Porfira, l'habitació on naixien els futurs emperadors de l'Imperi Romà d'Orient, és el lloc de l'imaginari d'aquest blog. Un lloc on, en forma de fragments, incomplets i imperfectes, tornen a tenir vida els textos de la literatura de Bizanci, en català.

30 d’abril de 2014

Marià Escolàstic: Antologia Palatina IX, 627

[Aquests tres dístics de Marià Escolàstic, autor del qual no se sap gairebé res, llevat que era advocat i contemporani d'Agaties Escolàstic, tenen el mèrit, segons alguns autors, d'haver inspirat els sonets 153 i 154 de William Shakespeare, si més no indirectament (probablement mitjançant una traducció italiana o francesa).]

Aquí sota els plàtans, Amor, vençut per la son agradosa,
  dormia, havent lliurat la torxa a les Nimfes;
les Nimfes es deien: “Què hem d'esperar? Que bo seria sufocar
   d'un plegat el foc al cor dels mortals, amb això!”
La torxa, però, calà foc a les aigües; d'aleshores ençà,
   les Nimfes d'Amor aboquen aigua calenta sobre a qui es banya.

[H. Beckby, Anthologia Graeca, 2ª ed. Munich, Llibre 9, 627]
[B. Baldwin, An Anthology of Byzantine Poetry, Amsterdam, 1985, pàg. 71]


Sonet 153 de William Shakespeare
Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep:
A maid of Dian's this advantage found,
And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep
In a cold valley-fountain of that ground;
Which borrow'd from this holy fire of love
A dateless lively heat, still to endure,
And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove
Against strange maladies a sovereign cure.
But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired,
The boy for trial needs would touch my breast;
I, sick withal, the help of bath desired,
And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest,
But found no cure: the bath for my help lies
Where Cupid got new fire; my mistress' eyes.

Sonet 154 de William Shakespeare
The little Love-god lying once asleep
Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand,
Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep
Came tripping by; but in her maiden hand
The fairest votary took up that fire
Which many legions of true hearts had warm'd;
And so the general of hot desire
Was sleeping by a virgin hand disarm'd.
This brand she quenched in a cool well by,
Which from Love's fire took heat perpetual,
Growing a bath and healthful remedy
For men diseased; but I, my mistress' thrall,
Came there for cure, and this by that I prove,
Love's fire heats water, water cools not love.

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