22. Kallimakhos and Anyte.

It's not always easy to appreciate ancient literature, even if you're interested in it. We can't know with certainty how the texts would have sounded out loud. We can only make educated guesses as to how exactly they were performed. Few people are fluent enough in the language to develop an intuition for it; no one's a native speaker.

I've found that the way for me to enjoy ancient poetry (epigrams in this case) is to try and distance myself from modern aesthetics and focus on the images present in the poems. Many of them are nowadays clichés, and you have to stop and think about the literal sense of the image and how it would affect you if it was unique rather than a topos. (This isn't to say clichés weren't used in antiquity - quite the opposite, actually.) As an urban dweller, I'm not one for bucolic poetry, but Kallimakhos and Anyte have some poems that can still reach something in me after more than two thousand years.

By Kallimakhos:

I detest those old tales told over and over again and take no pleasure
in a road carrying many to and fro.
I hate a lover who's made the rounds, and I
don't drink from the fountain. I despise all things common.
Lysanias, you truly are lovely, lovely. But before I
find these words, some echo says, "He belongs another."

I found a translation by George Economou that's very free but somehow captures how concise ancient Greek can be. (I feel compelled to point out this particular poem isn't very concise at all in the original.)

I loathe the serial poem, rejoice not
in a road that many people travel,
and hate a beloved who's made the rounds.
No fountain drinks, things public disgust me.
But you, Lysanias, I thought fair, I thought fine.
No sooner said than Echo replies, "But not mine."

Another one by Kallimakhos:

By Pan and by Dionysos, there is some
fire hidden underneath these ashes.
I don't trust myself. Do not pull me into this. Often
a calm river can eat away at a wall unnoticed.
This is why, Meneksenos, I fear even now lest
this quiet lurker slowly enters me and casts me in love.

Here is some Anyte:

Often did mother Kleine cry here on her daughter's grave
lamenting her child, dead before her time.
She called back the soul of Filainis, which before her wedding
stepped over the pale stream of river Akheron.

And to finish on a lighter note:

Myro built a common grave for the cricket, that nightingale of the fields,
and for the cicada living in the tree.
She spilled the tears of a maiden,
for relentless Hades snatched her two playmates.