On the Air: An Intersemiotic Translation of Ovid's Heroides
Item Type text; Electronic Thesis
Authors Larres, Elise
Citation Larres, Elise. (2021). On the Air: An Intersemiotic Translation of Ovid's Heroides (Master's thesis, University of Arizona, Tucson, USA).
Publisher The University of Arizona.
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Download date 24/09/2021 15:20:38
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Link to Item http://hdl.handle.net/10150/660168
ON THE AIR: AN INTERSEMIOTIC TRANSLATION OF OVID’S HEROIDES
by
Elise Larres
______Copyright © Elise Larres 2021
A Thesis Submitted to the Faculty of the
DEPARTMENT OF RELIGIOUS STUDIES AND CLASSICS
In Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements
For the Degree of
MASTER OF ARTS
WITH A MAJOR IN CLASSICS
In the Graduate College
THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA
2021
THE UNIVERSITY OF ARIZONA GRADUATE COLLEGE
As members of the Committee, we certify that we have read the thesis prepared by Elise Larres, titled Heroides and recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the dissertation requirement for the .
______Date: ______David Christenson
______Date: ______Robert Groves
______Date: ______Sarah McCallum
Final approval and acceptance of this thesis final copies of the thesis to the Graduate College.
I hereby certify that I have read this thesis prepared under my direction and recommend that it be accepted as fulfilling the requirement.
______Date: ______David Christenson Committee Chair Department of Religious Studies and Classics
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
First and foremost, I would like to thank Drs. David Christenson, Robert Groves, and Sarah
McCallum for serving on my thesis committee, for giving me the excellent advice and instruction
I needed before embarking on this project, and for helping me bring it to fruition. Special thanks to Monica Barcarolo, Mallory Main, and Ian Morgan for listening to my half-baked lyrics and off- key first drafts, and to Mallory in particular for kindly testing out one of those drafts in their classroom. Finally, I would like to thank my family: my parents, David and Terese, for gifting me with their love of music; my brother, Justin, whose encouragement and thoughtful suggestions inspired me to combine my passion for both language and music; and my sister, Lauren, for her unfailing patience and for listening during the hard times. Without their constant love, support, and gentle critiques, this project would not have been possible.
Larres – 3 TABLE OF CONTENTS
ABSTRACT ...... 5
INTRODUCTION: SINGING THE HEROIDES ...... 6
The Skopos ...... 6
The Translation Process ...... 8
The Wind as an Interpretative Lens ...... 11
Helpful Notes for Using this Document ...... 14
The Wind – “Intro” Lyrics ...... 16
CHAPTER 1: ARIADNE – “BLACK MARK” ...... 18
Translator’s Statement ...... 18
Audio and Lyrics ...... 22
Commentary ...... 26
CHAPTER 2: CANACE – “THE SICKNESS OF A CHILD” ...... 47
Translator’s Statement ...... 47
Audio and Lyrics ...... 56
Commentary ...... 62
CHAPTER 3: PENELOPE – “MARCO”...... 84
Translator’s Statement ...... 84
Audio and Lyrics ...... 90
Commentary ...... 95
CONCLUSION: THE FUTURE OF THE PROJECT...... 115
WORKS CITED...... 116
Larres – 4 ABSTRACT
In this thesis project I translate three of Ovid’s Heroides, namely Ep. 1 (Penelope to Ulysses), 10
(Ariadne to Theseus), and 11 (Canace to Macareus), into musical pieces involving both lyrics and
instrumentation. I have also composed an original piece to introduce the album and to help identify
the Wind as the programmatic element and metapoetic lens through which my translation is heard.
In my Introduction I establish the goals of this translation and the process by which I achieved
them, including a discussion of the Wind as representative of electronic communication and the
impact this interpretation has on the heroines’ narratives. Each chapter covers a single song-
translation and includes (A) a translator’s statement which both clarifies key aspects of the Latin poem being translated and explains my broad focus and methodology for translating that particular
song; (B) the audio file and lyrics; and (C) a commentary examining features of the Latin as well
as highlighting the specific translation choices I have made and my reasoning for these. This project provides a case study of musical translation as reception of classical texts, as well as a
valuable pedagogical tool for students of classics and Latin at all skill levels. Finally, my work
here forms the foundation of a future concept album designed to appeal to a wide audience,
including those with no knowledge of Ovid, Latin, or Roman culture. This album will serve as an
effective way of attracting a new and diverse group of people to classics, and whose experiences
and perspectives will enrich the field moving forward.
Larres – 5 INTRODUCTION: SINGING THE HEROIDES
The Skopos
The goal or “skopos” 1 of this thesis project is to produce a modern concept album which
functions as a translation of, and commentary on, Ovid’s Heroides. With this translation I aim to reach a broad, multifaceted audience ranging from those having no knowledge of the source text to others deeply conversant in Ovid’s poetry and the culture in which it was created. The musical format I have chosen is inherently accessible, and in its every aspect I seek to craft a polished song that is enjoyable to listen to and whose aesthetic value does not hinge on its status as a translation.
Nevertheless, much like Ovid’s poetry, my song-translations are vastly enriched by a close familiarity with the source texts. In other words, a person who has never heard of Ovid can still appreciate these songs in their own right, but the the listener who is more acquainted with his
Heroides and with Roman poetic practices is likely to enjoy and appreciate some aspects of my
music all the more.
While I have taken pains to ensure that these songs are melodic and pleasant to listen to, I
have not viewed this as license to avoid rigorous engagement with the words, poetry, themes,
characterizations, and approaches of my source text—a commitment which makes my song-
translations excellent tools for the classroom. Either the album as a whole or the individual songs
may be used to introduce or reinforce a number of exciting topics, including the Latin translation project, 2 aemulatio as a Roman cultural concept, creative translation as a class activity, and
1 I follow the theory of Hans Vermeer, who argues that, insofar as translation is an action, every translation has a goal or purpose, identified as the “skopos” of that translation (1989: 191–2). Translations are oriented toward the culture of the target text rather than that of the source text, and this ultimately defines their adequacy. Each individual translation will accordingly have a unique approach and method based on its skopos and intended audience (193, 196–7). 2 See further Feeney 2016.
Larres – 6 intersemiotic translation, to name just a few. My songs may be used among students unfamiliar
with Latin to spark discussion about Roman culture and literary values, as well as by students with
any level of Latin knowledge, whether just beginning or advanced in the language. More advanced
students will reap slightly different benefits from those without Latin, but my music can prove
useful to listeners anywhere on that spectrum. Two instructors have kindly requested and utilized
my song, “Black Mark,” to spark classroom debate about the above topics and more, one at the
high school level and one at the college level. In both cases the song successfully caught students’
attention, and at the college level it provided a unique way of examining the relationship between
Catullus 64 and Ep. 10.
Regardless of whether my album is encountered in an educational setting or elsewhere, audiences will be made aware of the fact that they are listening to a translated work. 3 To that end
the working title of the album is currently “On the Air: Translating Ovid’s Heroides,” so that
listeners know what they are clicking on from the outset. Depending on the streaming service, the
album will be accompanied by a short description of the project and a link to further information.
In this way my concept album can serve as an effective means of increasing public interest in
classical texts and culture. I hope not only to introduce more people to classical studies, but also
to reach new audiences whose fresh perspectives and valuable ideas will positively shape the field of Classics moving forward.
Translations are often envisioned as falling on a spectrum between foreignization ( uerbum pro uerbo, grammatical translation) and domestication (a freer approach determined by the expectations and norms of the target culture; Nida 1964: 141–2). My translation falls more on the domesticating side, as I have shifted the fundamental modality of the text from recited poetry to
3 For the (in)visibility of the translator, see Venuti 1995.
Larres – 7 lyrics with musical accompaniment, a format familiar to my target audience. In translating these poems I have set aside any notions of meticulous replication of the source text. I instead seek to
engage in aemulatio with Ovid himself, such that the relationship between my translation and the
source text is not one of fidelity or enslavement, but of competition. In effect, I am simultaneously
commemorating and attempting to outdo Ovid’s poetic achievement. By striving to surpass the
skill and form of the source text, I step into the Roman tradition of imitatio and aemulatio , a literary
and artistic approach at which Ovid excels. 4
I thus do not seek to match Ovid’s epistolary poems word for word. Rather, I utilize all the
tools available to the modern musician, including lyrics, tone, instrumentality, vocalization,
rhythm, tempo, word painting—to say nothing of the traditional verbal figures available to the
non-musical poet and the lyricist alike (alliteration, anaphora, etc.)—in order to rival Ovid’s
virtuosity and characterization of these heroines. So, for example, the high pitch and fast tempo in
Penelope’s song emphasize her anxiety; the simple, repetitive Tones around which “The Sickness
of a Child” is built underscore Canace’s traumatized, frozen state. A single track on the album
represents a single poem from Ovid’s collection, and so each song-translation has a unique tone,
delivery, and sound.
The Translation Process
The commentary notes give the reader a behind-the-scenes look at the actual process of
musical translation by explaining in close detail the rationale which informs my translation
choices. This concept album thus serves as a case study of musical composition as classical
4 For more on imitatio and aemulatio in Roman literary culture, see Hinds 1998 and McElduff 2013.
Larres – 8 reception. In addition to the commentary notes, which focus on translation choices at the level of
a single sound, word, line, etc., I will here add a few broader notes on the challenges of
transforming a Latin poem into a modern song.
One major factor impacting the formation of each song-translation is the amount of space
I have to work with. The average contemporary rock, rap, or country song runs between 100 and
380 words, including repeated words, e.g., a recurring chorus (Textureflow 2018). A grammatical
translation of Heroides 1 by contrast runs upwards of 1300 words. I utilize various tactics to
increase the word count in my songs, often tailored to the song itself. For example, Penelope—
who reaches a word count of 405—is a fast talker both because she is rhetorically gifted, and because she is anxious. I have shortened the chorus of “Marco” to a mere 4 measures long, so that
it does not eat up precious time that could be used to translate other passages. All of my songs are
over 4 minutes long, which leans slightly over the 3:30 average for the Billboard Hot 100 songlist,
which recently dropped to 3:07 (Trust 2019). In “The Sickness of a Child,” I layer two rhythmically
distinct verses on top of one another throughout the song, which keeps it under 5 minutes while
reaching a whopping 856 words.
These methods allow me to translate more of the source material, but they are not enough
to catch everything. This constraint is nonetheless more a help than a hindrance, as it compels me
to approach each song with a very clear focus in mind. Having limited space makes my lyrics
extremely succinct and selective, since choosing one theme often necessitates the exclusion of
another. For example, in Penelope’s song I have narrowed the lens of my translation to focus purely on her relationship with Ulysses. This allows me to set aside her arguments regarding
Telemachus, the household, Ulysses’ father, etc., in favor of developing a single running thread:
Larres – 9 Penelope’s deep desire that she alone, apart from everything else on Ithaca, is enough to persuade
her husband to come home (cf. “Marco” Translator’s Statement, pp. 86–7).
While contemporary music does not forbid rarer, longer words, these tend to become
awkward and take up valuable space in a line of music. Uncomfortable to sing and discordant to
listen to, such words risk grabbing the listener’s attention to the detriment of the rest of the line. A
quick scan of the lyrics of “Black Mark” shows primarily one- and two-syllable words. Most words
longer than this are both easy to sing and part of the working vocabulary of an average American,
e.g., “abandoned” (17), “disappears” (27), and “remembered” (40). Words which are easy to sing but not as common in everyday speech I utilize more rarely, e.g., “shorelines” (13), “treacherous”
(42). And finally, words which are neither in common usage nor easy to sing are extremely rare
and used only to significant effect. Thus “isolation” (31) is sung so slowly and rhythmically that
it is both easier to sing and takes up an entire line of music. Because it neatly captures a key theme
of the piece while also creating evocative musical effects, it more than compensates for the space
it takes up in the verse.
Translation into music lyrics heightens the challenge inherent in the process of composing
a song. Good lyrics in a non-translation song will exemplify the perfect balance between sound—
the words are easy to sing and enjoyable to hear, and the melody is evocative and pleasing—and
sense—the lyrics are consistent and evocative, tell a story in a logical progression, and their
delivery has a meaningful impact. If either the sound or the sense falls short, often the only option
is to start over from scratch and rework the word, the line, or even the entire stanza. Creating a
musical translation adds to the level of difficulty, as I must now ensure not only that the lyrics
sound good and mean something, but also that they form a clever and succinct translation which
aligns with my skopos.
Larres – 10 Creating the instrumentation and building a sonic world for each song often begins from a
logistical and emotional standpoint. Because I wanted to draw out the strong emotions of Canace’s
heartrending situation, I started the piece on piano, as it can evoke those emotions and I personally
find it easier to write sad pieces on the piano. When I was beginning to compose for Penelope, I
knew that I wanted a sassier, faster paced, anxious piece, and so reached immediately for the guitar.
So too in selecting drums, bass tones, and other instruments for each piece, I always stay focused
on the ultimate intended effect, emotional or otherwise: a heartbeat drum sound and pattern can
reinforce Ariadne’s solitude and fear; a fast-paced metronome in “The Sickness of a Child” can
suggest Canace’s disjointed sense of time as she relives her unprocessed memories of trauma. In
this way the instrumentation and musical choices contribute to the overall effect of each piece.
The Wind as an Interpretative Lens
The Latin phrase uerba dare, literally “to give (empty) words,” means to deceive or cheat someone. The phrase uerba dare uentis, “to give one’s words to the winds,” means either to break a promise (cf. Ep. 2.25 uentis et uerba et uela dedisti ), or to “talk to the wind”—that is, to waste
one’s effort, to have one’s words fall on deaf ears. A key instance of this idiom for my translation
is Catullus 70.3–4 sed mulier cupido quod dicit amanti / in uento et rapida scribere oportet aqua
(“but what a woman says to her desirous lover, she should write on wind and rushing water”).
Catullus means that the words of a woman are untrustworthy and fickle, subject to constant change, but in Catullus’ and Ovid’s world, this statement was also true in a literal sense. The words of women were rarely written down on durable materials, and very few of their own accounts survive. 5 Within the context of this album this phrase takes on new, programmatic meaning.
5 For ancient literacy rates for women, see Harris 1989.
Larres – 11 I have made the Wind a unique character, the messenger who has swept up the words of
Ovid’s heroines ( uerba dare uentis ) and now intends to deliver them not only to the original
addressees, but to the world at large. In Ovid’s time this meant that their voices would go unheard.
Today this translation choice takes on new, metapoetic significance, in that the air (i.e., “Wind”)
is the medium through which audio and radio waves must pass. In other words, the messages of
these women are being placed in a musical format (audio waves) which in turn will be broadcast
in various ways—on the radio, the internet, and via phone calls (see the Translator’s Statement before each song for their respective metapoetic frameworks). The shift to a musical medium
allows their stories to reach a far wider audience than the letters Ovid portrays them as writing.
Their words are not spoken in vain, nor do they “vanish into thin air” (“Intro” 13). Instead, being
“On the Air” now denotes being heard, being recorded, and having influence over the opinions of
others (cf. “Black Mark” Translator’s Statement, p. 21).
The point of engaging with Catullus 70 is not to say that women should act like men and
write down their words in order to gain a long-lasting legacy. Rather, I engage with the negative portrayal of women as deceptive or fickle in the idiom uerba dare uentis by turning it on its head .
In giving their words to the wind, the heroines in my album will not be forgotten, but published to
the world. My concept album reflects the fact that the words of women, while often imperceptible
and difficult to pin down throughout history, nevertheless have a powerful impact on the lives of
those around them. Further, these words do not impact only the people of their own time. The
ripples of their speeches, their curses, their stories, pass down through history in a way that—much
like the wind—is invisible but undeniably tangible: they have an effect.
The world of my concept album is therefore neither modern nor historical. By blending contemporary communication technology with the ancient cultural practices and views present in
Larres – 12 Ovid’s poetry, I create a unique universe for these characters to inhabit. This world, which occupies
a unique space between past and present, fiction and reality, demands a certain suspension of
disbelief on the part of the listener. I take this precedent directly from Ovid, who does not shrink
from the anachronism of writing Greek heroines as Roman dominae in the Heroides (Fulkerson
2005: 9–12; for a contrasting view see Wilkinson 1955: 96). See for example his treatment of
Briseis, who writes in a pre-literate world and apologizes for her poor Greek, despite the fact that
Ovid’s own poem is in Latin ( Ep. 3.1–2; cf. Vessey 1976: 91). 6
My interpretation of the Wind as a metapoetic symbol for electronic communication has
guided my selection of which poems to translate—namely Laodamia, Dido, Canace, Ariadne, and
Phyllis, as these songs contain the most instances of wind terminology (e.g., uentus, aura, flamen, spiritus, the proper names of the winds, etc.). I have also included Penelope, despite the fact that
Ep. 1 contains only one word for wind. After suggesting that Ulysses is cheating, she states, 80 fallar, et hoc crimen tenues uanescat in auras (“may I be deceived, and may this accusation vanish
into thin air ”). Penelope actively hopes that her own words prove false and have no effect. Because her phrasing offers a unique perspective on my metapoetic interpretation on the wind, I have chosen to include it in the album. Her words tenues uanescat in auras even make it into the “Intro”
song of the Wind character (lyric 13). The scope of this thesis project allows room only for three
song-translations, and I have chosen the letters of Ariadne, Canace, and Penelope—primarily
6 On the theory of hybridity in translation, see Hardwick 2008. A hybrid translation transforms its source text with an eye to both the specific qualities of that text and its cultural associations, as well as to the target culture and the benefits to be gained from domestication. A hybrid text dwells between two cultures, two languages, two time periods, and its unique power and impact are derived from the effects of combining and recombining those two distinct entities in new (and potentially eccentric) ways.
Larres – 13 because they were the first poems to catch both my own and the Muses’ attention. I will translate the other three poems in my future work, as well as continue to revise these three.
The “Intro” song is my own addition and presents the perspective of the Wind, whose message starts off the album. I have not provided commentary notes as it is not a translation. That said, it does draw heavily from various Greco-Roman cultural and literary concepts, including messenger speeches, epithets, interpreters, poetic inspiration, and the claim to literary immortality.
Once all the song-translations on the album are complete, I will interweave tag-lines and lyrics from each of them with the lyrics of the “Intro” to create the effect which the Wind describes— namely, that the voices and words of the heroines have been “swept up” (4) by the Wind. Their voices get “tangled up” (5) as they overlap and interlock with one another, and continue to bleed through the Wind’s own lyrics as it “breathes” their stories.
Helpful Notes for Using this Document
A link to the songs can be found at the top of each set of lyrics. This link leads to a Google
Doc, which in turn will have the audio files as well as links to updated versions of each song as this project progresses. Please keep in mind that at the time of submission, these audio files contain only demos—often simply my voice over piano and/or guitar. Over time more instruments will be added and the songs will be arranged and mixed until they are radio-ready. The Google Doc will be updated to reflect these improved versions, but will also retain the links to the original demos presented at the thesis defense, so that the reader may access either the old or the new renderings at any time. If the hyperlinks within this document cannot be accessed, the full web address for the Google Doc containing the recordings is: https://docs.google.com/document/d/18MsS1y8- haD-gLCca2oPlnrgZvNHSH7rzyIMdNmR5Nc/edit?usp=sharing.
Larres – 14 As a final note, it may seem that my Translator’s Statements and commentary notes violate
the fundamental right of each listener to form their own interpretation of these songs. This is not
my intention. The insights which I provide here are merely my own presentation of the reasoning behind, and implications of, my song-translations, and this thesis advances only some possible
interpretations among many. The meaning of any text, any song, is defined by each individual
recipient, and my music is no exception. As the French literary theorist and philosopher Roland
Barthes put it, “la naissance du lecteur doit se payer de la mort de l’Auteur”—“the birth of the
reader must be at the cost of the death of the author” (1977: 148).
Larres – 15 The Wind – “Intro”
To hear the song, double click the sound icon on the right:
Or click here to open the song file in your web browser.
For updated versions of this piece or new additions to the album, click here .
