The Metamorphoses (Signet Classics)

There is not much to add to Mr Lukeman's excellent review which is the first posted for Horace Gregory's translation of Ovid's "Metamorphoses".Obviously, as a Latin classic, "The Metamorphoses" can be read by the Western English speaking reader in a great number of translations, but I chose Gregory's out of a long standing respect for his scholarship, and poetic vision, which I was already acquainted with.Gregory's introduction made me sensitive to Ovid's vivid and complex characterization of human and mortal trials, and metamorphosis as change, even... adaptation make Ovid perhaps unbelievably modern.Ovid's poetic vision can even heal our wantonly pagan hyper rational hubris, and we need healing, as an old civilisation now, and as individuals, too.Here are some excerpts of what Ovid and Gregory do with Apollo and Daphne, Apollo, pursuing Daphne out of love, and Daphne, being pursued like an animal escaping the hunter."Apollo's first love was elusive Daphne,The child of Peneus, kindly tyrant of the river,Nor did the god pursue the girl by chance--The cause was Cupid's anger at Apollo :Still heated by his conquest of the snake,Phoebus saw Cupid wind a tight strung bow,"Who is this lecherous child", said he, "who playsWith weapons and is not a man ? The bowWas made for me ; I am the one who killsA worthy enemy, wild beasts...Your businessIs not to play with arrows, but set afireYour little torch that guides unwary lovers."The child of Venus glanced at flush Apollo :"Your arrows may be murder to us all,But mine shall pierce your veins : as muchAs mortals are less than the divine, soYour poor glory is less than my poor skill."With that he raised his wings and in quick airHe found a shaded ledge on high Parnassus ;There carefully he made a choice of arrows--Two darts that were of opposite persuasion,One, like a golden spear, was sharp as fire,And is love's fire in the flesh, the other,Heavy as boredom, dull as lead, he plungedAt a single stroke into white Daphne's breast.Then Cupid aimed at Phoebus, and love's arrowWith fire of lightening pierced his bones ;Apollo walked as in a tower of flames.As Phoebus burned with love young Daphne fledAs though she feared love's name, as if she wereThe wraith of virgin Phoebe, huntress and childWho trapped small creatures of the bushband fen,And ran with floating hair through green-deep forest....As Daphne ranPhoebus had more to say, and she, distracted,In flight, in fear, wind flowing through her dressAnd her wild hair--she grew more beautifulThe more he followed her and saw wind tearHer dress and the short tunic that she wore,The girl a naked wraith in wilderness.And as they ran young Phoebus saved his breathFor greater speed to close the race, to circleThe spent girl in an open field, to harryThe chase as greyhound races hare,His teeth, his black jaws glancing at her heels.The god by grace of hope, the girl, despair,Still kept their increasing pace until his lipsBreathed at her shoulder ; and almost spent,The girl saw waves of a familiar river,Her father's home, and in a trembling voiceCalled, "Father, if your waters still hold charmsTo save your daughter, cover with green earthThis body I wear too well", and as she spokeA soaring drowsiness possessed her ; growingIn earth she stood, white thighs embraced by climbingBark, her white arms branches, her fair head swayingIn a cloud of leaves ; all that was Daphne bowedIn the stirring of the wind, the glittering greenLear twined within her hair and she was laurel.Even now Phoebus embraced the lovely treeWhose heart he felt still beating in its side ;He stroked its branches, kissed the sprouting bark,And as the tree still seemed to sway, to shudderAt his touch, Apollo whispered, "DaphneWho cannot be my wife must be the seal,The sign of all I own, immortal leafTwined in my hair as hers, and by this signMy constant love, my honor shall be shown :When Roman captais home from victoryRide with the Legions up Capitoline,Their heads will shine with laurels and whereverThe Augustus sets his gates, plain or frontier,Or Roman city wall, the bronze oak leafAnd the green-pointed laurel shall guard the portalAnd grace the Roman crown." As Phoebus spoke,The laurel shook her branches and seemed to bowA timid blessing on her lover's pleasure".Enough said...thank you Ovid, thank you, Gregory for so much beauty and depth.

