1
Year after year, unfelled and ancient stands the wood;
a god might well inhabit it, you think:
the sacred spring within, the cave hung with limestone,
the gentle plaint of birdsong everywhere.
As I was wandering here beneath the tree-dark shade,
wondering what work to take up next,
Elegy came with her perfumed chevelure in a braid,
and one of her feet, I think, a trifle longer:
trim figure, love-lit face, a very slinky gown,
even the limp managed a sort of charm.
Hysterical Tragedy too clumped up with her seven-league stride,
frowning through her fringe and draggling her dress.
Her left hand waved her regal sceptre loftily,
she sported thigh-high Lydian tragical jackboots,
and blurted, āIs there still no end in sight for you,
you Johnny-one-note poet love-machine?
At cocktail-parties youāre the topic of discussion,
graffiti cry your deeds at every crossroad,
someoneās always pointing fingers in the street
and crowing, āThereās the hunk of burning Love!ā
Youāve no idea youāre a laughing-stock all over town,
while you proclaim your stunts without a blush.
Itās high time you were struck with a more sublime vocation.
Enough messing about ā start something major!
You stifle your gift with trivia. Write some real heroics.
Tell yourself: āThis is my race to run!ā
Inspiration played her schoolgirl songs for you,
her juvenilia of callow verse ā
now let me take the limelight: Roman Tragedy.
Your genius exactly fills my bill.ā
Oration done, her boots and she some three or four
times nodded her elaborate mound of hair.
Her friend, as I recall, slipped me a sidelong smirk,
and was that a myrtle sprig in her right hand?
āYou will heave at me,ā she said, āsuch heavy words,
Tragedy ā must you be so grandiose?
I see this time youāve stooped to using elegiacs,
and tried to sandbag me in my own metre.
I wouldnāt dare compare your awful odes to mine:
your palace overwhelms my humble hut.
Iām frivolous, and soās my darling little Cupid,
Iām no more virile than my subject needs.
Lascivious mother Venus would still remain a bumpkin
without me: Iām her pander and companion.
The door you canāt demolish using heavy boots
melts away before my blandishments,
and this superior power I learnt by stomaching
indignities your pride would never stand.
Thanks to me Corinna learned to fool the guard,
to break the bolted gateās security,
to slip from bed veiled in a flimsy dressing-gown
and pad the night on velvet-sounding feet.
How many times have I hung nailed to a stubborn door,
unafraid to be scanned by passers-by?
Once I recall I was even stuffed in a housemaidās bra ā
an agony until the guard retired.
And what about when you send me as a birthday ode,
and she rips me up and drowns me down the loo?
If now your brain sprouts poems, I first sowed them there:
the gift that woman seeks from you is mine.ā
And so she finished. I began: āI beg you both ā
I hope my nervous words find ready ears ā
one of you honours me with sceptre and regal boots,
already I can feel my tongue emblazoned;
the other lends my love an everlasting glory:
stay, ...