Em, Em
Em I am the wind 1 Em I am the temple of winged words 2 C B7 I am messenger and interpreter both 3
Em, Em,
C B7 Em I have swept up howls in the night like autumn leaves 4 C B7 Em D The voices of the victims get tangled up in me 5 C // I breathe… *inhale* 6 Em their stories 7
Em
Em Ink fades 8 Em Paper crumbles 9 Am People die 10 Em I remain 11
C B7 Promises are broken 12 Em D Vanish into thin air— 13 C And I keep them 14
Larres – 16 B7 // I Keep Them 15
Em
F, B7 But you 16 Em D Long have I chased your sails 17 G B7 Em D Broken hearts like severed limbs in your wake 18 Am Come, then, you Forsworn 19 B7 Come, then, you Forsworn 20 C I said come, then, you Forsworn 21
*interlocking, twisted voices of the women, getting louder and louder, yelling, cursing, wounded, until it suddenly cuts off and—* — I have a message for you 22
Em, Em
Larres – 17 CHAPTER 1: ARIADNE – “BLACK MARK”
Translator’s Statement
In Heroides 10 Ovid crafts his own version of the myth of Ariadne, princess of the island kingdom of Crete and daughter of King Minos and Queen Pasiphaë. The story of her seduction and subsequent abandonment by the hero Theseus was an exceedingly popular subject in ancient literature and material culture (Knox 1995: 233–5, OCD s.v. “Ariadne”). Catullus 64 and Heroides
10 are our primary surviving sources which contain a detailed account of the myth, though previous
versions are posited (see 15n.) and affirmed by ancient sources. As the author of the Aetna states,
21–2 quis non periurae doluit mendacia puppis, / desertam uacuo Minoida litore questus ? (“Who
hasn’t been distressed at the lies of the traitorous ship and hasn’t complained about the daughter
of Minos abandoned on the empty shore?”).
Though details change with each telling, the general structure of the myth remains the
same. Fourteen young men and women were regularly sent to King Minos of Crete, where they
were consigned to the labyrinth as a sacrifice to the minotaur—a half-bull, half human creature,
and incidentally the half-brother of Ariadne by her mother Pasiphaë. Theseus, the founder-hero of
Athens, joined this tribute of victims and there met Ariadne. With her help he slew the minotaur
and found his way back out of the labyrinth, retracing his steps by means of a string traditionally
given to him and/or held at the other end by Ariadne. Theseus then escaped to Athens, taking
Ariadne with him. On the way, they stopped at the desolate island of Dia—sometimes identified
as Naxos—where Theseus abandoned the girl while she slept. After she woke up alone and began
to despair, Ariadne was either killed by Artemis ( Od. 11.321–5, Hes. Theog. 947–9) or carried off
as bride by Dionysus (Cat. 64.251–64, Ov. Fast. 3.459-516, Met . 8.169–82; cf. 1n.).
Larres – 18 The reason for Ariadne’s abandonment differs from version to version. Some ancient
authors sought to exonerate Theseus, arguing that the gods struck him with a sudden amnesia, or
that Dionysus had ordered him to leave Ariadne behind on Dia to become the god’s own bride.
Others further incriminate Theseus by rejecting any explanation for his actions aside from callous
selfishness (Knox 1995: 235). Because it is written in the first person, Heroides 10 focuses on
Ariadne’s perspective on her abandonment. Ovid’s Ariadne seeks to “remind” those who have
“forgotten” her (42 oblitos admonitura mei ), but she also paints Theseus’ actions as a betrayal (see
42n.).7
Heroides 10 engages intimately with Catullus’ earlier account (Cat. 64). Any reading of
Heroides 10 is greatly enriched by a close consideration of Catullus’ version, as Ovid is constantly reinterpreting and repurposing it. Scholarship is divided on the aims (and success) of this intertextual play. Jacobson argues that Ovid is engaging in aemulatio with Catullus, but rebels too much against his source text and in fact sacrifices style and sensibility in his attempts to distinguish
his poem from Catullus 64 (1974: 215–18, 220–26). Verducci by constrast asserts that Ovid is
deliberately shattering the pathos of his Catullan model by carrying its poetic topoi too far (1985:
236–85). A critical difference between the two versions is their respective narrative voices: the
first-person narrator of Ovid’s epistolary elegy contrasts sharply with the third-person narrator of
Catullus’ epyllion, leading to what some scholars consider an abrupt fall in literary tone (Fulkerson
2005: 138–40, Winsor 1963: 423). That is, Ovid’s Ariadne is forced to describe herself from an
external perspective while using the first person, including quoting her own words ( Ep. 10.35–6,
56–8) or directing attention to her dramatic pose (135–6, 145, 147). Many of Ovid’s heroines must
describe their thoughts, feelings, and actions, but rarely do they describe their own appearance
7 Latin text is Knox’s 1995.
Larres – 19 unless to accomplish some special effect (Verducci 1985: 248–53). Some argue that this choice of
narrative voice occasionally shades into absurdity (Jacobson 1974: 224, Vessey 1976: 102).
The above arguments, largely axiological, hinge on granting Catullus 64 the status of a
“classic.” From this view, Ovid, suffering from acute anxiety of influence, either (A) cannot
compete with a masterpiece and so necessarily fails, or (B), in lieu of attempting to compete,
deliberately trivializes his source text (Fulkerson 2005: 139). Smith 1994 dissents from such views by arguing that Ovid’s references to previous versions of the myth, especially Catullus 64, are “not parodic but indicative of personal growth … from text to text” (251). That is, Ariadne has read the previous narratives about herself and learned from them (Conte 1986: 60–3, Fulkerson 2005: 139).
This knowledge meaningfully impacts her choices in Heroides 10, as she “will not try again what
didn’t work last time” (Smith 1994: 251).
This “corrective” approach to Heroides 10 largely informs my own piece; like Ovid, I am
not seeking to replicate the exact poetic effects and choices made by Ariadne in my source text.
Rather, my Ariadne has read and reflected on the poetic tradition surrounding her character— particularly Heroides 10—and she changes her actions accordingly. While her ultimate goal
remains the same, namely rescue or proper burial, her means of achieving this has shifted. Ovid’s
heroine deploys a blend of rhetoric and charm to appeal to Theseus’ conscience and sensibilities,
though her specific methods may stray into the ludicrous (Verducci 1985: 236–85). In Ovid’s case
this “letter” is addressed to Theseus alone, and—even supposing the message reaches him, which
is highly unlikely (see 4n. below) —Theseus could simply hide the letter or ignore it, and no one
would be the wiser.
My Ariadne by contrast has access to a new form of communication: the radio. This allows
Ariadne to broadcast her message to a potentially enormous audience which may recognize and
Larres – 20 despise Theseus for his contemptible behavior toward her. In other words, access to a wider
audience via the radio grants Ariadne the power to influence Theseus’ reputation (lyrics 33–51,
with nn.). She utilizes this influence to set a choice before Theseus: he can either return and save
her (or give her a burial), thus disproving her radio broadcast and preserving his reputation, or his
name will be forever tarnished.
As it is the first song-translation on the Album, I have composed this piece to in a way that
establishes a program for the rest of the collection. In “Black Mark,” I first and foremost explain
the specific role that the wind plays as narrator, interpreter, and messenger of these heroines’
stories. In their new, musical format, these poems are meant to be heard on the radio or streamed
electronically. In order to reach listeners, radio waves must travel through the air . It is in this
capacity that I have re-invented the wind as the “go-between,” the interpreter of the Heroides in
this (re)telling . While Ariadne may perceive the wind as a hostile force that has turned against her
(6–7, 24nn.), her specific word choices in the latter half of the song reveal that it is the wind which
will ultimately “deliver” her message to an audience. Furthermore, Ariadne’s lyrics at the beginning of each chorus (16–17, 35–6) metapoetically acknowledge the programmatic status of
this song; her words are sung both by and to abandoned women, but will particularly impact the
other women of the Heroides (cf. 16n., Fulkerson 2005). Ariadne’s use of the radio to project her
voice, to tell her side of the story, and to reclaim her agency sets the example for the other heroines
to follow when composing their own music (cf. Translator’s Statement, pp. 11–14).
Larres – 21 Ariadne – “Black Mark”
To hear the song, double click the sound icon on the right:
Or click here to open the song file in your web browser.
For updated versions of this piece or new additions to the album, click here .
Capo 1 86 BPM
Dm, Am, C, G
VS 1
Dm Am You’ve been stringing me along 1 C If I gave my heart to an animal 2 G I would have been better off 3 Dm Listen, these are the words I wrote to you 4 Am From the beach where you left me stranded 5 C Like a kite in the wind you 6 G E Cut the string and left me grounded 7
Dm, Am, C, G Woah, woah, woah 8
VS 2
Dm Am You betrayed me in my sleep 9 C I reach for you (no one’s there) 10 G I reach for you (no one’s there) 11 Dm Am Morning ritual turns to ritual mourning 12
Larres – 22 C Empty shorelines, empty sheets 13 G E I shout your name but only echoes answer me 14
Dm, Am, C, G Woah (woah), Woah (woah), Woah 15
CHORUS 1
Am F C This one goes out to my sisters in love 16 G F The ones abandoned and the dangers we suffer 17 Am F C When my lungs run out can you hear the beat in my chest? 18 G E Am Change your course, turn around, turn around 19
Dm, Am, C, G Woah (woah), Woah (woah), Woah 20
VS 3
Dm History is on your side 21 Am The victor tells the story 22 C G Tell them how you left me here alone to die 23 Dm Trust the wind to turn against me 24 Am Snatching every word from my lips 25 C I scream for you 26 G E Til the boat disappears and I’m left here breathless 27
Dm, Am, C, G, E7 Oh (oh), Oh (oh), Woah 28
VS 4
Larres – 23
Dm Am So now I’m reaching through the radio waves 29 C I broadcast my signal 30 G // Dm The isolation’s killing me slowly 31 Am [So] I’ll kill your reputation 32 C G E An open letter for an open grave 33
Dm, Am, C, G Woah (woah), woah (woah), woah 34
CHORUS 2
Am, F C This one goes out to my sisters in love 35 G F I’ve been abandoned and I’ll make him suffer 36 Am F C Before my lungs run out here’s my final request 37 G E Am Change your course, turn around, turn around 38
BREAKDOWN (VARIATION 1)
Am Dm Let this recording be the black mark on your record 39 Am E7 And the only thing you’ll ever be remembered for 40 Am Dm While I’m on the air let me be candid, Theseus 41 Am E7 You’re treacherous and if you don’t come back for me 42
BREAKDOWN (VARIATION 2)
Am Dm Let this recording be the black mark on your record 43 Am E7 And the only thing you’ll ever be remembered for 44
Larres – 24 Am Dm If you don’t want a skeleton inside your closet 45 Am E7 Am Should’ve buried my body on the shore 46
COUNTER MELODY (WITH OUTRO)
Sing it for my sisters, sing it 47 If you’re in love 48b And you been suffering 49b And you’re abandoned, ‘bandoned 49c When my lungs run out 50b Would you change and turn around? 51b
OUTRO (WITH COUNTER MELODY)
Am Dm Let this recording be the black mark on your record 48 Am E7 And the only thing you’ll ever be remembered for 49 Am Dm If you don’t want a skeleton inside your closet 50 Am E7 Am Should’ve buried my body on the shore 51
Larres – 25 Commentary
1 You’ve been … : the song begins in medias res , a reflection of Ovid’s own opening couplet (1–
2), which is so abrupt that some editors and translators have either relocated it in the poem or excised it (for examples of transposition see Ehwald 1907, Kline 2001, Battistella 2010; on preserving the order of transmission in P see Knox 1995: 235). stringing me along: a
reference to Ariadne’s role in guiding Theseus safely out of the labyrinth by using string to retrace
his steps. Sources differ on Ariadne’s level of involvement in devising and carrying out this plan, but Ovid’s Ariadne mentions that she has aided Theseus at 103–4 and 143–4 (a helpful compilation
of the many passages in ancient sources which discuss Ariadne and her role in the story may be
found on the Theoi Project website, s.v. “Ariadne”). Michalopoulos 2002 makes a compelling
argument that mitius, the first word of the poem, and 3 mitto , the only instance of the 1 st person
singular present active indicative of mittere in the single Heroides , both call to mind the Greek
word for thread, μίτος. The idiom “to string along” captures both Ariadne’s characterization of
Theseus as cruel and the bilingual paronomasia in mitius. Note also the reference to spinning wool
at Ep. 10.90 neue traham serua grandia pensa manu . Much like Penelope, Ariadne is
metapoetically portrayed as a potential weaver of words. We find the term for thread/string in
Ovid’s Latin as well, fila (72, 103, 104), which can also refer to the strings of a musical instrument
(OLD filum 2e). I have subtly emphasized this association by my choice of a stringed instrument,
namely guitar, to form the main instrumental sound in this track.
2 gave my heart to an animal: rendering 1–2 mitius inueni quam te genus omne ferarum; / credita
non ulli quam tibi peius eram (“I have found every kind of wild animal to be more gentle than you;
I could not have been entrusted to anyone worse than you”). Cf. 83 qui lanient auido uiscera dente,
Larres – 26 lupos (“wolves who would tear my entrails with voracious teeth”) and 96 destituor rabidis praeda
cibusque feris (“I am abandoned as prey and food for savage beasts”). The term “heart” is here both emotional and physical. Ariadne gave her emotional heart to Theseus by falling in love with
him and entrusting her wellbeing and happiness to his care. At the same time, construing Ovid’s
“I could not have been entrusted…” (2 credita non… eram ) as a physical heart heightens the image
of handing it over to a wild animal. If a wolf is given a heart, it will almost certainly devour it.
Ariadne paints Theseus’ treatment of her (and her heart) as even worse than this. While Ovid here
casts Ariadne in a passive role ( credita … eram ), I represent her as a more active character both in owning her mistake (“I gave my heart to an animal”) and in taking steps to secure her own safety
(cf. lyrics 31–51 and nn.). Furthermore, the notion of “giving one’s heart to an animal” recalls
Ariadne’s mother, Pasiphaë: cursed by Poseidon to lust after and mate with a bull, Pasiphaë gave birth to the Minotaur. Ariadne here suggests that even this unfortunate coupling turned out better for Pasiphaë than Ariadne’s own choice of partner. Theseus has shown himself to be more monstrous than wild beasts, and more monstrous than even the minotaur—a theme reiterated by
Ovid throughout the poem: cf. the violent words of slaughtering/executing with a club rather than a sword (77 mactasses … claua, 101 mactasset … stipite , 115 necauit ); personalizing the minotaur
as Ariadne’s brother (77, 115); and the claim that Theseus does not have human parents, but was born of unfeeling stone and sea (131–2), whereas the Minotaur is at least partially human (102 parte uirum dextera, parte bouem , 127 taurique uirique ).
4 Listen: Ariadne doubts whether Theseus—and her broader audience, as becomes clear over the
course of the song—will receive her message, and, if he does receive it, whether he will pay
attention and listen through to the end. Cf. Ariadne’s exhortation to Theseus to look not with his
Larres – 27 eyes, but with his mind (135 non oculis, sed, qua potes, aspice mente ), followed by a detailed
description of her pathetic position while composing the letter (136–40): she is clinging to a rock
as she writes, simultaneously being battered by the waves as she soaks her dress with tears. This
carefully contrived (and admittedly unrealistic) self-portrait demonstrates a certain artifice in her
writing style. Her careful narration of her own actions reveal that Ariadne is simultaneously the
actor and the director, the writer and written (Jacobson 1974: 224, Kroon 2012: 243). While this
framework may come across as strange, it also lends Ovid’s Ariadne a certain agency in telling
her own story which contrasts sharply with her earlier passivity (2 credita … eram ). Further, we
recognize immediately the improbability of Ariadne composing and sending a letter to Theseus
without writing tools or any real hope of a messenger (Palmer 2005: xi–xii, Fulkerson 2005: 12).
It is even less likely that my Ariadne, abandoned as she is on a desolate island, could gain access
to the musical instruments, the microphones, the mixing technology, or the WiFi necessary to broadcast her music. In building this fictional world, I, like Ovid, consciously rely on a suspension
of disbelief by the listener.
4–5 these are the words I wrote to you / From the beach where you left me stranded: cf. 3–5
quae legis, ex illo, Theseu, tibi litore mitto, / unde tuam sine me uela tulere ratem. / in quo me somnusque meus male prodidit et tu …
6–7 Like a kite in the wind you / Cut the string and left me grounded: the simile here is derived
from multiple concepts and suggestions in Ovid. “[A] kite in the wind” plays on Ariadne’s repeated
characterization of the wind as cruel ( crudelis ) and eager to assist ( officiosa ) Theseus in his betrayal (29–30, 113–14, 117; see also Jacobson 1974: 222–3, Knox 1995: 254 for natural forces
Larres – 28 conspiring against Ariadne and aiding Theseus because of his non-human status). The wind fills
Theseus’ sails, rendering them taut (30 tenta ) like a kite. This lyric also picks up the “string” theme:
Ariadne steadfastly held onto the string to guide Theseus out of the labyrinth and certain doom.
He in return has “cut the string” that bound them, and it is now Ariadne who has been left without any resources to escape her island prison. Finally, the term “grounded” suggests two concepts: first, a ship that has “run aground,” in the sense of becoming stuck and unable to move; and second, an aircraft that has been “grounded” or prevented from flying. This second meaning is especially pointed in the context of a kite which is airborne, and has “taken off” without Ariadne, aided by
the winds. Finally, the word “kite” may recall the predatory bird which faces the wind in order to
hover while hunting. Cf. the “complaining birds” (8 queruntur aues ) which mark Ariadne’s first
ekphrasis in Ep. 10 and the birds which threaten to devour Ariadne’s unburied corpse (123 ossa superstabunt uolucres inhumata marinae ).
8 Woah, woah, woah is the first of several interludes (lyrics 8, 15, 20, 28, 34) connecting the larger stanzas that are based on Ariadne’s repeated calls to Theseus ( Ep. 10.21–3, 34–8, 149–50).
Cf. heu, the Latin exclamation of grief or pain which appears to be encoded in the vocative Theseu
(cf. 14n.). Each interlude becomes progressively complex, but this first iteration is markedly
simple—so much so that the gap in between each “woah” verges on the uncomfortable, a choice
which emphasizes the absence of any answering (non-echoing) voice or presence on the island
with Ariadne. This simple version reflects her isolation, while also preparing the listener for the
“echoes” which will multiply in later interludes (see 14, 15nn.). Further, the later interludes impact
the way this first one is heard, since the listener will mentally “fill in” the echoes which this first interlude lacks (cf. 15n. on two-way intertextuality).
Larres – 29
9 You betrayed me in my sleep: cf. Ep. 10.5–6 me somnusque meus male prodidit et tu, / per facinus somnis insidiate meis (“my sleep wickedly betrayed me, and you, who laid in wait for my
sleep for the purpose of a crime”), 111 crudeles somni, quid me tenuistis inertem? (“cruel sleep,
why did you hold me motionless?”), 117 in me iurarunt somnus uentusque fidesque (“my sleep
and the wind and your promise conspired against me”).
10–11 I reach for you (no one’s there): cf. Ep. 10.9–12. The repetition here reflects Ariadne’s
multiple attempts to locate Theseus as she feels around the entire bed. nullus erat is notably repeated at the beginning and end of the couplet (11–12) to drive home the point. On Ariadne’s repeated attempts to locate Theseus as intentionally parodic and carrying poetic conventions to the point of absurdity, see Verducci 1985: 236–85.
12 Morning ritual … ritual mourning: a syncopation of Ep. 10.13–16, in which Ariadne performs the traditional actions of ritual mourning (tearing the hair, letting the hair fall loose, beating the breast, weeping); cf. similar physical expressions of her grief at Ep. 10.37, 44, 47, 137–
8, 145, 147–8. On the ritual mourning of women in Roman culture, see Erker 2011: 42–60, esp.
45, and Panoussi 2019: 85–113. Though sometimes associated with the emotional and the
irrational in Roman culture, lamentation “renders women’s bodies visible, female pain audible,
and their actions within the context of death ritual politically and culturally transformative”
(Panoussi 2019: 87; see also Seremetakis 1991: 59–76, 227–3). The chiastic structure here plays
on the homophones “morning” and “mourning,” reversing the word order to jump between an
English idiom (morning ritual) and a Roman cultural concept (ritual mourning). Ovid uses a similar
Larres – 30 chiastic structure at 23–4 locus ipse … / ipse locus , though his emphasizes the distortion of
Ariadne’s echo rather than a distinction in meaning. For Ovid repetition throughout the poem is
emphatic and employs pathetic fallacy to make the place seem to sympathize with Ariadne. Within
my single, short lyric Ariadne’s entire situation has changed from safe and familiar to distressed
and grief-stricken, reflecting the swift, dactylic rhythm of Ep. 10.11–12 and Ariadne’s abrupt shift
in attitude upon waking up to terror and loss (13–16).
13 Empty shorelines, empty sheets: cf. the empty bed (11–12 nullus erat … nullus erat ) and
empty beach (18 quod uideant oculi, nil nisi litus habent ) in Ovid.
