky
The place where I was born and raised.
You forgot to add the last line:
ὤμοι, πέπληγμαι καιρίαν πληγὴν ἔσω
I didn’t steal actual verses, at least not so far as I’m aware. It just came out the way it did. It’s not at all Aeschylean. And of course that verse is quite at odds with the given text, to which I thought I actually stayed pretty close (allowing for conversion to tragic idiom).
Looking through I discover a stupid non-form. I’ll let people find it for themselves. (Or are there more?)
I’ll let people find it for themselves.
Is it καξεθρεπτε ? Would καξεθρεψε work? And then maybe εξεπαιδευσεν ?
This is truly impressive, right down to τηνδε γην Βοιωτιδα for Kentucky. I’m in genuine awe and admiration.
Thanks for all the marvelous replies (and reminders not to attempt to compose Greek in the morning!).
In constant sorrow all through his days…
βλέποντος τούτου, πόνος πόνῳ πόνον φέρει.
Qimmik wins the coconut. As you may have guessed, I wrote καξεθρεψε and then in a moment of idiocy changed the ending to match impf. ετικτε (and then accordingly used impf. in next line). And didn’t look back before pushing Send. ετικτε καξεθρεψε is perfectly good.
Glad you appreciate Boeotia, but the composition as a whole is very far from admirable. It was surprisingly fun to do, though, and I had to force myself to stop. (The abrupt ending is somewhat self-referential.) It’s a tad parodistic, obviously.
letters, we all look forward to more. Thanks for starting the thread, both fun and instructive!
Not hard to guess what play you’ve been reading, Markos. Obtuse of me no doubt but I don’t get what your βλεποντος τουτου is doing.
πάνυ γε. Σοφ. Αια. 866.
ἀντὶ τοῦ “ἐφ’ ὅσον χρόνον οὗτος βλέπει φάος,” τοῦτ ἐστι “ζῇ.”
I suppose τοῦδε βλέποντος would have been better. No attempt to produce meter.
Thanks for explaining what you meant Markos. But you can’t expect to be understood if you use tragic idioms without meter. You could have said τούτου ζῶντος, but it would still read very oddly indeed. τοῦδε ζωντος/βλεποντος could be understood as a first-person reference, too, compare present-day politicians who refer to themselves in the 3rd person.
I strongly recommend learning to read verse as verse. You lose so very much if you approach poetry as if it were prose.
Now how about a dactylo-epitritic chorus of Boeotian elders or women to go with the iambic monologue?
Nah, I’ll leave that to you. Dactylo-epitrite would be simple enough to do (unless you require strophic responsion), but making it appropriately poetic is another matter. And I really don’t go in for composing, you know, except for attempts to restore fragmentary or corrupt texts. Which reminds me of a comment by Housman on a proposed iambic reconstruction with a breach of Porson’s Law or a spondaic 4th foot or some such blunder in some new Euripidean fragments. “Dr. Rutherford ‘would restore’ to Euripides [the line in question], which Euripides, I think, would restore to Dr. Rutherford.”