Video
‘The Roman Callimachus’
Copyright Sarah Sarhandi and Vincent Katz
Jamie McDermott performing 'The Roman Callimachus’ at Sarah Sarhandi’s Found, King’s Place, London, December 15th, 2013.
PROPERTIUS
Propertius explains his origins and goals as a poet to his friend, Tullus.
What class I am and from where, Tullus, who my Penates,
you ask all this in the name of our long friendship, Tullus.
If the Perusine tombs of our country are known to you,
funerals in Italy’s hard times,
when Roman discord hunted her citizens —
this was especially painful for me, my Etruscan soil:
you allowed my relative’s limbs to go abandoned,
you cover the poor man’s bones with no earth —
neighboring Umbria, below Perusia on the plain
bore me, fertile Umbria, productive land.
Wolf of Mars, best possible nurturer of our affairs,
what battlements grew from your milk!
battlements I’ll try to lay down in solemn verse:
god help me, for the sound in my mouth is tender!
Still, whatever stream should flow from my narrow
breast, all of it will serve my nation.
To me, Bacchus, extend your leaves of ivy,
that Umbria, swelling with my books, be proud,
Umbria, land of the Roman Callimachus!
Whoever sees the citadels ascend from the valleys
will value their walls by my genius!
‘Lucky me! Radiant night!’
Copyright Sarah Sarhandi and Vincent Katz
Sarah Buechi preforming 'Lucky me! Radiant night!' at Sarah Sarhandi’s Found, King’s Place, London, December 15th, 2013.
CYNTHIA
Cynthia is in her boudoir, seated, in front of a mirror. Her room is sophisticated in its appointments. Her handmaiden is behind her, combing her hair and listening to her tale.
Lucky me! radiant night! and you
couch made fertile by my pleasures!
As many words as we shared while the lamps were on --
once light was removed, that many bouts ensued!
First I wrestle him with naked breasts,
then my concealing tunic brings delay.
I push open his lids, as they slip into sleep,
and say, with my expression, “So, you lie there spent?”
With such varied embrace we exchange positions!
So many of his kisses linger on my lips!
“But if you,” he says, “intend to go to bed and keep your clothes on,
you'll feel my hands ripping your clothing:
in fact, if excessive rage provokes me,
you'll be showing your mom your battered arms.”
Drooping boobs don't yet preclude my play:
let her worry who knows the shame of having given birth.
While the fates permit us, let us sate our eyes on sex:
a long night is coming for us, daylight never to return.
If only he’d agree that we be bound like this in mid-embrace
by a chain no day would ever loosen!
He is mistaken, who seeks a limit for love’s madness:
true lust is incapable of moderation.
Propertius enters Cynthia’s bedroom, slowly approaches. She does not yet notice his presence, even as she addresses him.
But you, while there's light, don't neglect the fruit of life!
If you give all your kisses, you give few.
And just as leaves fall from dried-up garlands,
and you see them floating, strewn over the wine bowls,
it’s the same for us, lovers who now breathe vigorously:
perhaps tomorrow shuts in our fate.
Audio
Hadrian
Dominic Konieczny singing ‘Hadrian,’ an example of Sarah Sarhandi and Vincent Katz’s collaborative process, in which Sarhandi set to music an excerpt from Katz’s longer poem based on the life of the Emperor Hadrian.
Cynthia
Lauren Kinsella performs ‘Lucky me! Radiant night!’, studio recording, 2011.
From ‘Hadrian’
a shafted hunt
heft
a longing toward a loss
study and effect
travel broadens
but the blues
pulls inward
to a point
a higher and higher
pushing
an affect
and sudden
process
to thousands
there are eyes
and dead hands
collective crash
— Vincent Katz
CYNTHIA
Cynthia is in her boudoir, seated, in front of a mirror. Her room is sophisticated in its appointments. Her handmaiden is behind her, combing her hair and listening to her tale.
Lucky me! radiant night! and you
couch made fertile by my pleasures!
As many words as we shared while the lamps were on --
once light was removed, that many bouts ensued!
First I wrestle him with naked breasts,
then my concealing tunic brings delay.
I push open his lids, as they slip into sleep,
and say, with my expression, “So, you lie there spent?”
With such varied embrace we exchange positions!
So many of his kisses linger on my lips!
“But if you,” he says, “intend to go to bed and keep your clothes on,
you'll feel my hands ripping your clothing:
in fact, if excessive rage provokes me,
you'll be showing your mom your battered arms.”
Drooping boobs don't yet preclude my play:
let her worry who knows the shame of having given birth.
While the fates permit us, let us sate our eyes on sex:
a long night is coming for us, daylight never to return.
If only he’d agree that we be bound like this in mid-embrace
by a chain no day would ever loosen!
He is mistaken, who seeks a limit for love’s madness:
true lust is incapable of moderation.
Propertius enters Cynthia’s bedroom, slowly approaches. She does not yet notice his presence, even as she addresses him.
But you, while there's light, don't neglect the fruit of life!
If you give all your kisses, you give few.
And just as leaves fall from dried-up garlands,
and you see them floating, strewn over the wine bowls,
it’s the same for us, lovers who now breathe vigorously:
perhaps tomorrow shuts in our fate.