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622 · May 2012
Catullus Revisited
Rob Flynn May 2012
Carried through many a foreign land and much-unknown people,
I arrive to these mis’rable funeral motions
Only so I may present you with this final death-gift
Vainly addressing your ash which cannot ever respond
Fortune having stolen your flesh from my desperate* fingers.
Piteous brother, now ripped from my life like a thread,
Gifts of our love and our sadness hand we down to your gravestone
As is always done for our* dead when they fall.
Take them from us now, my young-dead brother now fallen;
Hear me when I say, “Hail and good-bye for all time.”
This is a translation of Catullus's 101st poem. I took the Latin and provided a very loose translation, but I maintained the elegiac couplet meter. It's important to note that this is more of an adaptation than a translation, as I had to manipulate what the Latin actually says on occasion. Even so, I tried to be as faithful as possible to the Latin as I understood it.
612 · May 2012
Who You Are
Rob Flynn May 2012
I don’t know who you think you are,
Or who you think I am,
But I know we go together;
We can both go hand-in-hand.
The road is stretched before our feet,
The way is clearly wrought.
Come move with me through broken night,
Color my every thought.
Your hand in mine and mine in yours,
We’ll go through well and ill.
Hold me now and keep me close,
My fragile sleeping pill.
Too far between, though right beside,
I’ll never get enough.
We move along our broken street,
O’er every crack and scuff.
To times untold and days unknown,
We’ll share this painted dream,
And on this rock we’ll build our love,
By torn and tattered seam.
594 · May 2012
Poema Mortis
Rob Flynn May 2012
‘Til death approach with bony fingers bared,
‘Til face-to-face I come with that dark ghost,
Until I see his scythe and black cloak paired,
And zombie-like become his latest host,
To give you up shall not be in my heart,
Nor shall I ever seek to harm or hurt.
For if I should from you by will depart,
I would deserve the grave man’s heavy dirt.
You are the hopeful lady of my eye,
And two would form to one if my will spoke
The edict of the earth, and nature’s cry
Would favor us in everlasting yoke.
To me by inch this apparition draws,
So come to me before we’re in his jaws.

— The End —