Greek Lyric, Volume II: Anacreon. Anacreontea. Early Choral Lyric

by Anacreon, David A. Campbell (Translator)

The five volumes in the Loeb Classical Library edition of "Greek Lyric" contain the surviving fragments of solo and choral song. This poetry was not preserved in medieval manuscripts, and few complete poems remain. Later writers quoted from the poets, but only so much as suited their needs; these quotations are supplemented by papyrus texts found in Egypt, most of them badly damaged. The high quality of what remains makes us realise the enormity of our loss.

Volume I presents Sappho and Alcaeus. Volume II contains the work of Anacreon, composer of solo song; the "Anacreontea"; and the earliest writers of choral poetry, notably the seventh-century Spartans Alcman and Terpander. Stesichorus, Ibycus, Simonides, and other sixth-century poets are in Volume III. Bacchylides and other fifth-century poets are in Volume IV along with Corinna (although some argue that she belongs to the third century). Volume V contains the new school of poets active from the mid-fifth to the mid-fourth century and also collects folk songs, drinking songs, hymns, and other anonymous pieces.

Genres: Poetry, Classics, Ancient

560 pages, Hardcover

First published January 1, 1988

About the author

563? BC - 478? BC.
Songs of noted Greek poet Anacreon praised love and wine.

This able lyricist drank with hymns. People later included him in the canonical list of nine lyric. Anacreon wrote in the ancient Ionic dialect. People composed all early lyrics to recite to the accompaniment of music, usually the lyre. It touched on universal themes of infatuation, disappointment, revelry, parties, festivals, and the observations of everyday people and life.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anacreon

Reviews

[Unknown · Rating 5 out of 5]

In order to express the indefinable effect that the odes of Anacreon have upon us, I can find no better comparison and example than a passing breath of fresh breeze in the summer, fragrant and cheering, that all at once restores you in a way and seems to open your lungs and heart with a kind of gaiety. —Leopardi, Zibaldone, Z30-31
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His head garlanded with luxuriant flowers, he is the ruler over gods, he is the subduer of mortals. —Anacreon, 505d

I weave garlands with flowers, put them on my head and sing of life’s calm weather . . . I wet my body with fragrant perfume and with a girl in my arms I sing of the Cyprian. —Anacreontea, 50

At the command of the Cyprian, Eros once again pours sweetly down and warms my heart. —Alcman, 59

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This volume is worth acquiring purely for the golden collection of poetry that is the Anacreontea; as a collection overshadowing, in my opinion, their namesake's surviving fragments, their sweet words speak of all the subjects I adore about Greek Lyric —as the introducer himself describes

spring, the rose, wine, Bacchus, Cyprian Aphrodite, the Loves, the Graces, the vine . . . if one adds poems inspired by or giving orders for works of art, the list is almost complete.

—mixed into a blend of golden nectar worthy to be consumed by the gods.

Also, since

"Tell me, you know these things: what flowers does [he] prefer?"
"Roses . . ." —D'annunzio, Pleasure

"My favourite flowers, roses are." —Proust, The Guermantes Way, In Search of Lost Time

I found within one of my favourite poems:

Along with spring, the bringer of garlands, I am eager to sing with clear voice of spring’s companion, the soft rose. It is the breath of the gods and the joy of mortals, the glory of the Graces in springtime, the delight of the Loves with their rich garlands of Aphrodite; it is a subject for poetry and the graceful plant of the Muses; it is sweet to find when one is picking one’s way along thorny paths, sweet to take and warm in soft hands, to press to one’s body, the light flower of Love. At feasts, banquets, and festivals of Dionysus what should we do without the rose? Rosy-fingered Dawn, rosy-armed Nymphs, rosy-hued Aphrodite—so the poets call them; and the rose gives pleasure also to the unpoetic. It helps the sick, it protects the dead, it defies time: for the rose in its graceful old age keeps the fragrance of its youth. Come, let us tell of its birth: when from the grey waters the sea gave birth to Cythere, all bedewed with foam, and from his head Zeus displayed Athena who loves the battle-din, a fearful sight for Olympus, then earth made wonderful new shoots of roses blossom, her reaction of skilled artistry; and that the rose might resemble the blessed gods, Lyaeus sprinkled it with nectar and made it flourish proudly on the thorn, an immortal plant. (55)