14 I shout your name: cf. 21–3 clamanti … ‘Theseu’… uocabat , 34 Thesea uoce uoco . Note also
the repeated use of Theseus’ name in the vocative (3, 10, 21, 35, 75, 101, 149). only echoes answer me: cf. Ep. 10.21–4, in which Ariadne calls and the land itself echoes Theseus’ name. The
Latin abounds with echoed/redoubled elements, e.g., 11–12 nullus erat … nullus erat , 23–4 locus
ipse … ipse locus , 33–4 excitor … excitor , 34 uoce uoco , 56 duo … duos , 57 ambo … ambo , 93 si
… si , 94 multa … multa , 103–4 fila … fila , 109–10 illic … illic … illic , 111–15 crudeles … crudeles
… crudelis . On Ariadne as sola, grammatically singular and physically alone among a pileup of
grammatical plurals throughout Ovid’s poem, see Bolton 1994: 47–8. See 15n. below for further
discussion of echoes. The echoes here also emphasize how different Ariadne’s situation is from
Penelope’s (cf. 1n.). Ariadne is utterly alone on the island; once Theseus crosses the horizon, no
other living being is visible in her world (Bolton 1994: 46), let alone travelers that she might solicit to send a message to the man that has abandoned her.
Larres – 31 15 Woah (woah): echoes in Roman literature metapoetically suggest intertextual and/or
intratextual references, as Latin texts can be construed as clever echoes of previous iterations of a
story in Greek or Latin source texts (Barchiesi 2001: 139–40, Hinds 1998: 5–10; for the echo as a
mode of allusion in Renaissance and post-Renaissance literature, see Hollander 1981). Echoes may be suggested by anaphora (see the examples in 14n. above) or made explicit through description
(as at Ep. 10.21–4; Cowan 2017: 14). My decision to slowly build up layer upon layer of echoes
with each interlude metapoetically reflects how the canon of poems surrounding Ariadne grows
larger and more diverse with each new interpretation (e.g., Homer’s, Hesiod’s, Callimachus’,
Catullus’, Ovid’s, my own). In programmatic terms, from this first echoing interlude I establish
the metapoetic and conceptual importance of the echo throughout my collection of song-
translations.The echo shapes and distorts the contours of an original sound, rather than perfectly
replicating it. Likewise, I subject the primary source material to revisionary metamorphosis,
simultaneously acknowledging the ancient source material and imbuing it with my own musical
and conceptual perspective. In other words, these echoes are not mere imitations. The voices which bounce back to Ariadne have warped and shifted, harmonizing and changing the melody so much
that her own calls are increasingly altered in each interlude. This is because the impact of
intertextuality is not uni-directional; it is not only the later text that is affected, but intertextuality
also has the power to (re)shape interpretation of its source (for the two-way intertextuality of
translations and their capacity for recontextualizing and reinterpreting the source text, see Hinds
1998, Hardwick 2008, Martindale 2008, Venuti 2008). On the sources of Heroides 10, both
Catullus and older Latin and Greek sources (esp. Callimachus), see my Translator’s Statement, p.
18, as well as Riese 1866, Maass 1889: 528–9, Anderson 1896: 76–90, Jacobson 1974: 213–15,
Knox 1995: 233–5, Knox 1998. On the women of the Heroides as “self-consciously grounded in
Larres – 32 their literary experiences of the past” (Knox 1998: 73), see Kennedy 1984, Barchiesi 1992: 15–41,
and Knox 1995: 18–25.
16–17 This one … we suffer: cf. Ep. 10.79–80: nunc ego non tantum quae sum passura recordor,
/ sed quaecumque potest ulla relicta pati. This couplet is considered banal and suspect by some editors due to its generality (Palmer 377 79–80n.; Knox 1995: 247). Verducci by contrast considers it evidence of Ariadne as Ovid’s “purest parody” of the abandoned woman (1985: 246). Lindheim suggests that the couplet recasts Catullus 64.143–7, a creative choice which actively draws attention to the “haunting similarity” of the women in Ovid’s Heroides (2003: 216 41n.) . I have here drawn on the generalizing power of this couplet to make a programmatic statement about the concept album as a whole, which is sung by, and intratextually to (Fulkerson 2005), women who have fallen in love, been abandoned, and now suffer the dangers associated with that abandonment.
The voices of these abandoned women are uniquely powerful and frightening in that they reflect a double sense of abandonment: (1) left behind and forsaken; and (2) unrestrained or shameless.
Abandoned women have been “given up” by the ones who held control over them and simultaneously delivered into their own control. They are accordingly dangerous and unpredictable (Lipking 1988: xvii; see also Ep. 10.1–31). In my piece Ariadne takes hold of this newfound power with both hands, using it to potentially destroy the reputation of the man who has abandoned her (see lyrics 43–51 and nn.). Ariadne’s lyrics share some similarities with those victims of abuse who have disclosed their stories within the #MeToo movement. Like them
Ariadne shows an uncompromising reclamation of agency. Telling her side of the story grants her some modicum of power over her abuser and raises doubts about his social and moral standing.
Larres – 33 16 sisters functions on multiple levels. First, it is a standard rhetorical device in song lyrics for the
singer to refer to a general female audience as “sisters.” This term is often used by a female singer
in a way that suggests a universal sisterhood, in which one may converse with, complain to, advise,
and otherwise address an audience of (unassociated) women as though they are intimate members
of the same family. Such a use is suggestive of the women in the Heroides and in my concept
album, who are simultaneously unknown to each other and yet closely associated due to their
situations (and the intervention of Ovid and myself). Further, Fulkerson suggests that Ovid writes
his heroines as reading, and being influenced by, each other’s letters (2005). Within the conceptual
framework of my album, the other heroines collectively form a more specific audience to which
Ariadne’s term “sisters” applies. This assumed solidarity notwithstanding, it cannot be ignored
that Ariadne’s own biological sister and fellow letter-writer ( Ep. 4), Phaedra, will eventually marry
Theseus. During one of Theseus’ prolonged absences, Phaedra will fall in love with his son
Hippolytus and attempt to seduce him, leading to her ultimate rejection and suicide. Fulkerson has
convincingly argued (2005: 122–42) that Ovid’s Phaedra reads Ariadne’s poem while she is
vulnerable to feelings of abandonment during Theseus’ absence, which in turn shapes her perception of her own reality. She repeatedly misappropriates Ariadne’s language and situation to paint herself as a virgin falling in love for the first time, though simultaneously a woman
abandoned by her lover, Theseus. Thus, Ariadne’s use of the word “sisters” in my version is particularly poignant. She may be speaking generally, but her sister Phaedra will eventually take
this line as a personal address and seek to bend her own reality to fit the world of Ariadne’s song—
a decision which results in her own death.
Larres – 34 17 The ones abandoned conflates being in love with being abandoned. This serves as further fuel for Phaedra’s assumptions about her own relationship with Theseus (see 16n.). the dangers we suffer: cf. Ariadne’s detailed list of the dangers which might befall an abandoned woman at
Ep. 10.81–108.
18 When my lungs run out / Can you hear the beat in my chest: cf. 37–8 quod uoci deerat, plangore replebam. / uerbera cum uerbis mixta fuere meis. These lyrics both translate the Latin
and engage with two popular lyric tropes in modern music: “screaming at the top of the lungs /
until the lungs give out” and “feeling the beat/rhythm in one’s chest.” I take the physical act of beating the chest in ritual mourning as supplying the rhythm over which Ariadne crafts her song.
19 Change your course, turn around, turn around: the central theme of Ariadne’s message to
Theseus. She does not show any interest in saving or rekindling the love between herself and
Theseus, nor does she recount the story of their meeting and falling in love, even as a rhetorical
device. Their love is “not merely extinguished; it is as if it never were” (Jacobson 1974: 225–6;
Isbell 1990: 89). While this may be a rhetorical ploy by Ovid’s Ariadne, who recognizes that
language of love is likely to deter Theseus rather than bring him back, I have (re)interpreted
Ariadne as fundamentally and genuinely concerned not with love, but with survival (Ep. 10.133,
143–4, 149), or at the very least a proper burial (119–124, 150; Jacobson 1974: 226). Both depend
upon being rescued, and Theseus is the only human being who is (at least temporarily) in her
sphere of the world. The theme of “turning around” is highlighted both semantically and phonically
in Ep. 10. Ariadne explicitly asks Theseus to turn around and recover her (35 reuertere , 36 flecte ,
149 flecte ratem, Theseu, uersoque relabere uelo ). Furthermore, the entire letter is filled with
Larres – 35 repetition (see 14n.) and with the sound “re” (as a prefix, e.g., 11 referoque … retempto , 22 reddebant , 37 replebam , 51 repeto , 56 redde , 79 recordor , 80 relicta , 89 religer , 103 reditus , 104 relecta , etc.; and infinitive or syncopated endings, e.g., 4 tulere, 35 reuertere, 40 dedere, 54 intepuere , 98 timere , 151 relabere ). This motif of “re” reaches its height in 71 mo rerere re curuo.
In its context, this cacemphaton describes the labyrinth by emphasizing its maze-like propensity
to fold back on itself (see further Coleman 2010). This phrase ties in thematically with the rest of
Heroides 10: with its many windings, the Labyrinth would reasonably be expected to echo
(Coleman 2010: 284; see 15n. above), much like the landscape of the island on which Ariadne
finds herself trapped. Further, this phrase underscores the importance of the sound “re.” The
entirety of the poem seems to echo Ariadne’s own voice over and over again, shouting “back, back, turn back!” When this exhortation is placed within the chorus of the song, it becomes
ambiguous exactly to whom it is addressed. Is Ariadne speaking to Theseus, demanding that he
turn around? Or is she addressing her “sisters,” i.e., any woman in her audience who happens to be in love, and exhorting them to change their course, to turn around and leave the relationship before they too end up abandoned and suffering (lyrics 16–17)? These are words which her sister
Phaedra might easily take to heart (see 16n.).
20 Woah (woah): see 15n. above.
21–7 History … breathless: this verse explores the concept of Ariadne’s narrative voice. She recognizes that Theseus will be allowed to tell his side of the story ( Ep. 10.125–30). Ovid’s own project gives Ariadne a voice, but since she is stranded on an island without a soul to tell her
version of events to, it is unclear how successful her account will be. Further, even if her words
Larres – 36 are able to reach anyone, we as the (external) audience are familiar with the canonical version of
the story, and thus may be predisposed to discount her telling (Fulkerson 2016: 42–3). On Ariadne
finding (and faltering over) her poetic voice in Heroides 10, see Pieper 2012.
21 History is on your side: cf. 105 stat Victoria tecum . The term “Victory” has here been replaced by “history” to make use of the English idiom. Victoria will be picked up again in line 22 of the
lyrics.
22–3 The victor … die: on “victor,” cf. Ep. 10.71 uictor and 105 (see 21n.). For Theseus
recounting his heroic deeds to an audience upon his arrival home and Ariadne urging him to
include his despicable abandonment of her among his titulis, cf. Ep. 10.125–30 (esp. 129–30 me
quoque narrato sola tellure relictam / non ego sum titulis subripienda tuis ). tell them: cf.
the future imperative (129 narrato ) used in legal documents such as the Twelve Tables (cf. 42n.).
Ovid’s Ariadne seeks to reclaim power and agency over her own narrative through the
appropriation of legalistic language. She also (sarcastically or not) characterizes herself as one of
Theseus’ tituli (130), a name or title of honor. My Ariadne has abandoned all pretense of boosting
Theseus’ ego by calling herself an honor or prize to be won. She instead uses the authoritative
voice now accessible to her via the radio to exert her authority over him.
24 Trust the wind to turn against me: cf. Ariadne’s description of sleep, wind, and trust (117 somnus uentusque fidesque ) betraying her. These lyrics are also colored by her depiction of the
wind as cruel (see 6–7n.). In Ariadne’s eyes, the wind is maliciously working against her in that
it has “turned” Theseus the wrong direction and is aiding his journey away from her by filling
Larres – 37 Theseus’ sails (30 praecipiti carbasa tenta Noto ). This contradicts her repeated calls to Theseus to
turn his boat around again (see 19n.). Cf. also the simile at Ep. 10.139–40 in which Ariadne
compares herself to crops being blasted by the wind, which causes her to tremble so much that it becomes difficult to write.
25 Snatching every word from my lips: cf. 130 subripienda, 139–40 (see 24n. above). This lyric reinforces the idea that Theseus will get to tell his side of the story, while Ariadne struggles to be heard. Since Ariadne conceives of the wind as assisting Theseus in his escape (see 6–7, 24nn.), it makes logical sense to her that the wind would also help silence her voice. This lyric also functions programmatically to allusively explain how the wind came to function as narrator of these women’s stories. Ariadne assumes that the wind is “snatching away” her words in order to prevent them from reaching Theseus. Within the context of the album, however, it becomes clear that the wind is gathering up her words in order to tell her story, not conceal it. Further, Verse 4 will show
Ariadne “broadcasting” her voice over “radio waves,” which travel via the air. This more altruistic role of the wind is emphasized by the intratextual echo in the “Intro”: “I have swept up howls in
the night like autumn leaves / The voices of the victims get tangled up in me” (4–5).
26 I scream for you: see 14n.
27 Til the boat disappears: cf. 43 oculis ereptus eras . breathless: cf. 121 spiritus infelix peregrinas ibit in auras . My literal interpretation of spiritus reinforces the imagery of “Snatching
every word from my lips” (25) and intertextually recalls the “Intro” in which the Wind states: “I
Larres – 38 breathe their stories” (6). Ariadne breathes out her story and the wind breathes it in, “snatching
up” her words to retell them in a new manner.
28 Oh (oh): see 15n. While the echo motif is still present, it has been dampened and simplified because Ariadne becomes “breathless” as the full reality of the situation strikes her. Cf. also 32 frigidior glacie semianimisque fui for Ariadne’s “frozen” reaction upon seeing the ship leaving
without her. As the echo interlude proceeds, the voices swiftly grow in strength, becoming more
animated and angry to reflect 33 nec languere diu patitur dolor; excitor illo . This increase in volume and fury prepares the listener for the message of Verse 4 (cf. 34 excitor et summa Thesea uoce uoco ).
29 So now I’m reaching through the radio waves: a twist on 146 infelix tendo trans freta longa
manus . Rather than reaching across the waves of the sea as in Ovid’s version, my Ariadne transmits
her message in a manner suited to the new musical medium in which she sings.
30 I broadcast my signal: an over-grammatical translation of 40 iactatae late signa (“cast broadly
signals”) opens up space for an entirely new interpretation. Ariadne is no longer simply waving
her arms to catch the attention of the crew; instead, she seeks to “broadcast signals” over the radio,
in the hope of reaching a much wider audience.
31 isolation: cf. Ep. 10.47, 59, 129 sola . See Bolton 1994 and 14n. above. killing me slowly: cf. 82 morsque minus poenae quam mora mortis habet .
Larres – 39 32 I’ll kill your reputation: my addition. Cf. Vergil’s Dido, dangerous in her grief, who considers pursuing and attacking the Trojans, killing Aeneas, or even slaughtering his men and his son
Ascanius to feed to him once she realizes she is being abandoned (4.590–629). The correlation of
“killing me slowly” (31) and this line at first suggests that Ariadne’s only motive is vengeance.
But from the choruses (“change your course, turn around,” 19, 38) we understand that this is not quite correct. Ariadne’s precise motives for this tactic will become apparent over the remainder of the song, beginning with lyric 33.
33 An open letter … open grave: Ariadne’s real motivation begins to emerge, though it is still
wrapped up in vengeful language. She is fundamentally concerned with survival, or at least with
receiving a proper burial (see. 19n.). An open letter: a play both on Ovid’s own epistolary
framework, as well as the new format in which I present Ariadne’s story. During the first half of
the song the listener may have assumed that Ariadne is simply shouting to Theseus from the island
and that her voice will never carry far enough to reach him or anyone else. But after hearing Verses
3 and 4, we understand that Ariadne is “reaching through the radio waves” (29) and “broadcasting
her signal” (30). It seems quite possible that she has an extensive audience for her story. This
grants her a far greater capacity to impact both Theseus’ reputation and the way that people receive
his version of the story (cf. 15n. on translated texts impacting their source texts’ interpretation and
reception). Ariadne is setting herself up as a threat to Theseus’ renown, a social concept of
fundamental importance in the Greco-Roman male, heroic ethos.
34 Woah (woah): see 15n.
Larres – 40 35 This one goes out to my sisters in love: see 16, 16–17nn. Though the first line of the second
chorus remains the same as that of the first, Verses 3 and 4 have refined our understanding of it.
My previous interpretations of universal sisterhood and the influence on Phaedra’s mentality are
still in effect (16, 16–17nn.), but a new layer has been added. If Theseus were Ariadne’s only potential audience, the use of the term “sisters” in that case would be merely poignant and sad, a
melody and a warning sung to those who will never hear nor heed it. Now that we know she is broadcasting her message, we realize that Ariadne is genuinely addressing a female audience.
36 I’ve been abandoned and I’ll make him suffer: altering lyric 17 so that Ariadne is specifically referring to her own situation. She will make Theseus suffer by destroying his reputation. Because
Ariadne has read the previous versions of the myth, including Ovid’s, she recognizes that simply asking Theseus to honor cultural and moral customs by giving her a proper burial will not be
sufficient (see 15n.). My Ariadne has changed tacks, and intends to shame Theseus into returning
for her or giving her a proper burial.
37 Before my lungs run out here’s my final request: a variation on the line from Chorus 1 (lyric
18 and n.), this time suggesting death rather than simply breathlessness from shouting. This shift
alludes to the closural importance of mors in Latin poetry, as exemplified by the end of Ep. 10.
final request: cf. 150 si prius occidero, tu tamen ossa feres . My phrasing suggests that
Ariadne has been wrongfully placed on death row; if so, she is allowed to make one final request from her executioner (cf. 115 necauit ). If she must die, she wants Theseus to turn around (lyric 38)
and at least recover/bury her body (lyrics 39–51, esp. 46 and 51; Ep. 10.149–50).
Larres – 41 38 Change your course, turn around, turn around: see 19, 37nn.
39 Let this recording be the black mark on your record: according to the myth, Theseus forgets
to change the black sails of his ship for white ones, the pre-arranged signal to alert his father
Aegeus to his success in killing the minotaur and his safe return. Aegeus sat on the cliffs above
the port every day watching for Theseus’ ship. Upon seeing the black sails he despaired and threw
himself into the sea. Some versions of the myth suggest that Theseus’ forgetfulness was either the
same sort of amnesia that led to Ariadne’s abandonment, or that it was a punishment from the gods
called down by the curses of Ariadne. While this lyric focuses primarily on harming Theseus’
reputation, the specific phrase “black mark” makes subtle reference to his tragic return. Ariadne’s
message blackens the hero’s previously “white” reputation, leading us to question other accounts
of the myth. Is the black/white sails motif Theseus’ invention? Radio waves travel through the air
at the speed of light; if Ariadne’s version of the story reached Aegeus before Theseus himself
could arrive, the injury to Theseus’ reputation might have been enough to drive Aegeus to the breaking point. The “black mark” of Ariadne’s message is all that Aegeus can perceive, and he
commits suicide before Theseus can arrive and amend the “misinterpretation.” Cf. Ep. 10.40 signa,
a word which may sometimes be translated as “mark,” and the 53 uestigia left by Theseus in the bed. See also 41n. below and Knox 1995: 241 on candidaque … uelamina as subtly suggesting the
white sails which Theseus will forget to raise. The “black mark” is also suggestive of the censuria
nota , a “note” from the Roman censors that stated publicly a citizen’s discreditable conduct. The
sanctions imposed by a nota were not punitive, but often had a negative impact on that citizen’s
social standing. Ariadne thus appropriates a powerful weapon of elite male political discourse by placing a “black mark” on Theseus’ reputation (cf. 40n.). Her nota, however, will be viewed and
Larres – 42 discussed not by the male elite, but by other women. recording/record: a play on the
different meanings of the word “record.” Ariadne’s story impacts Theseus reputation (the “record”
of his achievements), but her musical voice also interrupts his own poetic/musical telling of the
story (the disc “record” he might have made, his own musical telling of the story). Note also the
difference in pronunciation between verb (recording) and noun (record), similar to Ovid’s own playful figura etymologica, 34 uoce uoco . The etymology of “record” also reinforces her point.
Ariadne calls to mind (79 recordor ) Theseus’ misdeeds and thereby recovers her heart ( re- + cor )
from his treacherous grasp (cf. lyrics 2–3).
