The Art of Love Read Online Free

years a Victorian reaction prevailed, at least publicly, and the
Ars
was described as “a shameless compendium in profligacy” and as
“l’art d’aimer sans amour.”
How odd! It may be“naughty” but by no stretch of imagination is it pornographic and, as for “true love,” Ovid makes it clear that he is not dealing with that. In 1993 readers will find it easy, despite what is lost in translation, to enjoy it as they would Pope’s
Rape of the Lock
—as a sparklingly clever, gorgeously decorated, serio-comic masterpiece.
    A word about this translation. Having just compared Ovid with Pope, I agree with Peter Green’s opinion that “Ovid has suffered more than most Roman poets from over-close association with the eighteenth century.” Put him into rhyming couplets and not only do you lose a great deal through forced compression, but you also turn, willy-nilly, a young Roman into a middle-aged gentleman, complete with wig, in Twickenham. Mr. Green’s excellent translation of the
Ars Amatoria
, published in the Penguin Classics, while still keeping to the couplet concept, uses lines of irregular length, with as many as seven or as few as two stresses. I have followed in his path, but feeling that the two primary elements in Ovid’s poetry, wit and technical virtuosity, had to be reflected somehow, I have added rhyme. If there is gain, it is in chic, a very Ovidian quality; if there is loss, it is that I am sometimes cheating the reader of the awareness that after every couplet there is in the original a definite pause. But the test of all translations is simple: is this what the author wrote, and do I enjoy what I’m reading? I can only guarantee you the first.
    JAMES MICHIE , 1993

 T HE A RT OF L OVE
 [ENGLISH].

B OOK O NE
    [L ATIN :
Siquis in hoc…
]
    If any Roman knows nothing about love-making, please
    Read this poem and graduate in expertise.
    Ships and chariots with sails, oars, wheels, reins,
    Speed through technique and control, and the same obtains
    For love. As Automedon was Achilles’ charioteer
    And Tiphys earned the right to steer
    The
Argo
on Jason’s expedition,
    So I am appointed by Venus as the technician
    Of her art—my name will live on
    As Love’s Tiphys, Love’s Automedon.
    Love often fights against me, for he’s wild,
    Yet he’s also controllable, for he’s still a child.
    Chiron made Achilles expert with the lyre,
    His cool tuition quenched youth’s primitive fire,
    So that the boy who later became
    A terror to friends and foes alike stood tame
    In front of his aged teacher, so they say,
    And the hand that Hector would feel one day
    Was held out meekly to be rapped
    At his schoolmaster’s bidding. Achilles was the apt
    Pupil of Chiron, Love is mine—
    Wild boys both, and both born of divine
    Mothers; yet the heavy plough will make
    Even the bull’s neck docile, and the friskiest colt will take
    The bit in his teeth. Love shall be tamed under my hand,
    Though his arrows riddle me, though his flaming brand
    Is waved in my face. The worse the wounds, the fiercer the burn,
    The prompter I’ll be to punish him in return.
    I won’t pretend that I’m inspired by you, Apollo:
    The hoot of an owl, the flight of a swallow,
    Have taught me nothing; awake or asleep,
    I never had a vision of the Muses tending sheep
    In pastoral valleys. This poem springs
    From experience. Listen, your poet sings
    Of what he knows, he tells no lies.
    Venus, mother of Love, assist my enterprise!
    But you with headbands and ankle-length robes, staid matrons,
    Stay well clear—
you
are not my patrons.
    My theme is safe and licit love, stolen joys which women’ll
    Condone; I’ll mention nothing criminal.
    [L ATIN :
Principio, quod amare…
]
        Your first job, then, love’s volunteer recruit,
    Is to find the object of your pursuit;
    Next comes the work of wooing and winning; and, last, ensuring
    That the love you’ve won is enduring.
    These are the limits of the ground my wheeled
    Chariot will