I bought this book to replace my 1958 taped-together, repeatedly-read paperback. Out of curiosity I looked at other translations. None sufficed. The raw power and passion in this work shines through an old-fashioned iambic-pentameter eloquence. Nothing is sanitized as was the case with other translations. Violence and the erotic --and the sometimes uncomfortable blur between them -- it's all there.Ovid's recounting of Roman mythology and legend spans the cosmic splendor of creation and the deities of Olympus tothe encounters between mortals and gods, love, lust, greed, avarice and heroic adventure. All the themes of transformative events are wrapped in stories about literal, magical transformations. Women fleeing the lust of gods transform through divine intervention into trees, rivers, animals. Transformation comes swiftly for those who offend or please the sensibilities of a goddess or god. The desperate dissolve into the natural world in a renewed form. Some face punishment in the underworld. Heroic mortals ascend into the stars. Even gender is fluid, via the gift of divine intervention to avert heartbreak or open the consciousness of a prophet. Instead of what might otherwise sound like a sensational tabloid, the stories creep into your cellular memory and rumble in your brain at night like a distant thunderstorm. The poetry makes the stories shine.There are plenty of stories which are not, at first blush, for the politically correct. In particular, the male gods seem obsessed with chasing after mortal or semidivine women and trying to rape them. The goddesses are preoccupied with jealousy and vengeance. However, mortals are not seen in the best light either in their obsessive loves. Others have suggested that this is a reflection of then-newer, more patriarchal religious traditions and cultures taking over earlier, lost, more matrifocal beliefs. This review is not intended as a comment on what was, or should have been.Ovid's metamorphosis themes have a modern counterpart in our stories of shapeshifters, and can inspire modern writers tackling myth and transformation in their own work. For those who are repelled by his stories, his work points the way for us to write our own. And ultimately, the poetry lives.

Yes, Greco-Roman mythology is fascinating and significant stuff...but with over fifty fables, Ovid’s Metamorphoses can at times be a confusing read of hundreds of characters and long-ago forgotten places. I found myself repeatedly flipping back and forth to the index of names...this makes for a tedious experience.That aside, humans transformed into rocks, statues, birds, flowers, constellations, planets and stars, even rivers, makes for a captivating piece of work. These are the myths, the legends, of gods and mortals which have stood the test of time. Ovid’s work was banned by Augustus Caesar in 8AD due to its immoral content.What were these guys (Ovid, Virgil, Homer, Apollonius, etc.) smoking back then? Translation by Gregory very approachable.

Very nicely bound.

Metamorfose significa, segundo o Dicionário Houaiss, mudança completa da forma. Para Ovídio, o mundo físico estava mudando constantemente, e assim é a vida humana – através de nascimento e morte, amor, ódio, realização, falha. O mais importante, porém, é o retrato da imaginação humana que Ovídio faz - não tanto por causa de qualquer coisa que escreve sobre isso, mas por causa de como ele a coloca em ação. Junto com Shakespeare, não existe ninguém melhor que Ovídio, com tantas ideias, sobre como contar uma história. Devido sua incrível habilidade como poeta, suas versões de inúmeros mitos gregos e romanos tornaram-se inspirações para gerações de artistas posteriores – veja na web! O que é irônico, porém, é o tratamento que Ovídio dá a esses mitos: tudo menos reverência; metade do tempo você tem a sensação de que ele está brincando com as histórias herdadas; na outra, talvez tenha inventado novas histórias a medida que foi escrevendo o livro. Como resultado, Ovídio se torna realmente um grande brincalhão da literatura ocidental - o cara que rasgou todas as páginas de uma antiga enciclopédia e as substituiu por entradas escritas por ele mesmo. Embora Ovídio seja um importante escritor da literatura secular, aparentemente não tem sido bem tratado por nossos editores em língua portuguesa (i.e., poucas traduções - de qualidade duvidosa). A boa notícia é que esta tradução em versos de Horace Gregory é fantástica; é o que podemos chamar de “a mais fina tradução em língua inglesa já feita dos poemas de Ovidio”.

I really like this translation of Metamorphoses!

Great book!