40 the only thing you’ll ever be remembered for: an intensification of Ariadne’s request in Ovid
not to leave her out of the story (129–30 me quoque narrato sola tellure relictam: / non ego sum
titulis subripienda tuis ). Rather than asking not to be the “only thing” ( sola here modifies tellure by hypallage) taken out of the narrative, my Ariadne wants her abandonment to be the only deed
associated with Theseus’ name. She will scratch every one of Theseus’ heroic achievements from
the historical/mythological record, a kind of partial damnatio memoriae. This interpretation is
strengthened by Ovid’s use of titulis, “titles/inscriptions,” as inscriptions were often destroyed as
a means of achieving damnatio memoriae. On the practice of damnatio memoriae as a way of
simultaneously cancelling and condemning an individual by destroying or altering public records
and images of them, see Varner 2004, esp. 1–20, Calomino 2021. Ariadne is once again
appropriating an instrument of elite male Roman power, in this case the senatorial prerogative to
enforce damnatio memoriae on Theseus (cf. 39n.).
Larres – 43 41 on the air: another programmatic statement referring to the role of the wind as the medium
through which Ariadne’s narrative passes to reach its audience. let me be candid: cf. 41
candidaque … uelamina, which suggests Theseus’ white sails (see 39n.). Ariadne’s phrasing here
also insinuates that her own version of the story is the honest or “true” version, subtly discrediting any opposing claims Theseus might make. Theseus: vocative; see 14n.
42 treacherous: cf. 6 insidiate , 35 scelerate , 76 periuri … uiri , 77 improbe , 115–16 dextera crudelis … et data poscenti, nomen inane, fides . Cf. also 58 perfide used of the bed, but in a transferred sense almost certainly refers to Theseus (Knox 1995: 243). if you don’t come back for me: protasis of a conditional completed by lyrics 43–4. This conditional also reflects the final line of the poem ( Ep. 10.150 si prius occidero, tu tamen ossa feres ), and sets up the central purpose of Ariadne’s message. She has broadcast her message to anyone that tunes in. Either he
will return and save her (or give her a burial) and simultaneously preserve his reputation, or his
reputation will be forever ruined. Her phrasing is also suggestive of the legalistic terms found in
the Twelve Tables. These laws are expressed using conditional statements coupled with future
imperatives (cf. 22–3n.), a vernacular which Ariadne employs here in order to underscore her
threat.
43–4 Apodosis of the conditional in lyric 42. See 39, 40, 42nn.
45–6 If you don’t … the shore: cf. Ep. 10.150 si prius occidero, tu tamen ossa feres. This lyric
functions on two levels. First, it makes use of the English idiom “skeleton in the closet,” i.e., an
undisclosed fact about a person that, if revealed, would damage their reputation. On a deeper level,
Larres – 44 this suggests Ariadne’s potential death and her preoccupation with a proper burial in Ovid’s
rendition (cf. Ep. 10.119–24, 150). The suggestion is that she may literally die and decompose— but if Theseus does not return to save or bury her, her radio message will ensure that she becomes
the figurative skeleton that will not remain in his closet.
47–51 This final section in which the outro and the countermelody blend together is very carefully
constructed, layering recording upon recording in a way that requires time, planning, and effort—
and, most incongruous of all, recording equipment (see 4n.). This mirrors the artifice of Ovid’s
epistolary genre, in which the heroines seek to appear naturalistic and uncontrived, yet build
impressive rhetorical and poetic devices into their messages. The layered voices in the outro and
countermelody also suggest the multitude of women’s voices and messages which are to follow in
the rest of the concept album.
47 Sing it for my sisters: see 16–17, 16nn. The lyric reemphasizes both the musical format of the message and the larger target audience.
48b–51b A reworking of Chorus 1 (see 16–17, 16, 17, 18, 19nn.). In conjunction with the outro,
this countermelody weaves together the main themes of the song: Ariadne’s audience, the
ambiguous exhortation to the women/Theseus to turn around (see 19n.), the ransom of Theseus’
reputation for her own salvation or burial, and the programmatic nature of this piece as a
“recording” and prototype of the songs of abandoned women throughout the album (see 16–17n.,
Translator’s Statement, p. 21).
Larres – 45 48–9 See 39, 40, 43–4nn.
50–1 See. 45–6n.
Larres – 46 CHAPTER 2: CANACE – “THE SICKNESS OF A CHILD”
Translator’s Statement
Heroides 11 details the misfortunes which befall Canace, daughter of King Aeolus,
following her incestuous love affair with her brother Macareus. Ovid’s primary source is almost
certainly Euripides’ Aeolus (Jacobson 1974: 160–1 and nn.) , a tragedy of which only a few fragments survive (frr. 14–41 Nauck). Euripides’ play is thought to be the canonical work which memorialized Canace’s story (Knox 1995: 257), but its precise details are hazy. Our evidence for the progression of the plot derives from three primary sources: (1) a hypothesis in the Oxyrhynchus
Papyrus; (2) summaries in Sostratus’ Tyrrenica (recorded in Stobaeus); and (3) Pseudo-Plutarch’s
Parallela Minora (Karamanou and Mimidou 2014: 1).
The play appears to be a conflation of two earlier myths, one in which Canace is the daughter of Aeolus, king of Thessaly, and a second which identifies the king of Thessaly as the ruler of the winds. The result is that Euripides identifies Canace as the daughter of Aeolus, who is also the ruler of the winds, and the tradition which succeeds him follows suit (Williams 1992:
201). The essential points of the plot, with some variation among the sources listed above, are as follows: King Aeolus has an equal number of sons and daughters, among which are Canace and
Macareus. Macareus rapes his sister Canace and she conceives a child. She feigns sickness to avoid suspicion during her pregnancy, during which time Macareus deceptively convinces their father to give his daughters in marriage to his sons. Aeolus gathers his sons to draw lots for their wives, but
Macareus fails to draw Canace’s.
Pseudo-Plutarch reports that Aeolus, upon discovering that Canace had given birth (and, in Stobaeus’ version, that the relationship was incestuous), then sent her a sword. Canace interpreted this action as a command and duly killed herself. Stobaeus also asserts that in the
Larres – 47 meantime Macareus approached his father a second time––likely to explain the situation, to
appease him, and to secure Canace’s safety and marriage. Williams argues that these entreaties
were successful, since Macareus ran (ἔδραμεν) to reach Canace in time (1992: 204). He
unfortunately arrived too late, at which point he took up the sword and killed himself in the same
manner.
Ovid utilizes the epistolary framework to vastly increase dramatic irony in Heroides 11. A
letter captures, as it were, a crystallized, pivotal moment in time. Because Ovid’s Canace is
composing this letter immediately before her suicide, a reader familiar with Euripides’ version will
recognize the climactic buildup of events around which this moment hinges. That is, Aeolus has
already sent the sword, but we know from Stobaeus that Macareus has just succeeded in persuading
their father to show mercy and to allow Canace and Macareus to get married. As we read Heroides
11, we feel the pressure of these external circumstances of which Canace has no knowledge, and this heightens the tension and the tragedy of her situation (Williams 1992). If Canace had only hesitated for a few minutes, had been less swift to obey, had put more thought into her decision,
Macareus might have arrived in time to save her.
Some scholars assert that this lack of deep contemplation is characteristic of Ovid’s
Canace. This view sometimes takes on positive forms, as when Palmer (2005b: 381) and Jacobson
(1974: 159) praise the unique sensitivity and pathos with which Ovid handles the story. Jacobson even asserts, “[t]he poem is testimony to Ovid’s ability, which he did not often exploit, to profit from tact, restraint, and self-control” (1974: 159). Verducci proposes a psychological interpretation, namely that Canace suffers from a kind of “reverse megalomania” (1985: 212).
Amidst the legendary heroines of the collection who display intense passion, perception, and rhetoric, Ovid has intentionally crafted a Canace who is disinclined to any form of self-
Larres – 48 examination. The disconnected, factual (rather than emotional) manner in which she relates her
story creates a “preposterous illusion of normalcy” which clashes with the tragic circumstances
and reinforces her “banal simplicity” (Verducci 1985: 209). Canace is not so much a woman
writing a letter as she is the image, the very caricature of a heroine in Ovid’s collection, and she
describes herself accordingly (5 scribentis imago ).
In Euripides’ play Macareus is described as either raping, or at the very least seducing, an
unwilling Canace (διέφθειρεν, Oxyrhynchus Papyrus 2457; see Jacobson 162–3 for discussion).
Ovid by contrast is the first to portray Canace as being deeply in love with her brother (25–36,
121, 125–6; cf. 11.5n. below), a choice which heightens the dramatic tension of the episode. Not
only does Canace commit suicide unnecessarily, but the life which she gives up might have
included a marriage to a person she passionately loves.
The portrayal of a couple who are equally in love with one another and also aware of that
love is unique among the single Heroides . This has a powerful impact on Canace’s letter in that
her expected querela cannot be directed at the expected target, her lover Macareus (cf. 2n.).
Instead, Canace’s ire—and a large portion of the letter—is aimed at condemning the cruelty and
intemperance of her father Aeolus. The king of the winds looms large in Canace’s letter as the
cause, even the “author” of the work (8 auctorisque oculis exigeretur opus ). It is his command that compels her to commit suicide, a command which Canace does not seem to have even considered disobeying. It is significant that the final word of the poem, which marks the end of Canace’s life, is 128 patris .
Also unique to Heroides 11 is Canace’s abortion attempt (37–44, Verducci 1985: 214).
Abortion and exposure—abandoning a child to the elements after its birth—were far from uncommon in the ancient world, as physical, social, and moral pressures came to bear on young
Larres – 49 Roman women. Our modern sensibilities recoil when faced with what we perceive as the
ruthlessness of Greco-Roman parents. While we should always bring a critical eye to issues of
morality in ancient times as much as our own, we must not ignore key aspects of the surrounding
circumstances. First, during Ovid’s time bringing a child to term and then exposing it seems to
have been a safer alternative for the mother than abortifacients, though this would increase the
danger of an unwanted pregnancy—and in many cases its underlying sexual misconduct—being
discovered (cf. 26–8, 43.5nn.). Both abortion and the exposure of infants were often the result of
an extremely difficult set of circumstances for parents, and the killing or even abandonment of a
child after it had already been accepted into a family “seems to have been a horrific event in the
Greco-Roman world” (Harris 1994: 2). Nevertheless, Roman law was permissive regarding
abortion during Ovid’s time, in sharp contrast with the arguments of the Christian apologists which
arose over the next few centuries. Ovid occupies a middle ground between the two, and appears to
reflect the general (aristocratic male) opinion on abortion in Roman society (Watts 1973).
Heroides 11 is not Ovid’s only treatment of abortion in his poetry, as he also discusses the topic in Amores 2.13–14. In Am. 2.13 Ovid is frightened for his girl, Corinna, who has endangered her own life by undertaking a dangerous abortion without his knowledge. Like Canace she has hidden this attempt from her lover. As in Ep. 11.41–8, Am. 2.14 portrays abortion in militaristic
terms, as though the mother is waging war on her unborn child. Overall, both Amores 2.13–14 and
Heroides 11 cast abortion in a negative light; Ovid even aggressively condemns the prima
inuentrix of abortion: “she who first instituted the practice of tearing tender infants from the womb deserved to die by her own warlike tactics” ( Am. 2.14.5–6). Abortion, Ovid states, might have wiped out great geniuses and leaders of history, including Achilles, Aeneas, Romulus and Remus, as well as Corinna and (perish the thought!) Ovid himself ( Am. 2.14). Yet nowhere in the Amores
Larres – 50 does Ovid base his argument on the merits and personhood of the child. He focuses instead on the potential harm to Corinna and to himself should she die in the act—for her death would also spell
Ovid’s doom (2.13.15 in una parce duobus ).
In Heroides 11 by contrast, Ovid’s focus within the abortion narrative shifts to the infant itself. Canace’s child is “a will, a volition resisting extinction” (Verducci 1985: 215). The fetus is
43 nimium uiuax , more tenacious of life than its own mother. Likewise, when employing militaristic imagery, the narrative shifts to the child’s perspective rather than Canace’s: 43–4 a, nimium uiuax amotis restitit infans / artibus et tecto tutus ab hoste fuit! (“Oh, too tenacious of life,
the infant withstood the attack with his limbs tucked close, and he was safe from his hidden
enemy”). Canace is the “hidden enemy” from which the infans seeks to escape. This narrative focalization provokes a unique sympathy for the unborn child by identifying the fetus as a human being endowed with personality, capable of perceiving the world around itself.
Scholars disagree on whether or not Heroides 11 should be classified as an “incest poem.”
Some argue that Ovid censures the siblings’ affair (Verducci 1985: 221, Spoth 1992: 108–10), most often by citing 23–4 cur umquam plus me, frater, quam frater amasti, / et tibi, non debet quod soror esse, fui? (“Why, brother, did you ever love me as more than a brother, / and why did
I become to you what a sister ought not to be?”). Jacobson notes that the incest theme is present, but Canace’s inexperience and modest, circuitous language “avoids all mention of a lovers’ relationship” (1974: 168–70, for example). Still others argue that Heroides 11 is not an incest poem
at all, since Ovid describes Canace’s and Macareus’ relationship as if it were a normal love affair.
Their tragic end is portrayed as the unlucky result of misfortune, not as a necessary punishment
for moral deviation (Philippides 1996). It is this last view that most informs my own piece. While
an observant audience will notice that the relationship is incestual, my Canace gives little to no
Larres – 51 impression that the love she describes for Macareus is forbidden by any moral standard apart from
her father’s disapproval.
Within the context of my concept album, Aeolus takes on a new, metapoetic role. As the proverbial “king of the winds,” Aeolus is the wealthy manager of a well-established internet platform called VENT, an echo of the Latin uentus. Modelled in part after the subreddit AITA
(“Am I the Asshole”), VENT allows users to post short audio or video recordings explaining a
challenging situation in which they find themselves. Other users may offer assistance, comfort, or
simply an outsider’s perspective on the situation. Aeolus’ proclamation of Canace’s crimes takes
the form of a public announcement on his own website, in which he lays out what he considers the
course of events, to effectively denounce his daughter. Canace’s letter in turn is a suicide note posted privately on VENT, in which she tags only her brother. Macareus then makes the post public, revealing Canace’s side of the story to the world. This aspect of the piece has not made its
way into the demo presented at the thesis defense, but will be added as the essential framework of
the song in the near future.
In composing this song-translation I have chosen to focus on the theme of filicide which underpins Heroides 11. There are three instances of (attempted or successful) filicide throughout the poem, each one more violent and warped than the last. First, Canace attempts to abort her own child to avoid the shame, guilt, and potential suicide which will be imposed upon her. In terms of
Roman law, if not cultural opinion, her line of reasoning and her timing are practical—though
Ovid portrays them in a negative and tragic light. Second, Aeolus finds and exposes the child just after its birth, abandoning it to the wolves. His choice is more horrific than Canace’s, not only because he is murdering his own grandson, but because both mother and father want to keep the child . And finally, Aeolus compels his own daughter to commit suicide. His actions seem to stem
Larres – 52 from the belief that a paterfamilias has the right to do away with a child of any age at the first sign of their becoming a threat to his social, moral, or physical wellbeing (cf. 46–9, 48nn.).
Abortion and infant exposure were not prohibited during Ovid’s time, nor was exposure a private, secret act of abandonment by a mother of an illegitimate child. Instead, exposure was technically identified as:
… a system recognized by law and society, under which it was possible for a man of wealth and standing to order his legitimate children to be abandoned, presumably to die, simply because he had enough already or for some other reason did not care to accept the responsibility for their rearing (Bennett 1923: 342).
Despite the fact that exposure was legal and defined as a fundamental right of the paterfamilias, no example of exposure or reference to it as a Roman practice survives in Republican literature
(345). Children were formally acknowledged in a public ceremony in which the paterfamilias
“raises” ( tollere ) a child to signify his acceptance of it and his desire that the child be reared in his household. If the paterfamilias refused to accept the child the other option was exposure—but again, there are no extant cases in literature of a father refusing to raise a child. Hence, while
Aeolus is within his legal rights to refuse to raise his grandchild in the house and to expose it instead, it appears that cultural sentiment would have strongly frowned upon this choice.
Nevertheless, it is not Aeolus’ perspective, but Canace’s that informs both Ep. 11 and my song- translation. Regardless of any legal or cultural norms, Canace desperately wants to keep her child.
Any justifications that Aeolus might make are subordinated to Canace’s deep emotional and psychological response. The fundamental tragedy of this piece is that Canace wants to keep her child and so what Aeolus perceives as reasonable and just Canace perceives as the unwarranted murder of her son.
The three Choruses analyze each filicide from a different perspective—that of Canace, then of Aeolus who believes Canace should be in agreement with him, and finally of Aeolus alone.
Larres – 53 With each iteration it becomes clear that Aeolus uses essentially the same rhetoric for killing
Canace as Canace uses for aborting her child. This choice reflects Ovid’s own pitiable portrayal
of Canace’s attempted abortion, and leads listeners to question where the increasingly blurry line
of morality is drawn.
The song is structured around four distinct Tones which function as a counter-melody to
the verses and provide the rhythmic foundation for the entire piece. These Tones are extremely
consistent, perfectly measured, and all on a single note. What Jacobson calls the “dignity,
calmness, and imperturbability” (1974: 172) and Verducci the “banality” of Canace’s character
my musical choice reinterprets in a different light. Canace is neither thoughtless nor un-reflective.
Instead, the measured, nearly emotionless pattern of the Tones is symptomatic of a young woman
who has been utterly traumatized by a youthful, incestuous relationship, a failed abortion, a near-
fatal delivery, a public denunciation by her father, the subsequent murder of her son, and now the
command to end her own life. Harrowing experiences like these often induce a numbing of perception, along with “a feeling of indifference, emotional detachment, and profound passivity in
which the [victim] relinquishes all initiative and struggle” (Herman 1997: 43). In other words,
Canace is shell-shocked. Her father’s temperamental, impulsive order has not left her any time to process this multifold trauma, and her decision-making is still clouded by a state of psychological
shock. This heightens the dramatic irony in my version, since Canace has been stripped of the
capacity to stop and think clearly and so cannot avoid her own demise.
The past tense narrative of the Verses is laid over the lively present tense of the Tones.
Within this new interpretation the Verses function as Canace’s more active, conscious retelling of
events in her letter to Macareus; the Tones by contrast represent her vivid recollection of the
ordeals she has just undergone, information which underlies and “bleeds through” her message, so
Larres – 54 to speak (cf. Ep. 11.1–2). This musical choice is evocative of a trauma response whereby
“[t]raumatized people feel and act as though their nervous systems have been disconnected from the present” (Herman 1997: 35). Long after the moment has passed, the victim will relive the traumatic event “as though it were continually recurring in the present” (1997: 37; see also 38–
42). This recollection contributes to the cyclical, repetitive quality of the entire piece; as Canace relives the same, not fully processed or understood memories over and over, her perspective on them shifts and clarifies, ebbing and flowing into different nuances of meaning. A key example of this feature and the source of the song title is the phrase “the sickness of a child.” With each Tone, this phrase is recontextualized as a simple cold, as lovesickness, as Canace’s unborn child, and even as Canace herself, viewed through the eyes of a merciless father.
Larres – 55 Canace – “The Sickness of a Child”
To hear the song, double click the sound icon on the right:
Or click here to open the song file in your web browser.
For updated versions of this piece or new additions to the album, click here .
