Introduction
Welcome! On this site poem 1.1 from the Carmina of Tibullus is presented and analyzed for meaning. We move through the poem in a linear fashion, selecting stanzas, then discussing their content. Hopefully this helps you better understand and appreciate the Epicurian philosophy of Tibullus and his beautiful poetic style!
Easy Hands
The poem begins with:
LatinDivitias alius fulvo sibi congerat auro
Et teneat culti iugera multa soli, Quem labor adsiduus vicino terreat hoste, Martia cui somnos classica pulsa fugent: Me mea paupertas vita traducat inerti, 5 Dum meus adsiduo luceat igne focus. Ipse seram teneras maturo tempore vites Rusticus et facili grandia poma manu; |
TranslationLet other men gather bright gold to themselves
and own many acres of well-ploughed soil, let endless worry trouble them, with enemies nearby, and the peals of the war-trumpets driving away sleep: let my moderate means lead me to a quiet life, as long as my fireside glows with endless flame. I’ll sow the tender vines myself, when the time is ripe-- being a country dweller—and fat fruits too, with an easy hand; |
Tibullus makes his life philosophy clear right from the start...
The Gods of Farmers
Tibullus then goes on a religious tangent, speaking of rituals and traditions that had been performed by rural Romans for hundreds of years:
Content with Little
He then speaks of the simple work he is willing to do as a small farmer:
Earthenware Cups
Tibullus next uses clay cups as a metaphor for the simple and time-honored life he wants to lead:
LatinFictilia antiquus primum sibi fecit agrestis
Pocula, de facili conposuitque luto. Non ego divitias patrum fructusque requiro, Quos tulit antiquo condita messis avo: Parva seges satis est, satis requiescere lecto Si licet et solito membra levare toro. |
TranslationThe cups were earthenware the ancients made,
at first, themselves, from ductile clay. I don’t need the wealth of my forefathers, that the harvest brought my distant ancestors: a little field’s enough: enough to sleep in peace, and rest my limbs on the accustomed bed |
Let No Girl Cry
The poet then expresses his dislike for travel, stemming from his need to be with Delia:
When My Last Hour Comes
Tibullus briefly gets morbid, soothing his ego with thoughts of Delia's grief at his death:
LatinTe spectem, suprema mihi cum venerit hora,
Te teneam moriens deficiente manu. Flebis et arsuro positum me, Delia, lecto, Tristibus et lacrimis oscula mixta dabis. |
TranslationLet me gaze on you, when my last hour has come,
hold you, as I die, in my failing grasp. You’ll weep for me, laid on my pyre, Delia, and grant me kisses mixed with your sad tears. |
Secure in My Gathered Store
Coming full circle, Tibullus sums up his life philosophy: