[Ann Drysdale]

This translation did not find favour with the classical scholar who judged the competition in which I entered it. He called me a “naughty boy”. However it is founded on the assumption (based on the poem that precedes it) that, however “Lesbia” may have felt about the bird, Catullus himself was not displeased to see the back of it. In fact, it’s my belief he done it in.


Oh Dear Me – Did The Little Birdie Die, Then?

Catullus. Poem Number 3


Cry your eyes out, love-goddesses and godlings
(and all men with anthropomorphic leanings).
My bird’s bird’s been and gone and turned its toes up.
Bird, that is, that my own bird used to fancy,
bird she loved even better than her eyeballs.
Sickly-sweet bird. Disgustingly familiar;
used to act like a baby with its mother,
squat her crotch or canoodle in her bosom,
always flitting from one place to the other,
chirping things she pretended to make sense of.
Now it’s gone down the long and shady alley
“from whose bourne no traveller returns”, like.
Shame on you, oh you naughty Powers of Darkness!
Old Grim Reaper, who gobbles all the goodies,
bagged a bird of particular importance.
Oh, dear me! Poor old Tweetie! What a bummer!
It’s your fault that my little love is blubbing
and her eyes are all pinky-rimmed and puffy.
.