90 BPM; No Capo
TONE 1 C The last words of a daughter 1 G Who is writing to her brother 2 Am Hope this letter finds you well 3 F But well and I were never farther 4 C In my right hand pen and paper 5 G In my left hand is a bottle 6 Am With the pills my father bought 7 F To cure the sickness of a child 8
TONE 1 (Repeated) C For the last words of a daughter 9 G Who is writing to her brother 10 Am Hope this letter finds you well 11 F But well and I were never farther 12 C In my right hand pen and paper 13 G In my left hand is a bottle 14 Am With the pills my father bought 15 F
Larres – 56 To cure the sickness of a child 16
VERSE 1 I was so young 9.5 To catch the bug 10.5 But I fell in love with you 11.5
My skin goes gray 13.5 I waste away 14.5 Darling, I think that I am doomed 15.5
TONE 2 INTRO C For the last words of a daughter 17 G Who’s about to be a mother 18 Am Hope this letter finds you well but 19 F I’m expecting; you’re the father 20
TONE 2 C For the last words of a daughter 21 G Who’s about to be a mother 22 Am Hope this letter finds you well but 23 F I’m expecting; you’re the father 24 C So nobody catches wind of this 25 G I open up the bottle 26 Am With the pills that I have bought 27 F To cure the sickness of a child 28
VERSE 2 I was so young 21.5 We both messed up 22.5
Larres – 57 This is my one secret from you 23.5
I did my best 25.5 To shed this burden 26.5 But he survived and he grew 27.5
CHORUS 1 Am F This was never what I wanted 29 C G This is not the life I signed up for 30 Am F But if he’s gonna make it harder 31 C G Then I don’t want him anymore 32
TONE 3 INTRO C The last words of a daughter 33 G Who’s embarrassing her father 34 Am I am an image to uphold 35 F But now the gossip’s going viral 36
TONE 3 C For the last words of a daughter 37 G Who’s embarrassing her father 38 Am I am an image to uphold 39 F But now the gossip’s going viral 40 C I am trembling and trying 41 G But I cannot break the silence 42 Am Of the words I’m keeping bottled 43 F At the treatment of a child 44
Larres – 58
VERSE 3 My baby screamed 37.5 He begged for mercy 38.5 My father will not be moved 39.5
He’s torn away 41.5 And torn apart 42.5 My child is left to the wolves 43.5
CHORUS 2 And my father said 45 Am F This was never what you wanted 46 C G G# This is not the life you signed up for 47 Am F A child would’ve made it harder 48 C G So we don’t need it anymore 49
TONE 4 INTRO C The last words of a daughter 50 G Who is writing to her brother 51 Am But our dad just called and said that 52 F I’d be better six feet under 53
TONE 4 C Oh, the last words of a daughter 54 G Who is writing to her brother 55 Am But our dad just called and said that 56 F I’d be better six feet under 57 C In my right hand pen and paper 58
Larres – 59 G In my left hand is a bottle 59 Am With the pills my father bought 60 F To cure the sickness of a child 61
VERSE 4 Not one day old 54.5 My son grows cold 55.5 My father has made his point clear 56.5
If you bring pain 58.5 If you bring shame 59.5 You’re no longer welcome here 60.5
TONE 4 OUTRO Am In my right hand pen and paper 62 G In my left hand is a bottle 63 Am With the pills my father bought 64 F To cure the sickness of a child 65
CHORUS 3 And my father says 66 Am F This was never what I wanted 67 C G G# This is not the life I signed up for 68 Am F But if she’s gonna make it harder 69 C G Then I don’t want her anymore 70
FINAL TONE C The last words of a daughter 71 G Who is writing to her brother 72
Larres – 60 Am Hope this letter finds you well 73 F But well and I were never farther 74 C In my right hand pen and paper 75 G In my left hand is a bottle 76 Am With the pills my father bought 77 F To cure the sickness of a child 78
FINAL VERSE Brother, brother dear 72.5 Live on 73.5
I must obey 75.5 Please do the same 76.5 And bury me with my baby 77.5
Larres – 61 Commentary
1–8 While the majority of the Tones form the backdrop over which the main verses are painted
(see Translator’s Statement, pp. 54–5), Tone 1 itself sets the simplistic, rhythmic mood of the piece. It also establishes the key phrases around which the rest of the Tones are built. Each lyric in Tone 1 is reworked, repeated, and/or recontextualized in the Tones that follow, but the most emphatic lines frame the Tone, namely, “The last words of a daughter” (1) and “a bottle / With the pills my father bought / To cure the sickness of a child” (6–8).
1–4 These lyrics are drawn from a couplet which precedes the poem in the manuscript tradition,
and is considered to be a later scribal addition identifying the text (Knox 1995: 73, Palmer 2005:
64): Aeolis Aeolidae quam non habet ipsa salutem / mittit et armata uerba notata manu (“The
daughter of Aeolus sends to the son of Aeolus the greeting (literally “well-being”) which she
herself does not have and words written by a hand holding a weapon”).
1 last words strongly suggests that this letter is a suicide note. daughter: Canace is one of
two heroines who never refers to herself by her own name (the other being Ariadne). She instead
defines herself almost exclusively as the daughter of Aeolus: 5 haec est Aeolidos fratri scribentis
imago (“this is the image of the daughter of Aeolus who is writing to her brother”), 100 hac tua
dote, pater, filia diues erit? (“will your daughter be rich by this dowry of yours, father?”). This
filia-centric self-definition is reinforced by the nurse (34 Aeoli ), and marks the first of Canace’s
three means of identifying herself: as daughter, as sister (cf. 23, 59–61, 105, 121, 127, all either
directly or indirectly from her brother’s perspective), and as mother (cf. 62, 111, 120, 123, and her
focus throughout on the fate of her child). Canace’s relationship with her father clearly takes
Larres – 62 precedence, since she attempts to abort her child in order to remain in his good graces, and will
ultimately obey his order to commit suicide over her brother’s pleas with her to live: 59–60 ‘uiue soror, soror o carissima ’ dixti, / ‘uiue nec unius corpore perde duos! ’ (“‘live, sister, oh sister most dear,’ you said, ‘live and do not destroy two with the body of one!’”). Large sections of the poem are dedicated in whole or in part to Aeolus, whether to censure him, to express fear at his discovery of her crimen, or to dwell on her obedience to his suicide command. There is no part of the poem
which does not reflect his direct or indirect influence on Canace’s actions. The lyric “The last
words of a daughter” helps capture Canace’s self-identity, while also associating her death with
Aeolus, and is repeated at the start of each Tone (1, 9, 17, 21, 29, 33, 37, 50, 54, 71).
2 Who is writing to her brother: cf. 5 Aeolidos fratri scribentis. The querela, the theme which
underpins Ovid’s whole collection, unexpectedly shifts in Ep. 11 from the internal addressee to
another figure: Canace’s father, Aeolus (Jacobson 1974: 164–8, Verducci 1985: 209–10). She may be writing to her brother, but her vehement condemnation of her father’s actions takes up a
significant portion of the letter. While this lyric identifies her brother as the internal addressee, it
gives no indication of their romantic, incestual relationship.
3–4 Hope this letter … never farther: cf. the contested lines introducing the text, 1–4n., where salutem / mittit is a formulaic letter opening, much like the English “hope this letter finds you well.” In both cases, Canace reuses the term for safety or wellness ( salutem ) to show that it does not apply to her situation (2 quam non habet, “well and I were never farther”). The rhetorically dexterous letter of the prostitute Phoenicium to her lover Calidorus at the outset of Plautus’
Pseudolus opens with a similar paronomasia: 41–3 ‘ Phoenicium Calidoro amatori suo … salutem
Larres – 63 inpertit et salutem ex te expetit … ’ (“Phoenicium imparts a salutation/salvation to her lover
Calidorus and longs for a salutation/salvation from you …”).
5 In my right hand pen and paper: cf. armata uerba notata manu (1–4n.) and 3–4 dextra tenet
calamum … / et iacet in gremio charta soluta meo.
6 In my left hand is a bottle: cf. armata uerba notata manu (1–4n.), 3 strictum tenet altera ferrum ,
19–20 num minus infestum, funebria munera, ferrum, / feminea teneo, non mea tela, manu? (“The sword I am holding in my delicate female hand––fatal gifts, weapons not my own—is not any less deadly, is it?”). Though it is not yet obvious from the song itself, I have exchanged Ovid’s sword for a more likely modern suicide method, a drug overdose (cf. 58–61n.).
7–8 With the pills my father bought / to cure the sickness of a child: cf. 6n. sic uideor duro posse placere patri. The bottle (6), the pills, and the “sickness of a child” form a running motif in
the song, and each occurrence of these terms suggests a different interpretation (cf. 26–8, 43, 58–
61nn.). In this Tone, they seem to indicate only that Aeolus purchased medicine for Canace when
she caught a natural, physical illness. There is a subtle focus on the agency of her father, but her
suicidal intent and Aeolus’ active role in her death are not yet apparent.
9–16 The repetition of Tone 1 serves as the rhythmic foundation of Verse 1 (see Translator’s
Statement, pp. 54–5), and its precise meaning shifts under the influence of the Verse 1 lyrics.
10 Who is writing to her brother: cf. 9.5–15.5n.
Larres – 64
15–16 the pills my father bought / to cure the sickness of a child: within the context of Verse 1
(cf. 10.5n.), the “sickness of a child” appears to be Canace’s own lovesickness, for which she
cannot find a cure. The pills purchased by her father may still be construed as medicine for a physical illness, since he is not aware of her actual condition at this point.
9.5–15.5 Verse 1 establishes Canace’s romantic relationship and the manner in which she fell in
love. Her descriptions fit with the elegiac theme of love as sickness (Conte 1994: 43–4). Conte
argues that finding a cure for lovesickness means ceasing to be an (elegiac) poet (1994: 65). In
Canace’s case her father is the one who seeks to provide a “cure,” which may be construed as a
means of stifling her poetic voice and preventing her from relating her side of the story. While
Canace never explicitly points out the incestual relationship between herself and Macareus, the
careful listener can pick up on subtle hints of it. Her brother is the addressee (lyrics 2, 10), and the
referent “you” in Verse 1 (11.5) is clearly a love interest (see Translator’s Statement, pp. 51–2).
9.5 I was so young: emphasizing Canace’s innocence and inexperience with love, as at 31–2 nec,
cur haec facerem, poteram mihi reddere causam, / nec noram, quid amans esset; at illud eram (“I could neither give myself a reason why I was doing these things, nor did I know what it was to be in love—but so I was”). There is also a connection with 21–2 o utinam, Macareu, quae nos commisit in unum, uenisset leto serior hora meo, in that Canace wishes that the hour of their joining had come “later than [her] death.” In effect, she wishes that they had never had sex—not necessarily because it was immoral, but because of the unfortunate consequences that followed
(Verducci 1985: 210–11). Changing up the time phrase (22 leto serior hora meo ) here reframes
Larres – 65 the potential moral dilemma not in terms of incest, but of youth and being ill-prepared for the trials
of love (“I was so young”).
10.5 To catch the bug: this English idiom neatly captures the elegiac trope of love as sickness
found at Ep. 11.27–30 and 38 aegraque, which will be developed in Verse 1 (cf. 13.5–15.5 and
nn. below). “To catch the bug” means either to contract a sickness that is going around, or to
suddenly develop a strong interest in/desire for something. Depending on the context, it can also
have romantic connotations—possibly by association with the colloquial terms “lovebug,”
describing a person who is in love, and “to catch feels,” to develop romantic feelings for someone.
11.5 But I fell in love with you: cf. the description of love symptoms (25–36), esp. 34 ‘Aeoli, ’
dixit ‘amas! ’ (“‘Daugher of Aeolus,’ she said, ‘you’re in love!’”). Jacobson suspects that the portrayal of Canace as equally in love with Macareus, rather than forced or merely tolerant of her brother’s unwelcome advances, is Ovid’s innovation (1974: 162–3).
13.5 My skin goes gray: cf. 27 fugerat ore color.
14.5 I waste away: cf. 27 macies adduxerat artus, / sumebant minimos ora coacta cibos
(“emaciation had shriveled up my limbs, my mouth would take up very little food even when forced”).
15.5 Darling: cf. 59 ‘soror o carissima. ’ While Canace does not directly use endearments for
Macareus, her language toward him is fond and affectionate overall (Jacobson 1974: 163).
Larres – 66 I think that I am doomed: cf. 30 gemitum nullo laesa dolore dabam (“I let out a groan
though I had suffered no wound”). Note also 55 mors erat ante oculos (“death was before my
eyes”) in connection with the approaching birth of her child.
17 Cf. 1n.
18 Who’s about to be a mother: the jump from a simple confession of love directly into pregnancy is extremely abrupt to mirror the rapid shift at 36–7 haec satis in tacita signa fatentis erant. / iamque tumescebant uitiati pondera uentris (“these things were sign enough of one confessing, though I remained silent. And then the weight of my violated womb began to swell”); cf. Casali 1998: 702. Tone 2 may easily be misinterpreted as a new letter to another individual besides Macareus, since it lacks the words “who is writing to a brother” (2, 10). This choice helps to obscure the incestual nature of the relationship (cf. 9.5–15.5n.).
20 I’m expecting: cf. 18n. you’re the father: given that the Tones tap into Canace’s
memory and subconscious more so than the verses (see Translator’s Statement, pp. 54–5), this
lyric functions both as an explanation for the audience and a glimpse into her memory of
announcing her pregnancy to Macareus.
21–4 Cf. 17–20 lyrics and nn.
25 So nobody catches wind of this: leading into the attempted abortion. Cf. also the attempts to conceal the child during (49–54) and after its birth (66 crimina sunt oculis subripienda patris and
Larres – 67 the failed deception at 67–72). This lyric is also metapoetic. As the daughter of Aeolus, king of
the winds, Canace recognizes the wind’s ability to catch up her story and reveal her secrets. Within
the context of this song, the wind represents news reports and the internet at large, either of which
may broadcast her pregnancy and paint her in a negative light due to her youth and unmarried
status.
26–8 Cf. Ep. 11.39–40 quas mihi non herbas, quae non medicamina nutrix / attulit … ? (“What
herbs, what drugs did my nurse not bring to me … ?”). On contraceptives and abortifacients in
ancient Rome, see Riddle 1992: 74–86, Kapparis 2002: 7–31.
26–7 the bottle / with the pills: this phrase takes on a new shade of meaning in Tone 2. The bottle
no longer contains simple cold medicine provided by her father, but abortifacients to prevent the
fetus from coming to term and revealing Canace’s sexual misconduct (cf. 49, 56, 64, 66 crimen ).
27 I have bought: emphasizing Canace’s agency. At the outset, the decision to abort her child is
not her father’s choice, but her own.
28 To cure the sickness of a child: cf. 38 aegraque furtiuum membra grauabat onus (“and a secret burden was weighing down my sick/weak limbs”) . The line from Tone 1 is repeated with a shift in meaning. The word “of” here functions like the phrase “that is” (e.g., the danger of death; cf. the urbs Romae construction in Latin). The child itself now is the “sickness” weighing down
Canace’s limbs, which makes abortifacients the potential “cure.” This interpretation is aided by
Larres – 68 the fact that the child is the result of Canace’s and Macareus’ love affair, which was described
exclusively in terms of “love-sickness” (cf. lyrics 10.5–15.5 and nn. above).
21.5 I was so young: cf. 9.5n. The line retains its previous meanings from lyric 9.5, but in this
new context suggests that Canace is extremely young to be pregnant, and inexperienced in
childbirth: cf. 47–8 nescia quae faceret subitos mihi causa dolores, / et rudis ad partus et nova
miles eram (“I was unaware of what was causing me sudden pains, and inexperienced in childbirth, and a new soldier”). This is particularly poignant in a modern society in which very young girls who become pregnant may have an abortion without their parent’s knowledge due to personal, physical, and social pressures. On abortion rates among teenage girls, see Child Trends 2018. For a brief summary of the arguments for and against notification of parents before abortion, see
McKinney 2021.
22.5 We both messed up: cf. 26–8n. on crimen. 56 crimen may refer to Canace’s and Macareus’
sexual misconduct, or to the result/object representing that misconduct (Lewis and Short crimen
II.B.1), in this case the child itself.
23.5 This is my one secret from you: cf. 41 hoc te celauimus unum .
25.5–6.5 I did my best / To shed this burden: translating 41–2 penitus nostris … / uisceribus
crescens excuteretur onus (“[so that] the growing burden might be shaken out of my inmost
womb”; cf. 26–8n.). Pregnancy is often idiomatically described as a weight, heaviness, or burden
on a woman in Latin (cf. 37 pondera, 38 grauabat onus, 42 onus, 64 onusque ; cf. OLD grauis 2b).
Larres – 69 I have chosen the most negative of these, as the word “burden” in English implies something that
a person would rather be rid of (so, “To shed”).
27.5 But he survived and he grew: cf. 43–4 a, nimium uiuax admotis restitit infans / artibus et
tecto tutus ab hoste fuit! Ovid uses military terminology to describe Canace’s “attack” on her
unborn child, a theme also present throughout his descriptions of abortion in Am. 2.13–14 (See
Translator’s Statement, pp. 50–1). He grew: cf. 37 tumescebant.
29–32 The Choruses are my innovation. They interweave the three instances of attempted or
successful filicide in the poem by focusing on the view of a parent who wishes to be rid of a child.
This first Chorus channels Canace’s perspective, and may garner some sympathy for her situation.
Nevertheless, her decision to describe the fetus as “he/him” rather than “it” subtly undercuts her
own argument that as the parent, she should have total control over the life of her child. The use
of male pronouns presents the fetus as a person rather than an object. This both increases the
listener’s empathy for the fetus and reveals that Canace does have serious qualms about her
decision. In the later Choruses Aeolus will use the same phrasing of Canace and her child, and this
repetition will raise further doubts about the morality of Canace’s own decision.
33 Cf. 1n.
34 Who’s embarrassing her father: emphasizing the central role Aeolus plays in the poem. All
Canace’s actions throughout the song have built up to this point. Her love affair and the child which betrays it are a source of shame not only to herself, but to her father. Canace desperately
Larres – 70 desires her father’s approval, but not out of any respect or affection for him. Rather, being in
Aeolus’ good graces translates to continued safety from harm. Once her affair and child are
discovered, Canace is expected to commit suicide. Her father wants her to restore his honor by this
act; her acknowledgment of this is bitter and almost sarcastic: 6–8 sic uideor duro posse placere patri. / ipse necis cuperem nostrae spectator adesset, / auctorisque oculis exigeretur opus (“in this
way I seem to be capable of pleasing an obstinate father. I would have wished that he were here in person as an audience to my slaughter, and that the work might be completed under the eyes of its
author”). It is followed by a scathing description of her father’s rash, temperamental behavior (9–
16).
35 I am an image to uphold: cf. 5 haec est Aeolidos fratri scribentis imago . Canace describes
herself almost like a painting, a moment frozen in time (3–8; cf. Knox 1995: 259–60). She is a
work of art (8 opus ), and her father is the artist ( auctorisque ). The metaphor implies that Aeolus
has total control of Canace and the manner in which she portrays herself, insofar as she is a
reflection of his own life and the public image he wishes to project. Her lack of autonomy is
emphasized by the phrasing “I am an image to uphold,” rather than “I have an image to uphold.”
But in the very act of obeying her father’s wishes Canace seizes power over her own narrative by
recording it from her own perspective in a suicide note. While she may not have intended to reach
an enormous audience, telling her side of the story frustrates her father’s intention to eliminate her
influence on his life. In death Canace will “paint” Aeolus in a bad light, destroying the reputation
which he hoped to save by cutting both her and her child out of the family picture. She will shatter
the image of the perfect daughter, but will simultaneously destroy Aeolus’ own public image. Lyric
35 also interrupts the end of lyric 34, as Canace is shifting the rhythm and breaking out of the role
Larres – 71 she is expected to fulfil. The word “I” (35) symbolically overtakes and interrupts the word “father”
(34), as Canace begins to replace Aeolus’ perfect portrayal of himself with her own, much less
flattering version of events.
36 But now the gossip’s going viral: cf. 79–80 nostrum uulgat clamore pudorem, / et uix a misero continent ore manus (“He makes my shame public with his shouting, and he can scarcely keep his
hands from my wretched face”). The first iteration of this lyric suggests that Aeolus himself is the
one defacing Canace’s image by publicly denouncing her (cf. Translator’s Statement, p. 52 and
40n. on the shift in meaning).
37–9 Cf. 33, 34, 35nn.
40 But now the gossip’s going viral: cf. 36n. When placed within the heartrending description of
the death of Canace’s child and Aeolus’ ruthless involvement, the meaning of this lyric changes.
In lyric 36 Aeolus sought to ruin Canace’s reputation; now that she has revealed the role he played
in killing his own grandchild, she has turned the onus of public defamation back on him.
viral: the child’s discovery is described in pathological terms, in keeping with the “sickness of a
child” motif (lyric 28). Cf. 41n. on the metapoetic involvement of the wind as narrator.
41 I am trembling and trying: cf. 75–8 ut mare fit tremulum, tenui cum stringitur aura, / ut
quatitur tepido fraxinus icta Noto, / sic mea uibrari pallentis membra uideres; / quassus ab
imposito corpore lectus erat (“as the sea becomes agitated when it is grazed by a gentle breeze, as
the ash-tree shudders when it has been struck by the warm south wind, so you would have seen
Larres – 72 my limbs tremble as I turned pale; the bed was shaken by my body that lay on it”). I have subtly
mimicked the consonance of “t” in the Latin with “trembling and trying.” In Ovid the wind touches
and stirs the ocean, causing it to tremble. In my version the wind, as the medium through which
Aeolus will cause (his version of) Canace’s story to “go viral” (cf. 36, 40nn.), is the cause of her
fear and “trembling.” Recall also that the vivid present tense in the Tones suggests that Canace is
reliving the memory of her father publicly denouncing her.
