![]() Athenian EpitaphsA Poem by Michael R. Burch
These are epitaphs placed on gravestones and monuments by the ancient Greeks in remembrance of their dead.
The Seikilos Epitaph Shine, while you live;
Mariner, do not ask whose tomb this may be,
Does my soul abide in heaven, or hell? Only the sea gulls in their high, lonely circuits may tell. ―Michael R. Burch, after Glaucus Passerby, tell the Spartans we lie lifeless at Thermopylae: dead at their word, obedient to their command. Have they heard? Do they understand? ―Michael R. Burch, after Simonides Here I lie with sea-enclosed Cyzicus shrouding my bones. Faretheewell, O my adoptive land that reared and suckled me; Once again I take rest at your breast. ―Michael R. Burch, after Erycius These men earned a crown of imperishable glory, nor did the maelstrom of death obscure their story. ―Michael R. Burch, after Simonides Here he lies in state tonight: great is his Monument! Yet Ares cares not, neither does War relent. ―Michael R. Burch, after Anacreon They observed our fearful fetters, marched to confront the surrounding darkness; now we gratefully commemorate their excellence. Bravely, they died for us. ―Michael R. Burch, after Mnasalcas Be ashamed, O mountains and seas: these were men who drew valorous breath. Assume, like pale chattels, an ashen silence at death. ―Michael R. Burch, after Parmenio Stripped of her stripling, if asked, she'd confess: "I am now less than nothingness." ―Michael R. Burch, after Diotimus Blame not the gale, nor the inhospitable sea-gulf, nor friends' tardiness, mariner! Just man's foolhardiness. ―Michael R. Burch, after Leonidas of Tarentum Stranger, flee! But may Fortune grant you all the prosperity she denied me. ―Michael R. Burch, after Leonidas of Tarentum I am loyal, master, even in the grave: just as you now are death's slave. ―Michael R. Burch, after Dioscorides Having never earned a penny nor seen a bridal gown address the floor, still I lie here with the love of many, to be the love of yet one more. ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet Little I knew ― a child of five ― of what it means to be alive and all life's little thrills; but little also ― (I was glad not to know) ― of life's great ills. ―Michael R. Burch, after Lucian I lie by stark Icarian rocks and only speak when the sea talks. Please tell my dear father I gave up the ghost on the Aegean coast. ―Michael R. Burch, after Theatetus Everywhere the sea is the sea, the dead are the dead. What difference to me ― where I rest my head? The sea knows I'm buried. ―Michael R. Burch, after Antipater of Sidon Pity this boy who was beautiful, but died. Pity his monument, overlooking this hillside. Pity the world that bore him, then foolishly survived. ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet Insatiable Death! I was only a child! Why did you snatch me away, in my infancy, from those who would love me? ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet Tell Nicagoras that Strymonias at the setting of the Kids lost his. ―Michael R. Burch, after Nicaenetus Now his voice is prisoned in the silent pathways of the night: his owner's faithful Maltese... but will he still bark again, on sight? ―Michael R. Burch, after Tymnes Poor partridge, poor partridge, lately migrated from the rocks; our cat bit off your unlucky head; my offended heart still balks! I put you back together again and buried you, so unsightly! May the dark earth cover you heavily: heavily, not lightly... so she shan't get at you again! ―Michael R. Burch, after Agathias Dead as you are, though you lie as still as cold stone, huntress Lycas, my great Thessalonian hound, the wild beasts still fear your white bones; craggy Pelion remembers your valor, splendid Ossa, the way you would bound and bay at the moon for its whiteness as below we heard valleys resound. And how brightly with joy you would leap and run the strange lonely peaks of high Cithaeron! ―Michael R. Burch, after Simonides Aeschylus, graybeard, son of Euphorion, died far away in wheat-bearing Gela; still, the groves of Marathon may murmur of his valor and the black-haired Mede, with his mournful clarion. ―Michael R. Burch, after Aeschylus Not Rocky Trachis, nor the thirsty herbage of Dryophis, nor this albescent stone with its dark blue lettering shielding your white bones, nor the wild Icarian sea dashing against the steep shingles of Doliche and Dracanon, nor the empty earth, nor anything essential of me since birth, nor anything now mingles here with the perplexing absence of you, with what death forces us to abandon... ―Michael R. Burch, after Euphorion Though they were steadfast among spears, dark Fate destroyed them as they defended their native land, rich in sheep; now Ossa's dust seems all the more woeful, where they now sleep. ―Michael R. Burch, after Aeschylus Sail on, mariner, for when we were perishing, greater ships sailed on. ―Michael R. Burch, after Theodorides We who left the thunderous surge of the Aegean of old, now lie here on the mid-plain of Ecbatan: farewell, dear Athens, nigh to Euboea, farewell, dear sea! ―Michael R. Burch, after Plato My friend found me here, a shipwrecked corpse on the beach. He heaped these strange boulders above me. Oh, how he would wail that he "loved" me, with many bright tears for his own calamitous life! Now he sleeps with my wife and flits like a gull in a gale ―beyond reach― while my broken bones bleach. ―Michael R. Burch, after Callimachus All this vast sea is his Monument. Where does he lie ― whether heaven, or hell? Well friend, perhaps when the gulls repent ― they may tell. ―Michael R. Burch, after Glaucus Cloud-capped Geraneia, cruel mountain! If only you had looked no further than Ister and Scythian Tanais, had not aided the surge of the Scironian sea's wild-spurting fountain filling the dark ravines of snowy Meluriad! But now he is dead: a chill corpse in a chillier ocean ― moon led ― and only an empty tomb now speaks of the long, windy voyage ahead. ―Michael R. Burch, after Simonides His white bones lie shining on some inhospitable shore: a son lost to his father, his tomb empty; the poor- est beggars have happier mothers! ―Michael R. Burch, after Damegtus The light of a single morning exterminated the sacred offspring of Lysidice. Nor do the angels sing. Nor do we seek the gods' advice. This is the grave of Nicander's lost children. We weep at its bitter price. ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet Pluto, delighting in tears, why did you bring our son, Ariston, to the laughterless abyss of death? Why -- why? -- did the gods grant him breath, if only for seven years? ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet Although I had to leave the sweet sun, only nineteen ― Diogenes, hail! ― beneath the earth, let's have the more fun: till human desire seems weak and pale. ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet Once sweetest of the workfellows, shy teller of tall tales ― "fleet Crethis! ― who excelled at every childhood game... now you sleep among long shadows where everyone's the same... ―Michael R. Burch, after Callimachus Passing by, passing by my oft-bewailed pillar, shudder, my new friend to hear my tragic story: of how my pyre was lit by the same fiery torch meant to lead the procession to my nuptials in glory! O Hymenaeus, why did you did change my bridal song to a dirge? Strange! ―Michael R. Burch, after Erinna Suddenly this grave holds our nightingale speechless; now she lies here like a stone, who once was so accomplished while sunlight illumining dust proves the gods all reachless, as our prayers prove them also unhearing or beseechless. ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet I, Homenea, the chattering bright sparrow, lie here in the hollow of a great affliction, leaving tears to Atimetus and all scattered -- that great affection. ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet Wert thou, O Artemis, overbusy with thy beast-slaying hounds when the Beast embraced me? ―Michael R. Burch, after Diodorus of Sardis A mother only as far as the birth pangs, my life cut short at the height of life's play: only eighteen years old, so brief was my day. ―Michael R. Burch, after an unknown Greek poet We mourn Polyanthus, whose wife placed him newly-wedded in an unmarked grave, having received his luckless corpse back from the green Aegean wave that deposited his fleshless skeleton gruesomely in the harbor of Torone. ―Michael R. Burch, after Phaedimus Here Saon, son of Dicon, now rests in holy sleep: say not that the good die, friend, lest gods and mortals weep. ―Michael R. Burch, after Callimachus Anacreon Epigrams Yes, bring me Homer's lyre, no doubt, but first yank the bloodstained strings out! ―Anacreon, translation by Michael R. Burch Here we find Anacreon, an elderly lover of boys and wine. His harp still sings in lonely Acheron as he thinks of the lads he left behind... ―Anacreon from the Anacreontea, translation by Michael R. Burch Erinna Epigrams This portrait is the work of sensitive, artistic hands. See, noble Prometheus, you have human equals! For if whoever painted this girl had only added a voice, she would have been Agatharkhis entirely. ―Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Erinna is generally considered to be second only to Sappho as an ancient Greek female poet. Little is known about her life; Erinna has been called a contemporary of Sappho and her most gifted student, but she may have lived up to a few hundred years later. This poem, about a portrait of a girl or young woman named Agatharkhis, has been called the earliest Greek ekphrastic epigram (an epigram describing a work of art). Passing by, passing by my oft-bewailed pillar, shudder, my new friend to hear my tragic story: of how my pyre was lit by the same fiery torch meant to lead the procession to my nuptials in glory! O Hymenaeus, why did you did change my bridal song to a dirge? Strange! ―Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch You, my tall Columns, and you, my small Urn, the receptacle of Hades' tiny pittance of ash― remember me to those who pass by my grave, as they dash. Tell them my story, as sad as it is: that this grave sealed a young bride's womb; that my name was Baucis and Telos my land; and that Erinna, my friend, etched this poem on my Tomb. ―Erinna, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Translator's note: Baucis is also spelled Baukis. Erinna has been attributed to different locations, including Lesbos, Rhodes, Teos, Telos and Tenos. Telos seems the most likely because of her Dorian dialect. Erinna wrote in a mixture of Aeolic and Doric Greek. In 1928, Italian archaeologists excavating at Oxyrhynchus discovered a tattered piece of papyrus which contained 54 lines Erinna's lost epic, the poem "Distaff." This work, like the epigram above, was also about her friend Baucis. Excerpts from "Distaff" by Erinna loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch … the moon rising … … leaves falling … … waves lapping a windswept shore … … and our childish games, Baucis, do you remember? ... ... Leaping from white horses, running on reckless feet through the great courtyard. "You're it! ' I cried, ‘You're the Tortoise now! " But when your turn came to pursue your pursuers, you darted beyond the courtyard, dashed out deep into