One of the things I find most charming about reading Catullus’ poetry is how very conversational and chatty he is in his poetry. Even when he’s obscene and he’s writing in meter, he comes across as colloquial. I can frequently imagine him talking to his friends. Catullus 15 is one such poem where it’s relatively easy to take his poem and adapt it to prose. This, though, isn’t one I would personally read with students. Sometimes friends say things, after all, that they don’t want other people to hear. Unless you’re Catullus, in which case, you turn it into a poem that people read for millennia.

I like to confess my own limitations as I read these poems. One, I think it’s helpful to know you’re not alone if you read something and are confused (I was utterly flummoxed by Catullus 4 on my first read). Two, I think it’s a helpful reminder to myself and to others that poetry in another languages is sometimes just hard. So, I got a little lost here even though I understood a lot of the vocabulary and the grammar, I was missing the bigger picture. Just because a reader understands all the words (or most of the words), doesn’t mean that they will comprehend the main idea.

Catullus trolls his friend Fabullus by inviting him to a swanky dinner—if only he’d bring all its components, from the salt to the entertainment. It’s a fun poem, and it has some great tie ins to the fly coming out of the empty wallet. Who knew insects were associated with being broke for so long? I certainly didn’t the first time I read this poem years and years and years ago in college. I remember the verb afferre giving me some trouble, especially that funky future perfect form, so it gets lots of repetitions in a variety of forms for this short adaptation. I also set this poem in the…

In this world of fast fashion, Walmart stores, and Dollar Generals, it’s easy to understand why are students are flummoxed by the value of cloth. Flummoxed is perhaps a generous description. It’s inconceivable and unfathomable to them that cloth should be so expensive. I particularly enjoyed it when I told my students that wills sometimes included clothing. When I read Catullus 12, in which Marrucinus Asinius steals some cloth napkins from Catullus, I had the expense of the theft tickling the back of my mind, though Catullus claims he’s upset because they’re gifts from dear friends. We have disposable napkins; Catullus had disposable guests. For this easier prose adaptation of…

After a three-week hiatus in which I helped put on a play and then had surgery (or was getting ready for it), I’m back with an easier prose adaptation for Catullus 11. I must confess to being particularly saucy in this poem’s adaptation and putting on quite a display of heckling. I may or may not have had the Muppets in mind.

In Catullus 10, Catullus gets his comeuppance for attempting to pretend to be wealthier than he really is in order to impress his friend Varus’ puella. He fails miserably and reacts a little bit petulantly when his ruse fails. This poem, too, has a content warning, but it is far more tame than the painful (to me) Catullus 6.

Aww, Catullus has a BFF, and he’s so excited he’s come back safe and sound! Basically, that’s the heart of this poem in a nutshell: Catullus’ BFF Veranius has come back from a campaign in Iberia. When messages would have been few and far between, the sudden appearance of a beloved friend back in town would have been such a boon. Heck, I’m excited I’ll have a friend I haven’t seen in a couple of years in town next week, and I can text her and email her whenever I want to, nor has she been fighting in a dangerous campaign.

I would write that it’s the beginning of the end, but I have no idea whether that’s true. I generally have no clue what happens in Lesbia and Catullus’ relationship beyond what I’ve already read. I hope I haven’t just written an epic break up scene that rewinds here in another poem or two. Lesbia deserves to be resolute in her decision (as it does seem to have been her decision in my reading).

This poem picks up where Catullus 6 leaves off, returning to the question of when love and kisses might ever be enough. I envisioned the scene loosely on the same evening, una perpetual nox dormienda, with some pillow talk between the two of them.