Some other unforgettable ones I enjoyed:

Once when I was weaving a garland I found Love among the roses. I held him by his wings and plunged him in my wine, then I took it and drank him down; and now inside my body he tickles me with his wings. (6)

If only I could be a mirror, so that you would always look at me; a robe, so that you would always wear me; water, that I might wash your skin; perfume, lady, that I might anoint you; a band for your breast, a pearl for your neck, a sandal—only you must trample me underfoot! (22)

I also came across the original greek of a latin to English translation of a passage extolling the beauty of my favourite flower which Robert Burton used in his Anatomy of Melancholy that I noted down when I first came across it:

Latin & English from Burton:

Rosa honor decusque florum,
Rosa flos odorque divim,
Hominum rosa est volupta,
Decus illa Gratiarum,
Florente amoris hora,
Rosa suavium Diones, etc

Rose the fairest of all flowers,
Rose the delight of higher powers,
Rose the joy of mortal men,
Rose the pleasure of fine women,
Rose the Graces' ornament,
Rose Dione's sweet content

The original poem from the Anacreontea:

Let us mix the Loves’ rose with Dionysus: let us fasten on our brows the rose with its lovely petals and drink, laughing gently. Rose, finest of flowers, rose, darling of spring, rose, delight of the gods also, rose with which Cythere’s son garlands his lovely curls when he dances with the Graces, garlands me, and in your precinct, Dionysus, I shall play the lyre and, wreathed with my rose garlands, dance with a deep-bosomed girl. (44)

A beautiful collection, which, as you read, you almost feel gently washed with a breeze of flowers and wine as the sun beats down on you during an endless Greek Summer.
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I'm in the habit of reading some poetry alongside the fiction and non-fiction I also happen to be reading, and have been slowly working my way chronologically through major works for some years now. Skipping some of the longer works which I'll return to later, last year I had reached Milton on my list which I started, but I couldn't take it; not just him, but the couple of other more modern poets I have read: Donne and Jonson; I forced myself through them, but I returned to the Ancients; first re-reading some epics in different translations, and now reading the 'minor' and fragmentary works we have left.

I'll probably continue with Milton and all the other 'greats' I have on my list: Spenser, Dryden, Young, Pope, Gray, Wordsworth, Coleridge, Byron, Keats, Longfellow, Tennyson, etc., but if they are like the few I have read, like Donne, Jonson, and Milton, I really feel like I will be forcing myself through them, in the hope of discovering a few pieces of gold amongst a whole load of non-aurelian poems.

I feel sorry for people who, like myself, were first exposed to poetry by being force-fed these (and more contemporary) modern people in school and thus inevitably coming away thinking all poetry is like this: rhyming, boring, intellectual . . . almost 'non-human' . . .

This is what True Poetry is; not the intellectual, modern kind, but the fresh, pure, natural, Human kind: the kind that that speaks most purely to our passions and emotions; not to our brains but to our hearts; the kind that reaches it's apex in Greek Lyric.
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Anacreon - Testimonia
Poem 5, in which the writer gives instructions to a silversmith for the creation of a cup, lists in fact the subjects which occupy the writers of the Anacreontea; spring, the rose, wine, Bacchus, Cyprian Aphrodite, the Loves, the Graces, the vine, handsome boys; if one adds poems inspired by or giving orders for works of art, the list is almost complete. —Introduction

The same was true of Anacreon, who surpassed the common span of human life but perished when a single pip obstinately stuck in his withered throat as he sustained his poor remaining strength with raisin-juice. —Valerius Maximum, Memorable Deeds and Sayings

Anacreon, glory of Ionians, may you among the dead not be without your beloved revels or your lyre; but gazing amorously with lascivious eyes may you sing clear-voiced, shaking the garland on your perfumed hair, turning towards Eurypyle or Megisteus or the Ciconian locks of Thracian Smerdies, as you spout forth sweet wine, your robe quite drenched with Bacchus, wringing unmixed nectar from its folds; for all your life, old man, was poured out as an offering to these thrree—the Muses, Dionysus, and Eros. —Palatine Anthology: Antipater of Sidon, On Anacreon

