Tuesday, May 31, 2005
Poem of the Month
Odi et amo Quare id faciam fortasse requiris
Nescio sed fiere sentio et excrucior.
Gaius Valerius Catullus (84--54 BC)
I hate and I love You may ask why I act this way
I don't know but I feel it's so and I suffer.
They teach you this poem in first year as an illustration of elision; how the Romans slid words together. It's not as it's written; the first three words are spoken 'odetamo'. It scans with the elisions. Who cares about that? I like the poem in my later years because of the distinction Horace makes between knowing and feeling. He doesn't know how he can hold two contradictory emotions about the same person. But he feels it (sentio) and acts on it--he suffers. The unverifiable, indeed, unbelievable is felt to be true to a sufficient degree that he will act (actually the suffer is, I think, passive voice--more like it drives him nuts or he is tortured). I see this distinction as precursor of the Catholic idea of "moral certainty"-- something you believe, without actually being able to prove it or maybe even understand it, but believe strongly enough to act on it without real hesitation. I, at least, can see all that in those two lines . My ex-wife stayed with me for a week for the graduation of our youngest daughter. I wonder if there is a connection between that fact and and my choice of poem?
Nescio sed fiere sentio et excrucior.
Gaius Valerius Catullus (84--54 BC)
I hate and I love You may ask why I act this way
I don't know but I feel it's so and I suffer.
They teach you this poem in first year as an illustration of elision; how the Romans slid words together. It's not as it's written; the first three words are spoken 'odetamo'. It scans with the elisions. Who cares about that? I like the poem in my later years because of the distinction Horace makes between knowing and feeling. He doesn't know how he can hold two contradictory emotions about the same person. But he feels it (sentio) and acts on it--he suffers. The unverifiable, indeed, unbelievable is felt to be true to a sufficient degree that he will act (actually the suffer is, I think, passive voice--more like it drives him nuts or he is tortured). I see this distinction as precursor of the Catholic idea of "moral certainty"-- something you believe, without actually being able to prove it or maybe even understand it, but believe strongly enough to act on it without real hesitation. I, at least, can see all that in those two lines . My ex-wife stayed with me for a week for the graduation of our youngest daughter. I wonder if there is a connection between that fact and and my choice of poem?
# posted by Roger Fraley @ 10:44 PM 
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Roger, I'm a first time reader. Here is a thought from http://patternsofink.blogspot.com/
"rather than a smile they brought the ache of joy: a fragile awareness that life is a collection of mostly uneventful moments. They do not pass but gather; they are not spent but shared; and only rarely do we begin to grasp their value—or allow ourselves to think they will someday change—and when we do, our grip goes numb, like in a dream, just when it matters most to hold on.
That’s what I mean by the ache of joy. It’s not a passing feeling but the passing ability to sense what’s always there, the simplicity of life that is lost in the complexity of living. It catches us off guard because it’s stored not in our cherished memories but in moments that have passed forgotten. Out of nowhere it comes, this ache of joy, but briefly seeing life this clearly blurs the eyes...."
From "The Ache of Joy" at http://patternsofink.blogspot.com/
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"rather than a smile they brought the ache of joy: a fragile awareness that life is a collection of mostly uneventful moments. They do not pass but gather; they are not spent but shared; and only rarely do we begin to grasp their value—or allow ourselves to think they will someday change—and when we do, our grip goes numb, like in a dream, just when it matters most to hold on.
That’s what I mean by the ache of joy. It’s not a passing feeling but the passing ability to sense what’s always there, the simplicity of life that is lost in the complexity of living. It catches us off guard because it’s stored not in our cherished memories but in moments that have passed forgotten. Out of nowhere it comes, this ache of joy, but briefly seeing life this clearly blurs the eyes...."
From "The Ache of Joy" at http://patternsofink.blogspot.com/
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