Saturday, April 25, 2020
Confinement
Ovid, Epistulae ex Ponto 1.1.67-74 (tr. Eric Thomson):
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Thus it is no surprise if my mind's gone rotten and melts like water dripping from snow, just as a decaying ship is consumed by hidden worms, just as the wave of the salty sea hollows rocks, just as the sword that has been laid aside is eaten away by scaly rust, just as the stored book is nibbled by the jaws of the bookworm, my heart suffers from the ceaseless gnawings of grief so that it is endlessly worn away by them.
non igitur mirum, si mens mea tabida facta
de nive manantis more liquescit aquae,
estur ut occulta vitiata teredine navis,
aequorei scopulos ut cavat unda salis, 70
roditur ut scabra positum robigine ferrum
conditus ut tineae carpitur ore liber,
sic mea perpetuos curarum pectora morsus,
fine quibus nullo conficiantur, habent.
