wandering through solitary woodlands || Metamorphoses III.138-176

A little context so you are not totally confused: I’ve been translating the Metamorphoses, a work by the Roman poet Ovid, in my Latin class. My teacher requires very literal translations, but I’ve been wanting to try my hand at a more poetic version. So, using the Latin text, my original (stilted, though technically accurate) translation, and my poetic skills, I’ve created this…

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To you, oh Cadmus, amidst all your prosperity
the first cause of sorrow was your grandson.
Strange horns sprouted on his forehead,
and his dogs were sated with the blood of their master.
But if you look well, you will see that it was fortune’s crime, not his own:
for it is not evil to make a mistake.

source

There was a mountain, stained
with the blood of wild animals.
And now the middle of the day brought shadows
and the sun was high, and a young man from the country
called to his friends as they wandered
through solitary woodlands.

“Companions, our nets, our spears are wet
with the blood of beasts. Our day has seen enough good fortune.
When a different dawn,
riding on golden wheels,
brings new light to us, we will seek our prey again.
But now it hangs high, and its heat burns the land.
Let us halt our present work and put aside our snares.”

And his companions listened, and they rested as he ordered.

source

By this mountain there was a valley, thick
with spruces and cypress trees, called after a river goddess, sacred
to Diana, with her tucked tunic.
On its outer edge was hidden
a cave, with quiet glades of trees:
a cave not made by men.
For nature herself had copied men’s art
with her power: she had made an arch with native stone and light rock.
A shining fountain, its waves slight, murmured to the right, surrounded
by a grassy bank, encircled by an open cleft.

source

Here the goddess of the forest,
weary from hunting, would come alone
to wash her virgin limbs in the fountain’s waters.
Approaching it, she handed her spear to a nymph, there to hold her weapons,
and her quiver, and her slack bow. Another
took her robe with a raised arm.
Two took away the sandals from her feet.
Crocale, daughter of Ismenus — for she
was more skilled than the others — gathered Diana’s hair, tangled across her neck,
into a knot, though she wore her own hanging free.
And Nephele and Hyale, Ranis and Psecas, and Phiale
took up water and poured it from their jugs.

source (Diana is also known as Artemis)

And while Diana was bathing there in the familiar fountain,
behold, Cadmus’ grandson, wandering in an unknown wood,
having put off his work, arrived in the grove with uncertain strides.
The fates had led him there.

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Would you like to read more of this story? It was so refreshing to put it into poetry without being bound by literal translation. (The actual Latin, if you read it, is in dactylic hexameter — a specific rhythm — and the lines of my translation don’t coincide with Ovid’s original lines.)

In other news, I really like Matt Walsh’s podcast, I finished my history midterms, I invented a new character for Remnant, and I watched the 2020 Emma. (currently watching the 2009 version with my family).

How are you? Do you sense trouble ahead for Cadmus’ grandson? (Hint: yes. You do.)