Sextus Propertius was born in 50 B.C.E in Assisi. He came to Rome as a young man and became one of Maecenas’ protégés, entering a circle of poets including Vergil and Horace (whom, oddly, he never mentions). He was a close friend of Ovid. He is best known for his four books of Elegies, the first two dedicated almost exclusively, like the poem below, to his tumultuous love affair with Cynthia. His later poems show the influence of the Alexandrian “neoteric” school founded by Callimachus and best represented in Latin poetry by Catullus—characterized by shocking imagery, use of themes previously considered too vulgar for poetry, and interesting and original use of references to mythology. Perhaps for this reason, Propertius was greatly admired by some early 20th century poets in the Imagist and Confessional schools. Both Pound and Robert Lowell did translations of Propertius, and Pound wrote “Homage to Sextus Propertius.”
Note: In Classical poetry, an “elegy” is any poem on any subject, happy or sad, written in “elegiac couplets,” alternating hexameter and pentameter lines. In modern English language poetry, an elegy is a serious, dignified poem expressing a tone of tempered regret for a great loss, usually a death. In music an elegy is a composition in a minor key expressing grief. Latin elegies are rarely mourning poems.
Elegies 1.12
by Sextus Propertius
Why won’t you stop with your false accusation of laziness, Romans,
which from my Cynthia may cause an unwanted delay?
So many miles are dividing us, keeping her far from my bedroom,
just as the streams of Ukraine far from the Po will remain;
Cynthia does not encourage my usual loving caresses,
nor with her hug do I hear, sweetly, her voice in my ear.
Once I was pleasing to her: no one else at that time, as it happened,
had the same skill to give more faithfully love that I swore.
Surely some god overthrew me: have we been made victims of envy?
What choice Promethean plant splitting us could so enchant?
No, I am not who I was any longer, long travels change girls.
As in the tiniest moment love flies away, to my torment!
Now, for the first time, alone, I am forced to know long, lonely nighttimes,
Even my voice in my ear seems vile and heavy to hear.
Happy is he who was able to weep for a girl who was present
(Doubtlessly Love can enjoy sprinklings of tears from a boy),
or, if the scorned one is able to alter the heat of his passion
(Pleasures can also be had changing one’s mistress, my lad).
I am forbidden to love any other or cease adoration:
Cynthia was number one, she’ll be my last when life’s done.
Original Latin (from Perseus Project, Tufts U)
Elegiae I.xii
Sexti Properti
Quid mihi desidiae non cessas fingere crimen,
quod faciat nobis Cynthia, Roma, moram?
tam multa illa meo divisa est milia lecto,
quantum Hypanis Veneto dissidet Eridano;
nec mihi consuetos amplexu nutrit amores
Cynthia, nec nostra dulcis in aure sonat.
olim gratis eram: non ullo tempore cuiquam
contigit ut simili posset amare fide.
invidiae fuimus: num me deus obruit? an quae
lecta Prometheis dividit herba iugis?
non sum ego qui fueram: mutat via longa puellas.
quantus in exiguo tempore fugit amor!
nunc primum longas solus cognoscere noctes
cogor et ipse meis auribus esse gravis.
felix, qui potuit praesenti flere puellae
(non nihil aspersus gaudet Amor lacrimis),
aut, si despectus, potuit mutare calores
(sunt quoque translato gaudia servitio).
mi neque amare aliam neque ab hac desistere fas est:
Cynthia prima fuit, Cynthia finis erit.
Crib:
Elegies 1.12
by Sextus Propertius
Why don’t you stop making up an accusation of apathy for me,
which may make a delay from Cynthia for us, Rome?
She has been separated from my bed by as many miles
as the Hypanis [Bug River] is opposed to/is separated from the Venetian Po.
Neither does Cynthia nourish/encourage my accustomed affections with a hug,
nor does [her voice] sound sweetly in our ear.
Once I was pleasing [to her]: to no other man at any time
as it happened, was it possible to love with similar faithfulness.
Were we [victims of] envy/hatred/the evil eye: surely a god overcame me? Or what
choice Promethean herb divides [us], joined together?
I am not who I was any more: a long road changes girls.
How much love flees in a short time!
Now for the first time, alone, I am compelled to know long nights
and I, myself, to be heavy/mournful to my own ears.
Happy, he who could weep for a girl who was present/actually there
(No doubt Love delights in a sprinkling of tears),
Or, the scorned one could change his desires/heats
(There are also joys in transferred enslavement).
It is permitted to me neither to love another woman, nor to stop [loving] this one:
Cynthia was the first; Cynthia will be the last/end.