the waves, splashing far beyond us … … My poor Baucis, these tears I now weep are your warm memorial, these traces of embers still smoldering in my heart for our silly amusements, now that you lie ash … … Do you remember how, as girls, we played at weddings with our dolls, pretending to be brides in our innocent beds? ... ... How sometimes I was your mother, allotting wool to the weaver-women, calling for you to unreel the thread? ... … Do you remember our terror of the monster Mormo with her huge ears, her forever-flapping tongue, her four slithering feet, her shape-shifting face? ... ... Until you mother called for us to help with the salted meat... ... But when you mounted your husband's bed, dearest Baucis, you forgot your mothers' warnings! Aphrodite made your heart forgetful... ... Desire becomes oblivion... ... Now I lament your loss, my dearest friend. I can't bear to think of that dark crypt. I can't bring myself to leave the house. I refuse to profane your corpse with my tearless eyes. I refuse to cut my hair, but how can I mourn with my hair unbound? I blush with shame at the thought of you! … ... But in this dark house, O my dearest Baucis, My deep grief is ripping me apart. Wretched Erinna! Only nineteen, I moan like an ancient crone, eying this strange distaff... O Hymen! ... O Hymenaeus! ... Alas, my poor Baucis! On a Betrothed Girl by Erinna loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch I sing of Baucis the bride. Observing her tear-stained crypt say this to Death who dwells underground: "Thou art envious, O Death! " Her vivid monument tells passers-by of the bitter misfortune of Baucis― how her father-in-law burned the poor girl on a pyre lit by bright torches meant to light her marriage train home. While thou, O Hymenaeus, transformed her harmonious bridal song into a chorus of wailing dirges. Hymen! O Hymenaeus! Ibykos Fragment 286, Circa 564 B.C. loose translation by Michael R. Burch Come spring, the grand apple trees stand watered by a gushing river where the maidens' uncut flowers shiver and the blossoming grape vine swells in the gathering shadows. Unfortunately for me Eros never rests but like a Thracian tempest ablaze with lightning emanates from Aphrodite; the results are frightening― black, bleak, astonishing, violently jolting me from my soles to my soul. Originally published by The Chained Muse HOMER TRANSLATIONS Surrender to sleep at last! What an ordeal, keeping watch all night, wide awake. Soon you’ll succumb to sleep and escape all your troubles. Sleep. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Any moment might be our last. Earth’s magnificence? Magnified because we’re doomed. You will never be lovelier than at this moment. We will never pass this way again. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Let’s hope the gods are willing. They rule the vaulting skies. They’re stronger than men to plan, execute and realize their ambitions. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Passage home? Impossible! Surely you have something else in mind, Goddess, urging me to cross the ocean’s endless expanse in a raft. So vast, so full of danger! Hell, sometimes not even the sea-worthiest ships can prevail, aided as they are by Zeus’s mighty breath! I’ll never set foot on a raft, Goddess, until you swear by all that’s holy you’re not plotting some new intrigue! ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Few sons surpass their fathers; most fall short, all too few overachieve. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Beauty! Ah, Terrible Beauty! A deathless Goddess, she startles our eyes! ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Many dread seas and many dark mountain ranges lie between us. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch The lives of mortal men? Like the leaves’ generations. Now the old leaves fall, blown and scattered by the wind. Soon the living timber bursts forth green buds as spring returns. Even so with men: as one generation is born, another expires. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Since I’m attempting to temper my anger, it does not behoove me to rage unrelentingly on. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Overpowering memories subsided to grief. Priam wept freely for Hector, who had died crouching at Achilles’ feet, while Achilles wept himself, first for his father, then for Patroclus, as their mutual sobbing filled the house. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch “Genius is discovered in adversity, not prosperity.” ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Ruin, the eldest daughter of Zeus, blinds us all with her fatal madness. With those delicate feet of hers, never touching the earth, she glides over our heads, trapping us all. First she entangles you, then me, in her lethal net. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Death and Fate await us all. Soon comes a dawn or noon or sunset when someone takes my life in battle, with a well-flung spear or by whipping a deadly arrow from his bow. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Death is the Great Leveler, not even the immortal gods can defend the man they love most when the dread day dawns for him to take his place in the dust. ― Homer, loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch Published as the collection "Athenian Epitaphs"© 2024 Michael R. Burch |
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Added on September 26, 2019 Last Updated on May 31, 2024 Tags: Epitaph, Epigram, Greek, Translation, Death, Grave, Headstone, Memorial, Ancient Greek Author
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