42 I cannot break the silence: cf. 36 haec satis in tacita signa fatentis erant (“these things were
sign enough of one confessing, though I remained silent”), 81–2 ipsa nihil praeter lacrimas pudibunda profudi; / torpuerat gelido lingua retenta metu (“utterly ashamed, I myself poured forth
nothing except for tears; my tongue went slack and grew numb with icy fear”).
43 the words I’m keeping bottled: the “bottle” theme here lends itself to the English idiom, “to keep something bottled up/inside” (cf. 42n). The concept of “bottling something up” implies that it must come out eventually, which we see at 91–2 exierat thalamo: tum demum pectora plangi / contigit inque meas unguibus ire genas (“he had left my bedroom; then at last it happened––I struck my chest, and dragged my nails over my cheeks”). Cf. also 49 nec tenui uocem (“nor did I restrain my voice”) . The moment her father leaves the room, Canace breaks into ritual mourning.
In my version, this outburst is not explicit, but is instead built into the structure of the song itself.
Her father’s proclamation of her sexual scandal temporarily stripped Canace of her voice. Tone 3
may suggest that Canace refused to make any public statements on her own behalf at the time,
since she imagined that no one would believe her. Nevertheless, her pain compels her to “publish”
(51 edere ) the sufferings she has undergone, and in her final hour there is neither fear (since she
Larres – 73 has been discovered) nor shame (since her father has already destroyed her reputation) to hold her back (51–2 gemitus dolor edere cogit / sed timor et nutrix et pudor ipse uetant ). Her suicide note— this song itself—is a definitive response to her father’s choices after the fact. Her portrayal of herself as the “image” of a daughter obedient unto death is itself a rebellion against her father’s expectations.
44 treatment of a child: “treatment” here takes on a double meaning. Following the theme of
“curing” the “sickness” which is Canace’s child (cf. 26–8n.), “treatment” functions as a synonym
for a medical “cure.” The English word also signifies a person’s behavior toward something.
Within the context of Verse 3 “treatment” refers to the horrific, merciless manner in which Aeolus behaves toward his grandson.
37.5–8.5 My baby screamed: cf. 71–2 patrias uagitus ad aures / uenit.
38.5 He begged for mercy: cf. 86 quaque suum poterat uoce rogabat auum. The child’s capacity
to “break the silence” and actively plead for his life runs counterpoint to Canace’s silence and
inability to speak up for herself in the moment.
39.5 My father will not be moved: cf. 83 nepotem, 86 auum. The juxtaposition of the innocent
newborn and his merciless grandfather is sharp, especially when they are placed side by side at
108 quo laesit facto uix bene natus auum? (“by what act did he, scarcely even born, wound his
grandfather?”). Contrast “will not be moved” with 70 dat pater ipse uiam (“my father himself
gives way”) .
Larres – 74
41.5 He’s torn away: cf. 73 eripit. The English suggests that the child is taken directly from
Canace’s arms against her will. Her stance on getting rid of the child has clearly changed, since
she portrays Aeolus’ actions in an exceedingly negative light. These lyrics reveal that the only
reason Canace wished to abort her child was so that her father would not find out about the pregnancy. With that external pressure effectively removed her true desires come to the surface,
and she mourns the death of her son.
42.5 And torn apart: cf. 112 dilacerate (“you who have been torn to pieces”), 118 diripiunt
auidae uiscera nostra ferae (“savage beasts tear apart my baby”), 122 nati collige membra tui
(“gather up the limbs of your sons”) and 43.5n. below. Penelope uses similar language when
euphemistically describing the suitors as rapists (Ep. 1.90 uiscera nostra … dilacerantur ; cf.
“Marco” lyric 32 and n.). In Penelope’s case uiscera (“the inmost parts of me”) refers to her sexual organs, whereas in Canace’s case it refers to her child.
43.5 My child is left to the wolves: cf. 83–4 iamque dari paruum canibusque auibusque nepotem
/ iusserat, in solis destituique locis (“and he had already ordered his little grandson to be given
over to the dogs and the birds, and to be abandoned in a desolate place”), 89–90 mea me coram siluas inimicus in altas / uiscera montanis ferret edenda lupis (“hateful man, before my very eyes
he carried my child, my own flesh, into the deep forests to be eaten up by mountain wolves”), 111
nate … rabidarum praeda ferarum (“my child, prey for savage wild animals”). The word “left”
suggests the Greco-Roman cultural concept of exposure (see Translator’s Statement, pp. 52–4). In
Ep. 11 it is not Canace herself who has been abandoned, but her child. The silence following this
Larres – 75 lyric emphasizes Canace’s inability to speak (lyrics 41–4 and nn.), and the fact that the child’s
cries (lyrics 37.5–8.5 and nn.) have been cut off.
45 And my father said: cf. 15 imperat, 84 iusserat, 96 iubet for the commanding nature of Aeolus’ statement. This lyric places the words of Chorus 2 in the mouth of Canace’s father.
46–9 Aeolus’ line of argument is more tenuous than Canace’s (Chorus 1). As the paterfamilias,
Aeolus exercises total control over Canace, no matter her age. This remains the case unless and
until she is married, placed under the control of a different paterfamilias, or her father dies. The paterfamilias also has power over the life and death of his children and—since Canace is
unmarried and therefore still a member of his household—over that of his grandchild (Harris 1986,
Gardner 1998: 121–2, OCD s.v. “ patria potestas ”). Aeolus all but defines Canace as an extension
of himself (cf. 49n.). He states on her behalf that “This was never what you wanted” (46), an
assertion which applies only to his wishes at this point. So too with “This is not the life you signed
up for” (47); Aeolus rashly and narcissistically presupposes that, by being accepted into his family
as an infant, Canace has made a conscious choice to follow the precise life-plan laid out for her by
her father at her birth.
48 A child would’ve made it harder: cf. 43.5n. Aeolus seems to be arguing that these are extreme
circumstances under which the parents—Canace and the child’s father, whose identity is unknown
to Aeolus—and, by extension, he himself, cannot reasonably be expected to raise a child. In
Canace’s case (Chorus 1), the extreme circumstances contributing to her attempted abortion were primarily the disapproval of her father and the threat of shame and death should he find out about
Larres – 76 her pregnancy. Aeolus by contrast has no paterfamilias to fear. It is unlikely that a mythic king is concerned about having the financial resources to care for his grandson. This leaves only shame— concern over his public image as a high-ranking Roman citizen whose daughter has borne a child out of wedlock (cf. 46–9n.) .
49 So we don’t need it anymore: with “we” Aeolus again presents Canace’s will and desires as
equivalent to his own (cf. 46–9n.)
50 Cf. 1n.
51 Cf. 2n. Canace recalls the internal addressee of the poem, but her attention is still focused on
the actions of their father (cf. 1, 52–3nn.).
52 our dad just called and said: cf. 93–4 interea patrius uultu maerente satelles / uenit et indignos edidit ore sonos (“in the meantime, an attendant of my father came with sorrowful expression and uttered undeserved sounds with his lips”) . Aeolus is the king of the winds, and so this satelles can easily be interpreted as one of the winds that serve him. With this in mind I have reconfigured the speech of this messenger as a phone call—that is, the voice/command of her father is transferred to her via an “interpreter,” the air through which radio waves pass. But this removes the attendant’s humanizing, apologetic manner as he delivers the news. On the other hand, within the context of the album, this also metapoetically suggests that not only Canace’s words, but the cruel words of her father can and will be recorded. This is helpful to Canace, since her father’s message will be published ( edidit ) after her death and garner sympathy for her position.
Larres – 77
53 I’d be better six feet under: cf. 95–6 ‘ Aeolus hunc ensem mittit tibi ’ (tradidit ensem ): / ‘et
iubet ex merito scire, quid iste uelit ’ (“‘Aeolus sends you this sword’ (he handed the sword over):
‘and he orders that you understand what he wants based on what you deserve’”). My version is
only slightly more direct than the Latin, and makes use of an English euphemism for death (“to be
six feet under”). The burial imagery here is also teased out of 98 condam , in which Canace
idiomatically “buries” the sword in her chest, and from her imminent request to Macareus, “bury
me with my baby” (77.5 and n.). Canace has, according to Aeolus, marred both her own image
and his by proxy. He therefore decides she is more trouble than she is worth, and informs her that
he wants her out of the proverbial “picture” (cf. 69–70 lyrics and nn.).
54–7 Cf. lyrics 50–3 and nn.
58–61 Each lyric recalls the previous iterations in earlier Tones (cf. lyrics 5–8, 13–16, 25–8, 43–
4 and nn.), but takes on a new meaning within Tone 4.
59 In my left hand is a bottle: rather than a cure for lovesickness or an abortifacient, this bottle
contains the means by which Canace will commit suicide. The association with 3 strictum tenet
altera ferrum and 19–20 num minus infestum, funebria munera, ferrum, / feminea teneo, non mea
tela, manu? becomes increasingly clear now that we understand her father has told her to kill herself.
Larres – 78 60 With the pills: implying a drug overdose. Whether or not Canace has become an addict in
order to cope with the pain of losing her child or whether this consumption of drugs is a one-time
occurrence is ambiguous. my father bought: emphasizing the fact that her father personally provided the weapon for her to end her own life (95 ‘Aeolus hunc ensem mittit tibi ’). Given that the sword has morphed into a drug overdose, there are multiple ways to interpret Aeolus’ involvement. Canace may have merely used her father’s money to buy the “pills” and, coupled with his exhortation to commit suicide, considers this tantamount to his purchasing them; or her father actually purchased medication for her. If the latter is true, these “pills” are either medication for a physical ailment (perhaps resulting from her own abortion attempts) or, more likely, a mental illness (postpartum depression along with the intense trauma of Aeolus’ murdering her son). But within the context of Tone 4 (esp. “I’d be better six feet under,” 53/57), Aeolus’ involvement in her death seems far more intentional, which suggests that he actively purchased either medication or narcotics with the explicit intention of Canace becoming addicted to them and ultimately dying from an overdose.
61 To cure the sickness of a child: the sickness of a child is here neither love sickness nor pregnancy. As in lyric 28 (see n. above), the “sickness” is the child, but not Canace’s child this
time. Instead, the child is Canace herself. Her suicide, at least in Aeolus’ eyes, will “cure the
sickness” that is Canace by eliminating her from his life.
54.5 Not one day old: cf. 107 tam paucis editus horis (“born so few hours ago”) , 108 uix bene
natus (“scarcely even born”) , 112 natali dilacerate tuo (“you, torn to pieces on your own
Larres – 79 birthday”), 114 haec tibi prima dies, haec tibi summa fuit! (“this was your first day, this was your last day”).
55.5 My son grows cold: cf. 117 non oscula frigida carpsi (“nor did I snatch cold kisses”).
Contrast the physical chill of death here with the emotionally “cold” description of Penelope ( Ep.
1.7 frigida ; cf. also “Marco” lyric 6 and n.).
66–70 Chorus 3, like Chorus 2, gives us Aeolus’ perspective on filicide—but regarding Canace this time rather than his grandson. Aeolus’ focus shifts to his own will (“I wanted,” “I signed up,” etc.), rather than what he considers the collective will of himself and Canace in Chorus 2 (cf. 45–
9nn.). On the one hand, this distances Aeolus from the situation. He is not speaking directly to
Canace, but through a “messenger” ( Ep. 11.93–6). The use of “she” (69) and “her” (70) both suggest that these words were not spoken directly to Canace (cf. Ep. 11.93–6). Within the
framework of this piece, the chorus suggests that Canace is appropriating content from Aeolus’
VENT post denouncing her (see Translator’s Statement, p. 52). By placing his statements in her
own suicide note, Canace makes their violent nature explicit to a broader audience: he is the direct
cause of her death.
67 This was never what I wanted: cf. 96 quid iste uelit. This is a shift away from the rhetoric of
Chorus 2 (cf. 66–70n. above). Aeolus does not expect Canace to desire her own death, but he does
wholeheartedly believe that his will trumps hers. In other words, Aeolus demands that his own
emotional reactions and desires supersede Canace’s prerogative to live. Cf. Ep. 11.11–16,
Larres – 80 especially the triple repetition of imperat (14–15); Aeolus is constantly giving orders, but cannot
keep his own temper in check.
68 This is not the life I signed up for: cf. 29–32, 46–9nn. The life which Aeolus wants to lead—
a life without a daughter caught having sex before marriage—takes precedence. He is not open to
alternative versions of his own story, and so chooses to eliminate both his grandson and Canace
from the narrative.
69–70 if she’s gonna make it harder / Then I don’t want her anymore: Canace’s own words
describing her unborn child are now applied to her. On the one hand, this sparks sympathy for her baby; at what point does a child reasonably become independent and deserving of life, regardless
of the wishes of the parent? Was Canace’s decision viable, while Aeolus’ was not? I do not answer
these questions here, but I will add a few key points that may influence the discussion. Canace is
not only born, she has already been accepted into her family and is of marriageable age. Exposing
or otherwise killing a child of that age, regardless of whether or not they prove difficult to care for, is a heinous crime in our and Ovid’s times alike (cf. 43.5n.). While abortion without cause in the ancient world was frowned upon and the evidence suggests that carrying a child to term was often safer than abortion, her father’s reaction proves that Canace had good reason to be afraid. She recognized even then that discovery of the child was tantamount to death.
72.5 Brother, brother: another reminder of the letter’s addressee. Cf. 5 Aeolidos fratri scribentis,
23 frater … frater, 59 soror, soror o carissima, 87 germane, 121 tu … sperate, 127 tu. dear:
cf. 15.5n.
Larres – 81
73.5 Live on: cf. 125 uiue, and the series of commands at 120–8.
75.5 I must obey: cf. the final line of the poem, 128 mandatis obsequar ipsa patris.
76.5 Please do the same: cf. 127–8 tu, rogo, dilectae nimium mandata sororis / perfice (“you, I beg you, carry out the commands of the sister you loved too much”) , in contrast with Canace’s
obedience to her father. My Canace means that Macareus should obey her commands concerning
her burial with the same fidelity that she obeys her father’s commands concerning her death, but
her phrasing is far from clear. Lyrics 75.5–6.5 may easily be misconstrued as an exhortation for
Macareus to “do the same”—that is, follow Canace’s lead and commit suicide. Our evidence for
reconstructing Euripides’ Aeolus strongly suggests that Macareus did in fact kill himself upon
discovering Canace moments after her death (see Translator’s Statement, p. 48).
77.5 And bury me with my baby: cf. 122–4 sparsa, precor, nati collige membra tui / et refer ad
matrem socioque impone sepulcro / urnaque nos habeat quamlibet arta duos (“Gather up, I beseech you, the scattered limbs of your son and bring them back to his mother and place them in a shared tomb, and let one urn hold us two, however cramped”).
Larres – 82 CHAPTER 3: PENELOPE – “MARCO”
Translator’s Statement
As the first poem in Ovid’s Heroides, Penelope’s letter to Ulysses necessarily sets a precedent for the rest of the collection. Ovid makes the epistolary format uniquely explicit in this poem by framing it as a letter (1–2), by emphasizing the fact that Penelope cannot leave the island
herself and must rely on outside sources for information (15–22, 37–40, 59–60, 63–5), and by
having Penelope say that she writes multiple letters to Ulysses and gives one to every traveler that
visits Ithaca (59–62). As a literary framework letters have the capacity to freeze and portray a
distinct moment in time within the context of a broader narrative, a feature which is especially pronounced in Heroides 1. Ovid uses multiple time markers to reveal that Penelope is about to
hand her letter over to Ulysses himself while he is disguised as a beggar (Kennedy 1984: 416–18,
Knox 1995: 86–7). Further, this poem clearly and repeatedly demonstrates the core (elegiac)
themes of querela and timor woven through each of the Heroides (Baca 1969: 2). By bringing
these key features to the fore, Ovid ensures that Heroides 1 functions as an effective, programmatic
opening for the collection.
By choosing to begin with Penelope, a character well-established in the literary tradition,
Ovid also indicates that intertextuality is a fundamental feature of the Heroides : each of the following letters will be written in the hand of a mythic female figure familiar to Ovid’s audience from pre-existing tradition. The primary text from which Ovid draws his material for Heroides 1 is Homer’s Odyssey (Jacobson 1974: 243, Knox 1995: 86) , an epic poem detailing the
(mis)adventures of the Greek hero Odysseus (Latin Vlixes) as he attempts to return home after the
Trojan War. His wife, Penelope, is left alone with their young son Telemachus for twenty long years—ten years during the Trojan War, and another ten during Odysseus’ journey home. Because
Larres – 83 Odysseus is presumed dead, a slew of suitors arrives to demand that Penelope marry one of them.
While they wait and insist that she choose a husband from them, they ignore the rules of ξενία and
eat her out of house and home. In Homer’s Odyssey Penelope remains the paragon of a loyal wife.
She proves to be the perfect match for her wily husband in that she manages to deceive the suitors until Odysseus returns and slaughters them, and the couple is joyfully reunited.
But this is not the only version of Penelope’s story. While Ovid’s epistle is, as far as we know, the first work which tells Penelope’s story from her perspective (Knox 1995: 86, Stanford
1963: 143), Ovid was certainly not the first poet to portray Homer’s heroine in an alternative light.
While the majority of her depictions in Greek literature upheld Penelope as the paradigm of female virtue and fidelity in marriage (see Jacobson 1974: 246 7n. for a detailed list of Greek texts), a view which Latin poets similarly adopted, her reputation for surpassing virtue sparked a parallel tradition which sought to turn the “chaste Penelope” archetype on its head.
One thread of this parallel tradition maintained that Penelope was the mother of Pan by
Hermes. It is possible that this mythic Penelope was once distinct from Homer’s Penelope, but authors at least as early as Pindar (Snell and Maehler fr. 100) conflate the two myths (Jacobson
1974: 246–7), which sets a precedent for a broader movement to discredit Penelope. She is transformed from loving, loyal wife into an utterly dissolute adulteress. Depending on which account you read, Penelope was sexually involved with Antinous (Apollod. Epit. 7.38) or with
Amphinomus (Apollod. Epit. 7.39), in some cases even bearing a child in Odysseus’ absence
(Apollod. Epit. 7.35). In some versions she wantonly sleeps with each and every one of the suitors,
and her demand of gifts from them in the Odyssey (18.276–83) is interpreted as a mark of her base
character (Jacobson 1974: 247–8). Polybius even states that young boys were assigned written
exercises to condemn Penelope as part of their rhetorical training (12.26b).
Larres – 84 Many authors reject this interpretation of Penelope as a shameless cheat. Their arguments
vary, but include the following: that the mother of Pan was a different Penelope (Tzetzes Lycoph.
Alex. 772; Nonnus 14.92–4; cf. Roscher 1894: 368–72); that Hermes deceived her by changing his appearance to that of a goat (Schol. Theoc. 7.109–110b–c et. al.; cf. Jacobson 1974: 248 21n.); that she encountered Hermes after Odysseus had already died ( Myth, Vat. 1.89); or even that
Odysseus himself was the father of Pan (Schol. Theoc. Syrinx 1–2a, Schol. Theoc. 1.123b).
Regarding other sexual partners, some assert that Penelope was faithful to Odysseus, but was
ultimately raped by the suitors (Schol. Theoc. 7.109–110c, Jacobson 1974: 248 21n.).
Nevertheless, the literary tradition shows that Penelope consistently was the first example
named whenever an ancient author required a model of a woman’s fidelity to her husband (see
Jacobson 1974: 249 for examples), and views to the contrary were far from the norm. Ovid’s
Penelope is informed by both strands of the tradition. In Heroides 1 Penelope ostensibly has
remained faithful to Ulysses, although her language is replete with sexual imagery and innuendo
(cf. Ep. 1.3–4, 30–3n.), to the extent that Jacobson describes her as a “a sex-starved, sex-obsessed
woman” (1974: 273, cf. Lively 2005: 60–2). This is not the Penelope of Homer, the exemplar of
chastity. Instead, Ovid has distinguished himself from his predecessors by presenting a Penelope
“stripped of her persona ,” which allows him to draw “a psychologically true picture of a woman
in distress” (Baca 1969: 6). Heroides 1 thus functions as a character study (cf. 14–16n.) of a more
“real” Penelope, a woman who is imperfectly, uniquely human.
Ovid’s Penelope exhibits anxiety and fear (cf. 7n.) over her husband and the reasons for his absence, the safety of their son, the overbearing violence of the suitors, and her own unstable position in the household. Ovid also makes his own Penelope subtly deceptive by drawing upon the Homeric tradition in which Penelope’s wits mirror those of her wily husband (cf. Green 2004:
Larres – 85 370–2, Winkler 1990: 129–61). Penelope utilizes allusion and double entendre in order to leave
her husband in constant fear and doubt concerning the actual circumstances of his household—
especially her own emotional and sexual status. Her words are calculated, and she has no intention
of assuring Ulysses that she will remain faithful to him forever (cf. Jacobson 1974: 264–6). This
studied ambiguity is characteristic of Ovid, and is here employed to induce Ulysses to return to
her as soon as possible (cf. 2n.).