And he entwined Anacreon, whose sweet lyric song is indeed of nectar, but a bloom which cannot be transplanted into elegies. —Palatine Anthology: The Garland of Meleager

Anacreon, who made all his poetry depend on the subject of intoxication, is unusual. For he is attacked as having given himself over in his poetry to laxity and luxury, since most people are unaware that he was sober while he composed and that he was an upright man, who merely pretended to be drunk, though there as no necessity for him doing so. —Athenaeus, Scholars at Dinner
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Anacreon
I owe many thanks, (Dionysus?), for having escaped Love’s bonds completely, bonds made harsh by Aphrodite. (346, 2)

I seek you, but you do not notice, not knowing that you hold the reins of my soul. (360)

But he, being high-minded . . . (369)

I fly up on light wings to Olympus in search of Love. (378)

. . . fly past me on wings of shining gold. (379)

Bring me water, boy, bring wine, bring me garlands of flowers . . . (396)

And they placed over their breasts woven garlands of lotus. (397)

Youth and health (404)

You have cut off the perfect flower of your soft hair. (414)

. . . you maiden of the lovely hair and golden robe. (418)

When white hairs shall mingle with my black . . . (420)

Once again I love and I do not love, I am mad and I am not mad. (428)

But you go too far . . . (430)

Twining thighs around thighs. (439)

Glistening with desire . . . (444)

Sex-mad (446)

People living in Lydian style . . . (481)

To gaze with excitement. (482)

Mingling the splendid gifts of the Muses and Aphrodite . . . (eleg. 2)
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Anacreontea
Anacreon, the singer from Teos, saw me and spoke to me in a dream; and I ran to him and kissed him and embraced him. He was an old man but handsome, handsome and amorous; his lips smelled of wine, and sine hw as now shaky Love was leading him by the hand. He took the garland from his head and gave it to me, and it smelled of Anacreon. Fool that I was, I held it up and fastened it on my brow—and to this very day I have not ceased to be in love. (1)

The Seasons are bringing us the first delightful roses . . . (5)

I do not care about the wealth of Gyges . . . I have never envied him . . . I care about drenching my beard with perfumes, I care about garlanding my head with roses; I care about today: who knows tomorrow? (8)

Love, set me on fire at once: if you don’t, you will melt in flames. (11)

I want to have my fill of Lyaeus and perfume and my girl and to go mad, I want to go mad. (12)

I want to love, I want to love. Love urged me to love, but I was a fool and was not persuaded. (13)

As you race on the air you smell of perfumes, you rain perfumes . . . (15)

Paint my absent girl according to my instructions. First paint her soft black hair; and if the wax is able, make it smell of perfume. Paint her whole cheek and then her ivory brow beneath her dark hair . . . paint her nose and her cheeks mingling roses and cream. Paint her lips like Persuasion’s, provoking kisses. Under her soft chin let all the Graces fly around her marble-white neck. Dress the rest of her in robes of light purple, but let her skin show through a little to prove the quality of her body. (16)

Give me garlands of [her] flowers . . . (18)

A spring that flows with persuasion. (18)

The Muses tied Love with garlands and handed him over to Beauty. (19)

Anacreon is a sweet singer, Sappho is a sweet singer; let them be mixed with a song of Pindar and poured in my cup. (20)

It is hard not to fall in love, it is hard to fall in love; but hardest of all is to fail in love. (29)

Why perfume a stone? Why pour wine uselessly for soil? No, perfume me while I am still alive, garland may head with roses . . . (32)

But when I wanted to kiss them, they all fled from my dream; and I, poor wretch, was left alone and wanted to be asleep again. (37)

Since I was created a mortal to journey on the path of life, I can tell the years that I have gone past, but do not know the years I have to run. Let me go, worries; let there be no dealings between you and me. Before death catches up with me, I shall play, I shall laugh, and I shall dance with the lovely Lyaeus. (40)

. . . embracing a tender girl whose whole body has the fragrance of the Cyprian. (41)

But most of all I love to put garlands of hyacinth round my brow and play with girls . . . at merry parties with youthful girls, dancing to the lyre, may I take life easy. (42)

