Attis, Catullus 63

This translation used to be hosted on my Geocities site but has been reposted here because Geocities is going to be shut down.


"Attis" Poem 63 of Catullus
copyright by Abram Ring (April 2005)

The square brackets [] around alternate translations indicate places where the correct text is subject to scholarly debate.

Over the deep sea, Attis, sped in a swift ship,
has just touched the Phrygian grove with quickened foot
and to the dark, wood-crowned haunts of the goddess flown—
he, driven there by maddening rage, wand'rer of mind,
hacked off the groin's burden with sharp flint,
and just then felt the remnant limbs are not a man's,
and, while yet spotting the ground with fresh blood,
quickened she snatches the light drum in white hand,
Your light drum, Cybebe, Your sacriments, Mother.
Shaking the hollow hide of young bull in hand
she trembling begins her song with her company,
"Come, fly to Cybebe's high groves, Gallae, now!
Now fly you errant flocks of the Dindym Mistress
seeking strange places just as exiles wandering
Following my cult, my comrades, by my lead,
you've come cross the crashing deep thru storm,
you've unmanned yourself for great hate of Love.
Cheer your heart, ladies, with quickened wand'ring.
Leave off delay, go now, follow on with me
to the Phrygian home of Cybebe, and to her groves
where sounds the noise of the cymbal and drums
where blows the Phrygian flute and its slender reed
where Maenad heads ivy-bound toss madly about,
and they sing the sacred rites with the harsh "ululu",
where her errant band so often dances quick--
here must we run in our quickened rompings."
As Attis bastard woman sings to her comrades,
the band fast ululates with quivering tongue;
The light drum resounds; the cymbal crashes;
The quick band races to green Ida in a run.
Raging, gasping, erring she goes, taking breath,
Attis, leader, through the dark grove with drum
like an untrained heifer shirking weight of yoke,
and swift Gallae follow their fast-footed leader
and so tired now come at last to Cybebe's home
and take rest without bread from too much labor.
Lazy sleep covers their eyes with weariness.
The crazy madness of mind leaves in soft rest,
but as the golden face of the Sun with his rays
takes sacred trip thru sky over earth 'nd wild sea
and drives out shades of night on stallions sped.
So now sleep fast fleeing leaves Attis awoken,
from Pasithea's quivering breast recovered.
Here thru easy rest, now without quick craze,
Attis fast now self-takes his [or "her"] acts to heart
and with liquid mind sees what's lost for him [or "her"].
Mind pulsing, still back he [or "she"] raced to the shore;
there scanning the sea's expanse with teary eyes,
he [or "she"] sad addressed his [or "her"] land with wailing calls
"O my father, my mother, my source, my land,
I am fugitive as house-slaves are who choose
to flee their master; I took foot to Ida's groves
so to be among snow and cold beast-haunts
and to come maddening to their dark caves.
Yet now where, whither am I to think you lie;
my very eye stretches to find you for itself.
Still for a brief span mind is free of mad rage.
Am I truly traveled to groves faraway from home?
Will I always miss country, friends, and kin?
Will I not see forum, gym, or stadium again?
Ah me, poor soul, tears must fall still more-
for what kind of form have I never enjoyed-
I've been woman [or "young man"], youth, lad, and boy;
I once was flower of the gym, star of the games.
Doors were packed; steps were warm for me.
Houses were blossom-wreathed by my admirers.
And then when sun rose I still had my bedrooms.
Now shall I be called the gods' maid, Cybebe's slave?
I, a maenad, half-myself, shall I be a gelded man?
Shall I cherish green Ida's cold slopes dressed in snow?
Shall I spend life under the Phrygian's lofty peaks,
where wood-dwelling stag, and tree-roving boar now live?
Just now feeling pain I've inflicted, now I wish else..."
And there the sound quick left from the ruby lips
bearing its weird words to the ears of the gods,
Thence Cybele freeing her cats from their chains
goading the cruel foe of flock she commanded:
"Leave-- Fly, beast, to make him know my rage,
to drive back his step to my grove with your fury--
he who too freely seeks to flee my own commands.
Go beat your back with tail, bear your own lashes!
Make all this land resound with your pained roar;
Toss, my beast, your golden mane on muscled neck!"
So, in threat, spoke Cybebe and loosed bonds from hand.
The very beast drives himself to craze, raging in spirit...
He stalks, he roars, and breaks twigs 'neath errant foot.
Yet, when come to watery stretches of glistening shore
with soft [m. or f.] Attis sighted near the marbled plain of sea--
he attacks. Then mad he [or "she"] flees to those wild groves;
There ever as slave she stays for the span of life.

Great goddess, god Cybebe, god Lady of Dindym,
May your rage ever be far my home, Mistress,
Drive others to fury; Drive others to madness.