My translation seeks to capture these distinct features of Heroides 1 in a variety of significant ways. To reflect Ovid’s overt epistolary framework, I have built a telephonic framework for Penelope’s song by adding non-musical elements at the beginning and end of the piece. These include the phone dial tone, the voicemail box, and the click of a phone hanging up
(cf. lyrics 0a–c, 64 and nn.). This choice is in keeping with the broad skopos of the concept album.
Phone conversations convert the voice into radio waves which, like music, must travel through the
air. The Wind thus functions as the “interpreter” of Penelope’s words, since she is speaking into a phone. This connection is made explicit in lyric 27, when Penelope is “screaming at the wind” (cf.
27n.).
I have also narrowed the lens of my translation to focus purely on the relationship (as
Penelope portrays it) between herself and Ulysses. In Ovid’s version Penelope has to build her argument from externals—the suitors, Ulysses' loss of property, his aging father, his abandoned son, etc.—to convince him to come home. She worries that she herself is undesirable. How is an old, tired woman enticement enough for Ulysses? In my version, the argument has shifted. After the phone goes to a full voicemail box, Penelope is in some sense speaking to herself. While she has sent many messages filled with rhetoric and argumentation in the past, here she is allowed to voice her true feelings, though still in a rhetorically effective manner. What is left is her belief that
Larres – 86 she herself, Ulysses' own wife, ought to be enough to draw him home. Every argument has been
subordinated to this deep and long-unspoken desire: Ulysses' central fear should not be over the
loss of his home or his family, but the loss of his wife. In the privacy of a dead phone line, she is
arguing not from what his emotional and mental state are, but from what she wants them to be.
The tone of my piece is simultaneously frenetic and frustrated, reflecting the core themes of timor and querela . On the one hand, Penelope is agonizingly concerned for her husband; on the other, she is reasonably irritated at receiving no word from him in nearly twenty years. This paired motif of anxiety and anger is emphasized by the song’s high pitch and fast tempo, as well as by the fretful, upset tone of the singer (cf. 90 BPM / Capo 5, 0a–64nn.). Penelope’s language throughout the song is also carefully crafted to provoke Ulysses’ concern (cf. 6, 8, 10, 30–3, 51nn.) by causing him to question whether she will continue to remain emotionally and sexually faithful to him––or whether he is already too late. Lyrics 30–3 in particular are filled with subtle, sexual entendre aimed at inciting Ulysses to come home sooner.
Penelope also reveals that she is acutely aware of her own mortality by appropriating language of ruin and decay in comparing herself with the fall of Troy (cf. 3–4n.). In her account
Troy has been colonized by its conqueror (51–6; note the use of uictor in 52 and in 57 to describe
Odysseus) and is already showing signs of new growth. Penelope by contrast lies “fallow” in her bed and produces only a field of anxieties (72). Like Ariadne, Penelope is focused on the circumstances of her death and burial (cf. 102 ille meos oculos comprimat, ille tuos , “may he close my eyes, may he close yours”), and this concern culminates in the emphatic characterization of herself as having sharply declined from puella to anus in the nearly twenty years of Ulysses’ absence (115–16).
Larres – 87 After the fashion of Ovid himself I have made my own mark on the literary tradition with the addition of the Marco (Polo) theme in the chorus, bridge, and outro. This phrase first calls to mind the Odyssean figure of Marco Polo, while also drawing out the parallels between the children’s game of that name and Penelope’s own situation (cf. lyrics 18–20, 39–41, 43–6, 56–62 and nn.). Penelope is the blind seeker who calls out “Marco,” but receives no answering response of “Polo” from Ulysses. The two in-game reasons for not answering are that the responder is underwater or cheating at the game. By analogy then, Penelope recognizes that Ulysses is unresponsive because he is underwater—that is, drowned or otherwise dead—or that he is
“cheating” on her with another woman.
Larres – 88 Penelope – “Marco”
To hear the song, double click the sound icon on the right:
Or click here to open the song file in your web browser.
For updated versions of this piece or new additions to the album, click here .
90 BPM Capo 5
*phone dial tone* 0a “We’re sorry. You have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service. If you feel you have reached this recording in error, please check the number and try your call again.” 0b
Em, Am, Em, B Em, Am, G, B
VS 1
Em Am I don’t really want to hear excuses 1 G B The war is done so where is my Ulysses? 2 Em Am If Troy is laying in the dust 3 G B Why am I here laying in a dusty room? 4 Em Am It’s hard to tell the dark I’m not a widow 5 G B My bed is empty, sorry if I seem cold 6 Em Am The waiting and the worry 7 G B Aren’t the only thing that’s getting old (yeah) 8
Em, Am, Em, B
VS 2
Em Am
Larres – 89 They like to say that love is like a drug 9 G B Twenty years to cure withdrawal symptoms 10 Em Am Shaking, anxious, what is real? 11 G B Fictions seen through the bottom of a bottle and 12 Em Am Everybody’s got another story 13 G B I get secondhand scraps of news 14 Am They tell me one man down and I’ve always got to wonder 15 C B If the one man down is you 16
CHORUS
I’m callin’ 17 Em Marco, Marco 18 D, Am7 Where are you? 19 Em Marco, Marco 20 ——— *sigh* 21
Em, Am, Em, B Em, Am, G, B
VS 3
Em Am Worry got me going crazy 22 G B Thinkin’ about where you’ve been 23 Em Am Is it the land or the sea that’s stopping you, 24 G B Or the tangling of limbs? 25 Em Am You’re hard-hearted 26 G B
Larres – 90 While I’m screaming at the wind 27 C Are you telling some girl that here between my ears 28 Am B Is the wool you’ll cover my eyes with? 29
Em, Am, Em, B
VS 4
Em Am Meanwhile I’ve got a crowd of pickup artists 30 G B Taking everything but social cues 31 Em Am Stripping me of heart and home and 32 G B // Sliding into my—DMs 33 Em Am As long as I’m Penelope 34 G B Dear Ulysses’ wife I’ll be 35 C I’ve got your word, I’ve got the ring 36 B Your ass belongs to me 37
CHORUS
So 38 Em Marco, Marco 39 D, Am7 Where the hell are you? 40 Em Marco, Marco 41 D, Am7 Hey 42
BRIDGE
Em Am When a boy’s on the water and he don’t say “polo” 43
Larres – 91 Em B That’s how you know that the boy has gone and drowned 44 Em Am But if the boy’s alive, and he don’t say “polo” 45 G B That’s how you know the boy is cheatin’ and sleepin’ around (Hey) 46
VS 5
Em Am I don’t really want to hear excuses 47 G B I’ve sent a million messages to you 48 Em Am Please don’t tell me that you’re 49 G B Free to come home, but you just don’t want to 50 Em Am I am tired 51 G B But I’m levying every traveler 52 C To shout your name, to call you home 53 B ’Til the ocean echoes back 54
FINAL CHORUS
We’re callin’ 55 Em Marco (Marco), Marco (Marco) 56 D Am7 The boy’s in the water but the boy ain’t callin’ “polo” 57 Em Marco (Marco), Marco (Marco) 58 D Am7 If the boy’s alive, he’s cheatin’ 59
OUTRO Em D, Am7 Where are you? 60 Em
Larres – 92 D, Am7 Hey 61
*Click of phone hanging up* 8 62
8 This sound will be recorded and incorporated shortly after the submission of this project.
Larres – 93 Commentary
90 BPM / Capo 5 The tempo of the song is just a few beats too fast to be perfectly comfortable, an audible sign of Penelope’s stress level. I have also used the capo to transpose the guitar up 5 half steps, as the higher pitch emphasizes Penelope’s anxiety and strong emotion. For the first verse this musical choice leaves Penelope—and the listener—without a lower bass tone to support her voice, a reflection of how Ulysses has seemingly left her to fend for herself.
0a–b, 64 These lines help render Ep. 1.1 Haec tua Penelope lento mittit, Vlixe, as well as the general epistolary framework of Heroides 1 (cf. Translator’s Statement, pp. 84, 87) by adding various phone call sound effects at the beginning and end of the piece. The beginning includes the dial tone (0a) and accompanying error message (0b), while the end has the click of a phone being hung up (64). These markers establish a telephonic framework for the piece—that is, this song is framed as a phone call from Penelope to her errant husband. But Ulysses does not answer, nor is
Penelope able to leave him a message because the voicemail box is full. This intro keeps the listener in suspense regarding the exact mode of Penelope’s message. If the number is no longer in service, has she hung up? Or does she continue to deliver her “message,” i.e., the song itself, into an unresponsive phone mic as a means of self-consolation? The answer does not become clear until the end of the song, when we hear the click of a phone being hung up (cf. 64n.).
0b in error suggests Latin error and so evokes the reason that Ulysses is not answering his wife: he is “in error” in both a physical sense (as a lost traveler) and in a moral sense (as a husband who has gone astray into extramarital love affairs).
Larres – 94 0a *phone dial tone*: this song is not firmly set in either the mythic or the modern world. Rather, it relies on a temporary suspension of disbelief assisted by the fast tempo and high word count.
That is, Penelope is singing so many words so quickly that she does not leave the listener any time in which to cross-examine or parse the details of her narrative. I take this suspension of disbelief directly from Ovid (Introduction p. 13).
0c Odysseus is not available: “Odysseus” rather than “Ulysses” here. This choice calls to mind
the literary tradition with which Ovid—and, by extension, this piece—is interacting. The statement
that Odysseus is not available indicates that the internal addressee of this poem is not the Greek,
Homeric Odysseus but rather a new and distinct version of him as (re)created by Ovid, and now by me.
0c this voicemail box is full: a reference to the substantial number of letters/messages that
Penelope has already sent out in hopes of locating Ulysses. The fact that the voicemail box has not been cleared out suggests that Ulysses has not received/heard/read any of these messages.
1 I don’t really want to hear excuses: cf. 2 nil mihi rescribas attinet . hear: emphasizing
the new aural, rather than written, format of the piece. Following the precedent set by Ariadne in
the first translation-song on the album, Penelope is projecting her voice over the radio waves to
communicate, this time in the form of a phone call. excuses presupposes that there is
something to apologize for, namely the fact that Ulysses has been slow to come home and
indifferent to her plight; cf. 1 lento, 66 lentus, and, most emphatically, 110 tu citius uenias and 116 protinus ut uenias.
Larres – 95
2 The war is done so where is my Ulysses: cf. 3 Troia iacet certe (“surely Troy lies dead”) , 24
uersa est in cinerem sospite Troia uiro (“Troy has been turned into ash and my husband is still
safe”), 47–8 uestris disiecta lacertis / Ilios et, murus quod fuit, esse solum (“Ilium has been
scattered by your arms and what was once wall is now flat ground”). where is my Ulysses:
cf. 57–8 uictor abes, nec scire mihi … / in quo lateas ferreus orbe, licet (“though you are a conqueror, you aren’t here, nor am I allowed to know in what region of the world you hide, iron- hearted”), 66 quas habitas terras aut ubi lentus abes? (“what lands do you dwell in, or where are you off procrastinating?”). This functions as the critical question of both Ovid’s poem and my song, and accordingly takes a central place in each chorus (lyrics 19 and 40). Note also the possessiveness of “ my Ulysses.” Ovid’s Penelope vacillates between defining herself as belonging
to Ulysses or not belonging to him, a tactic which Ovid recommends to instill concern in the lover
over his sole claim to a girl ( Am. 1.8.95–100, Ars 3.593–6). While this theme is present throughout
the song, I have added another layer to it. Penelope is little concerned with assuring Ulysses that
she belongs to him, but instead declares in no uncertain terms that he belongs to her (cf . lyrics 36–
7 and n.).
3–4 The phrasing and delivery of this line casts a shade of doubt on the protasis. If Odysseus did
help conquer Troy with the rest of the Greek husbands, then why has he not returned home as they
did? Troy has been destroyed for the other women, but remains for Penelope, who has not yet seen
her husband (51 diruta sunt aliis, uni mihi Pergama restant ). Troy is laying / I here
laying: a reference to the repetition of 3 iacet and 7 iacuissem , which evocatively juxtaposes the
fall of Troy and Penelope’s own dire circumstances ( pace Knox’s dogmatism that this is an
Larres – 96 instance of “repetition without point” (1995: 88)). Penelope repeatedly compares her own situation
with that of Troy, as at Ep. 1.47–58 where she describes Troy in markedly agricultural and sexual
terms. Agricultural language was frequently used in Latin sexual euphemism (Adams 1982: 154–
5), but the description of Troy at 49–56 is “particularly sensuous and graphic” (Jacobson 1974:
271), e.g., 53 resecandaque falce, used of ploughing fields and of sexual intercourse; 54 luxuriat , used of abundant vegetation and sexual excess; 56 feriuntur aratris, where the image of ploughing bears sexual connotations, as also ferio, “to strike” (Adams 1982: 145–9). On Penelope’s habit of
narrowing a broad narrative perspective down to her own subjective point of view, see Baca 1969:
5–9 and Jacobson 1974: 251. in the dust … in a dusty room: a reference to the language
of death in Homer. Two key ways of expressing death in the Iliad are falling and biting the dust.
Falling takes the body from a vertical position where it is firmly rooted on the earth to a horizontal position. Once lying on the ground, the body immediately begins to decompose, transforming into the material of the earth itself as “the ground soaks up the blood of a fallen warrior and dust mixes in with the hair, or as the teeth bite into the earth at the moment of death” (Purves 2006: 181).
Contact with dust or dirt is tantamount to contact with death (Lather 2020: 280–1). Further, dust is associated with mourning, as when Achilles pours dark dust ( Il. 18.23 ἑλὼν κόνιν αἰθαλόεσσαν) over his head at the death of Patroclus (Lather 2020: 281–2). Again, Penelope and Troy are here juxtaposed, striking a poignant (and perhaps overdramatic) note to inspire sympathy. The same phrasing is applied to achieve two very different effects: Troy lays sprawled in the dust like a fallen
Homeric warrior, while Penelope lies sprawled in a bridal chamber that has become metaphorically
“dusty” on account of extended disuse. The dust shows that the bridal chamber is her place of
mourning. As the bridal chamber emblematizes her marriage to Ulysses, it is concerning that
Penelope associates it with death. This may indicate that Penelope has figuratively “died” in the
Larres – 97 absence of her lover, or that the marriage contract, along with the metaphorical “dusty room,” has
itself dissolved. Penelope intentionally does not specify which is the case.
5 it’s hard to tell the dark I’m not a widow: cf. 9–10 nec mihi quaerenti spatiosam fallere noctem
/ lassaret uiduas pendula tela manus. In Ovid Penelope seeks to “deceive the long night,” a Latin
idiom for making the night seem less long (Knox 1995: 91). In sharp contrast my Penelope is here
seen to literally address the night, in order to assure it that she is not a widow. The phrase “it’s
hard to,” along with “my bed is empty, sorry if I seem cold” (6) betrays Penelope’s doubts—she
is attempting to deceive both the dark and herself into believing that her husband is still alive. In
connection with lyrics 3–4, we find a third key Homeric formula which signals the death of a hero,
namely “darkness” covering the eyes (cf. Morrison 1999: 129–32).
6 My bed is empty: transposing 7 deserto … lecto to follow my translation of Ep. 1.9–10 helps
discredit Penelope’s assurance to the night that she is not a widow (cf. 5n. above). sorry if I seem cold : cf. 7 frigida. The delivery of the lyric is bitterly sarcastic. It is clear that Penelope does not genuinely believe she has anything to apologize for, as the tone of the singer instead shifts the blame for her “cold” attitude onto Ulysses. I have expanded Ovid’s single word (frigida ) to tease out a double meaning. Penelope is physically cold without Ulysses to keep her bed warm, but she is also emotionally cold (OLD frigidus 8d). The elegiac poets often use temperature to express emotional state, so a woman who is frigida is either unresponsive to a new lover’s
advances or is losing interest in a current lover (cf. Am. 2.1.5, 2.7.9, Rem. 492, Knox 1995: 90).
The double meaning transfers neatly into English, keeping its idiomatic flavor as Penelope’s love
Larres – 98 for Ulysses is “cooling,” or so she would have him believe. Like frigida, “cold” bears connotations
of anger and bitterness.
7 The waiting and the worry: referring to Penelope’s situation, broadly construed, for the past
twenty years. Waiting and worry are central concepts throughout the poem, explicitly expressed
at various points. waiting : cf. 8 quererer tardos ire relicta dies , 49 maneo … manebam , 57
causa morandi, 74 causas … morae, 82 immensas … moras, 116 facta uidebor anus. worry:
a syncopation of Penelope’s explanation of her fear for Ulysses’ safety (11–22, 40–6, 69–75). The poem is replete with expressions of fear, as 11–12 timui grauiora pericula ueris? / res est solliciti plena timoris amor, 14 pallida semper eram , 16 causa timoris erat, 22 frigidius glacie pectus amantis erat , 45 usque metu micuere sinus, 69 tantum bellum timerem, 71 quid timeam, ignoro; timeo tamen omnia demens, / et patet in curas area lata meas, 74 causas suspicor esse morae, 75 metuo. The word “worry” also launches the motif of fear and anxiety which runs through Verse 2.
8 the only thing that’s getting old serves a double function. First, when paired with “the waiting
and the worry” (7), it works colloquially to show that Penelope is tired of the state of affairs and
subtly indicates that she is not willing to wait much longer for Ulysses to return. This use of careful,
suggestive phrasing to illicit a response of concern and fear in Ulysses is extensive in Ep. 1 (cf.
Green 2004: 370–2). Secondly, “getting old” translates the final couplet of Ovid’s poem (115–16
certe ego, quae fueram te discedente puella, / protinus ut redeas, facta uidebor anus ), in which
Penelope regrets that in Ulysses’ long absence her youth has already faded.
Larres – 99 9 They like to say that love is like a drug: the referent “they” reveals that Penelope is well-read.
She is familiar with the themes of the elegiac poets, as well as the letters composed by her fellow
heroines in the Heroides (cf. Fulkerson 2005). I take this self-awareness a step further when
Penelope states that “love is like a drug.” This concept of “love as addiction” is an extremely
common motif in modern love songs. Such songs make frequent use of elegiac motifs ( seruitium
amoris, love as fire, love as sickness, love as war, etc.), and often pattern themselves after Latin elegy (cf. Lively 2005: 114). With this in mind I have extended Penelope’s knowledge not just as a reader, but as a listener . She is familiar with the modern theme of “love as addiction” and adds it to her own message.
This vague-yet-specific “they say” also functions as an Alexandrian footnote (cf. Hinds
1998: 1–5) which alerts the attentive listener to intertextual references. The word “drug” calls to mind the first verse of Canace’s song, in which she describes falling in love and needing “the pills my father bought to cure the sickness of a child” (7–8). As Penelope continues, the next three lyrics
(10–12) contain repeated suggestions of addiction, a leading cause of Canace’s suicide. The reference is brought home by the use of the key word “bottle” (12), a term central to the entire
Canace piece.
10 Twenty years to cure withdrawal symptoms: Penelope both indicates the span of time that
Ulysses has been away and subtly suggests that the effects of love (as addiction) are about to wear off. If he does not return soon, she will have fallen entirely out of love with him (cf. 9n. above).
11 Shaking, anxious, what is real: in Ulysses’ absence, Penelope’s love is characterized as fear
(12 res solliciti plena timoris amor, “love is a thing full of anxious fear”), and her frightened
Larres – 100 behavior is again described in terms of addiction. Thus we see (1) her physical reactions, 14 pallida
… eram (“I was pale”) , 18 flebam (“I wept”), 22 frigidius (“colder”), 45 metu micuere sinus (“my heart trembled with fear”), all of which are here construed by “shaking”; (2) her anxiety on behalf of Ulysses (cf. 7n.); and (3) her inability to separate truth from fiction coupled with her propensity for imagining dangers worse than reality: 11 quando ego non timui grauiora pericula ueris? (“was there a time when I did not fear dangers worse than reality?”), 13 fingebam (“I was imagining”),
64 incerta … fama (“an uncertain report”), 65 nescia ueri (“unsure of the truth”), 71 timeo tamen omnia demens (“still I am going out of my mind, frightened of everything”). These three responses are presented as the “withdrawal symptoms” Penelope suffers when deprived of the love of her husband.
