Archilochus

Alcman

Archilochus Greek: Ἀρχίλοχος Arkhilokhos; c. 680 – c. 645 BC was a Greek lyric poet from the island of Paros. He is celebrated for his versatile and innovative use of poetic meters, and is the earliest known Greek author to compose almost entirely on the theme of his own emotions and experiences.

Alexandrian scholars included him in their canonic list of iambic poets, along with Semonides and Hipponax, yet ancient commentators also numbered him with Tyrtaeus and Callinus as the possible inventor of the elegy.

His work now only survives in fragments.

The Poetry of Archilochos(ca. 625 B.C.) from Carmina Archilochi, 77te Fragments Archilochos, trans. Guy Davenport.

THE FRAGMENTS of Archilochos's poetry give us a view of this 7th century B.C. poet's world. The poet-soldier's poetry and life reflect his era-a time of Greek colonization, political, social, and economic unrest. Archilochos was the younger son of an aristocratic father and a slave mother. He participated in attempts by his native island of Paros colonize the island of Thasos. Archilochos's used poetry to articulate strong opinions about war, love, religion, sex, poetry, politics, and the human condition. One poem (79) brags about fleeing the battlefield and living to fight another day-a radical departure from the 'Homeric code' of values which prized a warrior's honour. 'Our earliest extant example of lyric poetry, Archilochos's poetry represents a departure from the Iliad and Odyssey's 'epic' style.

 1 Sergeant to Enyalios,
   the great god War,
   I practise double labor.
   With poetry, the lovees gift,
   I serve the lady Muses.

 3 Let him go ahead.
   Ares is a democrat.
   There are no privileged people
   on a battlefield.

11 Like Odysseus under the ram 
   you have clung under your lovers
   and under your love of lust,
   seeing nothing else for this mist,
   dark of heart, dark of mind.

14 These golden matters
   of Gyges and his treasuries
   are no concern of mine. 
   Jealousy has no power over me,
   nor do I envy a god his work,
   and I don't burn to rule. 
   Such things have no
   fascination for my eyes.

17 She held a sprig of myrtle she'd picked
   and a rose
   that pleased her most
   of those on the bush
   and her long hair shaded her shoulders and back.

23 Attribute all to the gods.  They pick a man up,
   stretched on the black loam,
   and set him on his two feet,
   firm, and then again
   shake solid men until
   they fall backward
   into the worst of luck,
   wandering hungry,
   wild of mind.

29 Miserable with desire
   I lie lifeless,
   my bones shot through
   with thorny anguish
   sent by the gods.

32 Whoever is alive
   is pleased by song.

43 Be bold!  That's one way
   of getting through life.
   So I turn upon her
   and point out that,
   faced with the wickedness
   of things, she does not shiver.
   I prefer to have, after all,
   only what pleases me.
   Are you so deep in misery
   that you think me fallen?
   You say I'm lazy, I'm not,
   nor any of my kin-people.
   I know how to love those
   who love me, how to hate.
   My enemies I overwhelm
   with abuse.  The ant bites!
   The oracle said to me:
   "Return to the city, reconquer.
   It is almost in ruins.
   With your spear give it glory.
   Reign with absolute power,
   the admiration of men.
   After this long voyage,
   return to us from Gortyne."
   Pasture, fish, nor vulture
   were you, and 1, returned,
   seek an honest woman
   ready to be a good wife.
   I would hold your hand,
   would be near you, would have run
   all the way to your house.
   I cannot. The ship went down,
   and all my wealth with it.
   The salvagers have no hope.
   You whom the soldiers beat,
   you who are all but dead,
   how the gods love you!
   And I, alone in the dark,
   I was promised the light.

45 You led us
   a thousand strong
   at Thasos.

53 Fields fattened
   by corpses.

Read in the restored pronunciation of classical Greek by Stephen G. Daitz, City University of New York.

Heart, my heart, so battered with misfortune far beyond your strength, up, and face the men who hate us. Bare your chest to the assault of the enemy, and fight them off. Stand fast among the beamlike spears. Give no ground; and if you beat them, do not brag in open show, nor, if they beat you, run home and lie down on your bed and cry. Keep some measure in the joy you take in luck, and the degree you give way to sorrow. All our life is up-and-down like this.

trans. R. Lattimore