Let us fasten garlands of roses on our brows and get drunk, laughing gaily. (43)

. . . soft-haired and with sweet-smelling mouth . . . (43)

I have the wealth of Croesus . . . (48)

Look how well the white lilies woven in garlands go with the roses. (51)

Let someone fetch me Dionysus’ liquid harvest . . . (53)

Took the first step towards immortality . . . (57)

For bacchus is drunk and plays disorderly games with the young people. (59)
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Alcman
My name is Alcman and I belong to Sparta with its many tripods, and I have come to know the Muses of Helicon, who have made me greater than the despots Candaules or Gyges. (Testimonia, 2)

Her lovely yellow hair . . . (1)

If only she were nearer and took my soft hand, immediately I would become her suppliant . . . (3)

Darling girls . . . (34)

The saffron-robed Muses (taught?) these things to the far-shooting son of Zeus. (46)

And to you I pray, bringing this garland of gold-flower and lovely galingale. (60)

Father Zeus, if only he were my husband! (81)

And I fall at your knees. (85b)

Smelling of flowers . . . (92b)

Cydonian apples . . . (99)

Who, who could ever tell easily the mind of another man? (104)

Vain (are my many journeys?). (112)

Wearing a beautiful dress . . . (117)

We may (preserve) the memory of those who were present. (118)

Experience is the beginning of learning. (125)

Crimson . . . hair . . . hairbands . . . and beautiful . . . full of perfume . . .(162b)
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The pleasure of Anacreon’s odes is so fleeting, and so resistant to all analysis, that to relish it, you really need to read them quite quickly, attending little or very slightly. Anyone who reads them steadily through, stopping at each part, anyone who examines, who pays attention, does not see any beauty, or feel any pleasure. The beauty lies in the whole, in such a way that it is not in the parts at all. The pleasure only comes from it altogether, from the sudden and indefinable impression of the whole. —Leopardi, Zibaldone, Z4177

In conclusion, just as Anacreon lounged to be able to change himself into a. Mirror, to be gazed at continuously by the one he loved, or into a petticoat to cover her, or an ointment to anoint her, or water to wash her, or a fillet, that she might bind him to her bosom, or a pearl to be worn at her throat, or into a shoemaker’s, that she might at least press him with her foot similarly I would like, for a little while, to be transformed into a bird, to experience the joy and contentment of their life. —Leopardi, In Praise of Birds, Operette Morali

[James Violand · Rating 3 out of 5]

Another of Loeb's volumes, highly academic, thoroughly researched, brilliantly translated and ultimately boring because of the very few complete works extant. I enjoyed it because I'm an ancient Greek freak and it is filled with incidentals that broaden my knowledge. That being said, it is disappointing and adds to my despair about how much of our heritage will never be recovered. Ah, well. If you are not like me, do not attempt to read this book. You will curse the Greeks for being difficult.

[John Cairns · Rating 3 out of 5]

Basically bits culled from grammarians and quotations, and I'm not up enough in Greek to appreciate the use of metres etc. The comment on 'Come, thrice-swept Smerdies' is 'Foppish? or with obscene sense?' What would the obscene sense be? Little to go on except Anacreon loved boys. To play the Dorian is to go commando but for women and without any clothes at all. Spartan women? What are they like? 'Going along with hips swaying' would be sashaying, would it not? If I must choose between Pharsalus and Athens for 'the city', I'd choose Athens which was known as the city. There's more Anacreontea than Anacreon. Need I say 'a simple member that already desires the Paphian' is erect? There's even more Alcman. I'd think, 'a Lydian, having thrown off his burden, departed to Hades' means the burden of life, not slavery. I found out what a diple is. I'd show you but the bigger than, less than symbols aren't readily available. I also found out 'ego' comes from the Greek. I like Alcman, 'the girls scattered, their task unfinished,' at the sight of the naked Odysseus, 'like birds when a hawk flies over them,' though in this instance it'd be a cock.

[Kat · Rating 5 out of 5]

Anacreon writes of roses, girls, wine, boys, the beauty of spring, and above all, Love—what more worthy subjects could poetry ask for?

[David · Rating 3 out of 5]

good stuff