12 Fictions … bottle: the final lyric in the “love as addiction” motif, which reinforces lyric 11
(“what is real”; cf. 11n.), while also recasting 31–2 iamque aliquis posita monstrat fera proelia mensa, / pingit et exiguo Pergama tota mero (“and now on the table set before him someone shows the fierce battles, and paints all Pergamum with leftover wine”). Rather than victorious Greek warriors physically painting a map of Troy with the dregs of their wine, my Penelope depicts their war narratives as the mere fabrications of an intoxicated person. Whether these are the drunken ramblings of the survivors or Penelope’s own wine-fed fantasies is left ambiguous. The insinuation that Penelope can and will find solace in other addictions apart from Ulysses’ love may compel him to hurry home.
Larres – 101 13 Everybody’s got another story: following the concept of the boastful tales of drunk men in
lyrics 11–12, the delivery of this line suggests slight irritation. Penelope seems less than eager to believe every story that comes her way (cf. 12n.).
14 secondhand scraps of news: cf. lyric 13. Everyone who arrives at Ithaca seems to have heard
some new detail about Ulysses’ adventures, while his own wife has heard nothing from him. She
is forced to depend on the potentially unreliable secondhand accounts of travelers and of her son
after his journey to Pylos and Sparta. Penelope is essentially playing “telephone,” a game in which
a message is verbally passed along through a chain of players. Once the message reaches the last player, they will announce the message as they have received it to the room, at which point
everyone recognizes and laughs at the garbled, incoherent state of the message after transmission.
The telephonic framework of this piece, along with the lyric “secondhand scraps of news,” recalls
this party game and emphasizes that Penelope has no reliable metric by which to distinguish fact
from fiction.
14–16 They tell me … one man down is you: a syncopation of the various frightening war stories
(Ep. 1.13–22, 39–46). With each new tale, Penelope must sit in suspense until the end of the
narrative to discover the identity of the unlucky victim. Her rhetoric re-emphasizes that she has
heard no news from her own husband, and she uses this fact to prick at his conscience. Some
scholars argue that the rhetoric of the Heroides is heavily influenced by Ovid’s instruction in suasoriae (Dörrie 1967: 45–6, Sabot 1981: 2553–5). Seneca the Elder claims, “[Ovid] would rarely
declaim controversiae, and only if they involved character portrayal ( non nisi ethicas ). He preferred suasoriae. He considered every argumentation tiresome” ( Contr. 2.2.12). While the
Larres – 102 influence of the suasoriae should not be discounted, it seems that Ovid’s primary interest lies in character development and portrayal (cf. Knox 2002: 124; on Ovid’s unique portrayal of the character Penelope, see Baca 1969).
18–20 Marco, Marco … Marco, Marco: this chorus, and the song as a whole, hinges on the first half of the common phrase and game, “Marco Polo.” This game is most often played in a pool or some other body of water. One player, the seeker, keeps their eyes closed and repeatedly calls out
“Marco.” If the other players are within earshot (and are not cheating), they must answer, “Polo.”
This will allow the seeker to (potentially) locate them. Once the seeker has found another player by touching them, the round is over. Penelope’s repeated calls of “Marco,” like her many letters, ring out over an enormous body of water, but ultimately seem to fall on deaf ears. This point is driven home by the long pause in the piece as Penelope waits to hear the word “Polo,” and is met with deafening silence. The game also recalls the historical traveler, merchant, and author Marco
Polo, who spent twenty-four years voyaging along the Silk Road in the 13 th century. He was the
first European colonialist to write a detailed account of certain regions of Asia, but was frequently
accused of exaggeration in his exotic stories. As a long-time mariner and explorer, Marco Polo is
a distinctly Odyssean figure. Like Marco Polo, Odysseus’ own stories may seem far-fetched—
especially to Penelope, who can only hear them secondhand.
19 Where are you: cf. 2n.
22 Worry got me going crazy: cf. 7n. and 71 timeo tamen omnia demens. where you’ve been: cf. 2, 19nn.
Larres – 103
24–5 Is it the land or the sea that’s stopping you / Or the tangling of limbs: cf. 73 quaecumque
aequor habet, quaecumque pericula tellus / tam longae causas suspicor esse morae. Penelope
accentuates the active role of the land and the sea in preventing Ulysses from returning home in
order to give him the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps he can’t help being away. This approach,
however, is immediately turned on its head with the addition of “[o]r the tangling of limbs.” The juxtaposition of legitimate physical barriers and extramarital carnal pleasure is stark in establishing
the conditions under which Ulysses’ absence is understandable. This translates Ep. 1.75–80, in
which Penelope voices her suspicions of Ulysses’ sexual affairs, but ends with a prayer that she
has guessed wrong––though, given the timing of the letter, Telemachus has already informed
Penelope of Ulysses’ extended stay with Calypso ( Od. 4.555–61, 17.142–7; cf. Kennedy 1984:
420–1). This lyric functions as a condemnation veiled by feigned uncertainty, a tactic which allows
Penelope to avoid censuring her husband outright. tangling of limbs: cf. 75–6 quae uestra
libido est, / esse peregrino captus amore potes (“given what your lust is like, you might have been caught by a foreign love”) .
26 hard-hearted: cf. 58 ferreus .
27 screaming at the wind: cf. 79 fallar, et hoc crimen tenues uanescat in auras (“may I be
deceived, and may my accusation vanish into thin air”). This lyric takes on a triple sense: one
literal, one idiomatic, and one programmatic. First, I have physicalized the line so that Penelope is
literally howling her words to the wind in her fury. She hopes this is as far as they carry, so that
no one suspects her loyalty or notices her suspicion of Ulysses. The lyric also reflects the Latin
Larres – 104 idiom of “giving words” or “giving words to the wind” ( uerba dare (uentis ). This functionally means either that the words are deceptive, or that they vanish without a trace (cf. Ep. 2.25 uentis et uerba et uela dedisti ). As her husband’s deceptive counterpart, Penelope has literally and idiomatically given her words to the wind, expecting them to pass away without a trace (cf.
Introduction, pp. 12–14). The external audience may recognize that, by handing over her words, her story , to the wind, Penelope has—intentionally or not—allowed them to be recorded and thereby reach new audiences. Furthermore, given the telephonic framing of the song and the knowledge that the Wind stands in metapoetically as a medium for transmission, this line may be interpreted to mean that Penelope is literally yelling into her phone.
28 Are you telling some girl: cf. 76 peregrino … amore, 77 forsitan et narres . Penelope here behaves like a proud Homeric hero in imagining that she is being mocked behind her back (e.g.,
Soph. Ajax 134–92, 454) by her husband and his hypothetical lover (cf. her use of Homeric death
language 3–4, 5nn.). She portrays them as personal enemies who are disrespecting her dignity,
sullying her reputation, and reveling in her abandonment. Cf. also Dido, Aen. 4.534–5 rursusne procos inrisa priores / experiar (“should I get ridiculed again while making trial of my former
suitors?”) and Ep. 7.97–7a exige, laese pudor, poenas, uiolataque lecti / iura nec ad cineres fama
retenta meos (“exact the penalty, O injured chastity, O vows of the marriage bed that have been
violated, O reputation which was not reserved for my ashes”).
28–9 here between my ears / Is the wool you’ll cover my eyes with: cf. 77–8 quam sit tibi
rustica coniunx, / quae tantum lanas non sinat esse rudes . This lyric functions as a domestication
of the Latin insult. It weaves together two English textile idioms, “to have cotton between the
Larres – 105 ears,” i.e., to be extremely dull-witted or crazy, and “to pull the wool over someone’s eyes,” i.e.,
to dupe or successfully trick someone. First and foremost, Penelope seems to be overturning in
advance any notion that Ulysses could get away with committing adultery. The Latin draws upon
the traditional image of Penelope as a weaver, the quintessential task of the faithful wife of which
Penelope is the paradigm (77–8, Jacobson 1974: 243–50, Clayton 2004: 83–122). Further, weaving
is metapoetically associated with poetic process in antiquity (Svenbro and Scheid 1996: 111–55,
Deremetz 1995: 289–93; for the unique role of women as weaver-poets, see Bergren 1983: 72,
Clayton 2004). With this in mind, it becomes clear that Penelope imagines Ulysses insulting not just her intelligence, but her skill as a poet. Both Ovid’s Penelope and mine disprove this offensive
slight in the very act of mentioning it, since the reported insult is itself woven into a masterful line
of poetry/music. Finally, the terms “wool” and “eyes,” especially eyes that are covered or blinded,
make subtle reference to the Cyclops Polyphemos, the one-eyed sheep-herder. This reference
shows that Penelope is familiar with the reports of Ulysses’ adventures—including, perhaps, his
sexual exploits (cf. 24–5n.)
30–3 Cf. Ep. 1.85–96. The language Penelope uses to describe the suitors is full of sexual
innuendos. The extended paralipsis of the suitors’ names in 91–4 quid … referam , pointedly
designed to provoke Ulysses’ anger and jealousy, strongly suggests that they may be doing more
than consuming his food. 87 tulit is a metaphor for fertility (Jacobson 1974: 269), 88 ruunt in me
rings of sexual assault (Knox 1995: 106), and the agricultural term 88 luxuriosa is also sexually
suggestive . 89 inque tua regnant nullis prohibentibus aula contains imagery of ruler and ruled, a
common theme in erotic elegy (Jacobson 1974: 269 84n.), and delaying aula to the end of the line
invites Ulysses to consider other possible nouns for the modifier inque tua (cf. 33n.). Similarly, 90
Larres – 106 uiscera nostra has sexual connotations (Adams 1982: 95, 116, 224), as do the greedy, grasping
hands of the suitors (92 auidas … manus ). For discussion of the constant sexual undertone present in 85–96 and the poem as a whole, see Jacobson 1974: 268–72 and Lively 2005: 60–2. To reflect this recurring sexual terminology, the first half of Verse 4, while not explicit, subtly recounts the progression of a sexual assault. The Verse begins with the suitors’ attempts to flirt (“pickup artists”), their “taking” of everything that Penelope has to offer, and their refusal to accept no for an answer (“social cues”). This is followed by Penelope’s “stripping,” and finally the near-explicit phrase “sliding into my,” at which point the lyric abruptly cuts off. Uncomfortable with reliving the traumatic experience, Penelope deftly changes the subject by replacing a potentially explicit term with a colloquial euphemism, “DMs.” That she has revised her wording is obvious from the total lack of rhyme between lyric 31 “social cues” and 33 “DMs.” This shifts attention away from the final, fateful moment of sexual penetration during rape. Perhaps her wording is simply coincidental, a pileup of phrases which can easily be misconstrued as repeated sexual entendre; or perhaps Ulysses is already too late.
30 a crowd of pickup artists: cf. 88 turba ruunt in me luxuriosa (“a lecherous crowd rushes
upon/into me”) . The term “pickup artists” describes people, most often men, who are charismatic
and skilled at striking up conversations to ultimately seduce potential sexual partners. The phrase
carries negative connotations and is often used to describe sexist individuals who view these social
interactions as a game to be won, with little to no regard for the feelings of their target. This
description closely reflects the actions of the suitors in both the Odyssey and Ep. 1, especially in the contest of the bow ( Od. 21.1–185).
Larres – 107 30–1 pickup artists … social cues: a play on two English idioms: “pickup artists” who can’t “pick
up” on social cues. Changing the verb to “taking” emphasizes the hostile, plundering actions of
the suitors (cf. 92 auidas … manus , “greedy hands”).
32 Stripping me of heart and home: cf. 90 uiscera nostra, tuae dilacerantur opes. There are
three primary interpretations of uiscera here, and my translation reflects them all. First, both
uiscera and opes may refer to the resources of an estate (Knox 1995: 106). This sense is captured by the phrase “heart and home,” a play on the idiom “hearth and home,” which denotes both the physical resources of the household and emblematizes the family life which is being disrupted by
the suitors. Secondly, uiscera may refer to the emotional heart, e.g., “my heart is torn to pieces.”
Hence, the shift from “hearth” to “heart.” Finally, uiscera may refer to the female sexual organs. dilacerantur, “they are torn to shreds,” is very physical and violent and takes on a metaphorical meaning. On the one hand, it refers to the wanton destruction of Ulysses’ property. In company with uiscera, however, dilacerantur is suggestive of violent sexual assault. To capture this double sense, I have translated it as “stripping”: Penelope is “stripped” of her (and Ulysses’) possessions
(uiscera/opes ), but she is also physically “stripped” of her clothing in a sexual assault.
33 sliding into my—DMs: “to slide into a person’s DMs” is slang for sending someone a charismatic or “smooth” direct message on social media in the hopes of ultimately seducing that person. This behavior is typical of “pickup artists” (30), and so fits with Penelope’s overall
description of the suitors. See 30–3n. for Penelope’s abrupt change of phrase.
Larres – 108 34–5 As long as I’m Penelope / Dear Ulysses’ wife I’ll be: cf. 83–4 tua sum, tua dicar oportet;
/ Penelope coniunx semper Vlixis ero. The tone of the singer is not loving, but shades more toward bitter or even sarcastic. Penelope is referencing her status within the literary tradition: she is
Penelope, and therefore “must” be the paradigmatic, loyal wife. She uses this same frozen tradition
against Ulysses in lyrics 36–7 (see n. below). If the tradition casts her as the loyal wife, it also
ensures that Ulysses “must” return to her.
36–7 I’ve got … belongs to me: cf. 84 Penelope coniunx semper Vlixis ero . Some scholars argue
that this line is an outburst of love and loyalty. Penelope has forgotten to remain distant and
impassive, overwhelmed as she is at the thought of belonging to anyone else. Jacobson by contrast points out that her language here is not impassioned, but impassive: her diction is formal, almost cold (1974: 260). My expansion here draws out the unexpressed inverse of 84. Penelope is not here displaying her traditional character as the ever-faithful wife—she is reminding Ulysses of a contract, “If I am yours, then you are mine. ” Your ass belongs to me slips into a less
formal register to represent the emotional shifts which take place throughout the poem (Knox
1995: 103), this lyric functions first and foremost as the natural result of Penelope’s contract-based
view of their love in lyric 36. In keeping with the sexual innuendos throughout the Latin and in
lyrics 30–3 (see n. above), Penelope uses aggressive, sexual terminology to define Ulysses. Either
her long abstinence has rendered her sex-starved (cf. 3–4n.), or, if she has been sexually assaulted by the suitors, her rough treatment at their hands has warped her mentality and caused her to view
her husband in a similar light. Either way, the extremely possessive metonymic phrase “your ass belongs to me” reduces Ulysses to a mere piece of flesh.
Larres – 109 39–41 Marco, Marco … Marco, Marco: cf. 18n.
40 Where the hell are you: another slip into a less formal register (cf 36–7n.).
43–6 The Bridge at last explicates Penelope’s use of the phrase “Marco (Polo).” In the game Marco
Polo, there are two primary reasons why a player does not answer the call of “Marco” by calling out “Polo”: they are either underwater/drowning, or they are cheating at the game (see 18n. for the basic rules of the game). In the context of the Bridge, the “boy” to whom Penelope refers is
Ulysses. She follows a clear line of reasoning: if Ulysses is not answering her repeated messages
(“Marco, Marco”), she concludes he must have drowned or otherwise died on his journey. If he is alive, however, he must be actively refusing to answer her messages, since Penelope has sent so many letters that (she imagines) he cannot have possibly missed them all. In this case he has been
76 peregino captus amore , and is “cheating”—not at a game, but on his wife.
47 I don’t really want to hear excuses: repetition of the first lyric of the song (cf. 1n.).
48 I’ve sent a million messages to you: in connection with lyric 47 this emphasizes the fact that
Ulysses has no valid excuse for not returning home yet. She has recruited an army of messengers
in order to persuade him to come home (cf. Ep. 1.59–62), so he must know how dire her situation
is. Given that he still has not returned, and that she knows full well he is cheating on her (cf. 24–
5n.), she must conclude that he does not care (cf. 1 lento, 58 ferreus, 66 lentus ).
49 Please don’t tell me: rephrasing of lyrics 1 and 47 (cf. Ep. 1.2 nil mihi rescribas attinet ).
Larres – 110
50 Free to come home, but you just don’t want to: cf. 80 neue, reuertendi liber, abesse uelis.
51 I am tired: re-emphasizing lyrics 7–10. Penelope is a tired old woman at this point (116 anus ),
and she is not willing to wait much longer for Ulysses.
52 levying every traveler: cf. Ep. 1.59–62. Penelope interrogates every person who lands on
Ithaca for information about her husband, and before they leave she gives each one a hand written
letter to give to Ulysses if they see him. This verse underscores the persistence with which
Penelope has tried to contact Ulysses (cf. lyric 48), sharply contrasting her devotion with his
apparent lack thereof. She refuses to be a passive character in the narrative and instead actively
writes her own narrative. Though she is well-read (cf. 9n.), Penelope does not adapt her actions
and her story to the calamities which she encounters in the rest of the Heroides, unlike some of the
other characters (cf. Fulkerson 2005) . It is this refusal to be manipulated into victimhood that
allows Penelope to escape the tragic fates of her fellow heroines (cf. Ariadne 16n., Fulkerson 2005:
38–9).
53–4 To shout your name, to call you home / ‘Til the ocean echoes back: these lyrics refer
literally to the voices of the travelers that Penelope has enlisted to help her locate Ulysses and bring him home. But “echoes” also alerts the listener to an intertextual reference, namely to
Ariadne: “I shout your name but only echoes answer me” (“Black Mark” lyric 14) and the
landscape that echoes Theseus’ name back to her ( Ep. 10.21–4, Ariadne lyrics 15, 20, 28, 34; cf.
Larres – 111 Ariadne 15n. on the intertextuality of echoes). These lyrics also set up the final chorus (cf. 55, 56–
8nn.)
55 We’re callin’: referring literally to the travelers (cf. 53–4 above), but this also metapoetically signifies each of the abandoned heroines throughout the concept album, all of whom are calling out in concert with one another. Their voices echo, harmonize, and intertwine with each other to demonstrate the intertextual relationships between the Heroides.
56–8 Marco (Marco) … Marco (Marco): cf. lyrics 52–4, Ep. 1.59–62. The final chorus builds
up layer upon layer of the call “Marco” as Penelope’s message is echoed and re-echoed across the
ocean in the hands, the mouths, the coat pockets of these travelers (cf. Lindheim 2003: 37). Her
voice has carried farther than she ever imagined; through her messages, she has traversed the world
(Belinskaya 2019). The echoes here also metapoetically represent the collective voices of the
heroines (cf. 55n. above).
57–9 The boy’s in the water but the boy ain’t callin’ “polo” … If the boy’s alive, he’s cheatin’:
these lyrics reconstrue the musical bridge which explicates the Marco Polo motif (cf. lyrics 43–6
and n.). Coupled with “where are you” (61), they tie together several key elements of the song and
reiterate that Ulysses is either dead or cheating on Penelope. Note also the lapse into a lower
register of speaking, e.g., “ain’t,” and the syncopated forms “callin’” and “cheatin’” (cf. 36–7,
40nn.).
Larres – 112 62 *phone hanging up*: tying back to the opening phone tone, this sound closes out the telephonic framework of the song. It also casts some doubt on the exact mode of Penelope’s message. Was she simply speaking into her phone, knowing full well that Ulysses’ number was disconnected and that her message would leave no trace? Perhaps this is merely a way to vent her frustrations (cf. “screaming at the wind” 27)—or perhaps she is leaving messages on any and every phone number she knows in the hopes of reaching someone who is in contact with Ulysses.
Larres – 113 CONCLUSION: THE FUTURE OF THE PROJECT
In the near future I intend to complete the concept album by crafting song-translations of
Ep. 2 (Phyllis to Demophoon), 7 (Dido to Aeneas), and 13 (Laodamia to Protesilaus). The full album will contain six song-translations and my addition of the “Intro” song from the perspective of the Wind. Once all the song-translations are finished, I will work the voices, melodies, and tag-lines into the “Intro” so that their words, which have been caught up by the Wind, interweave and swirl together. By intertwining the lyrics in this manner I hope to both spark new interpretations and represent the profoundly intertextual nature of Ovid’s collection. Once completed, the entire album will be uploaded to streaming services including Spotify, YouTube, iTunes, and SoundCloud. I will continue to add songs and update them on the Google Doc linked
here so that interested readers can track the progress of the work.
Larres – 114 WORKS CITED
Aatsma, A. 2017. “Ariadne.” Theoi Project. Accessed March 30, 2021. https://www.theoi.com/
Georgikos/Ariadne.html.
Adams, J. 1982. The Latin Sexual Vocabulary. London.
Anderson, J. 1896. “On the Sources of Ovid’s Heroides I, III, VII, X, XII.” [Doctoral dissertation,
John Hopkins University], Baltimore.
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