Tuesday, 8 March 2011


From a choral ode in Euripides' Bacchae (my trans.)

When, when
will I drum the earth

with one white foot,
whirl nightlong

drunk on delight,
throat thrown back,

bare to the dew-wet
dark, like a fawn

gleeful as meadowgrass is green
slips from the nets

when the beaters close in
huntsmen and hounds

straining and snarling
but who springs of a sudden

like a swift rush of wind
and this way and that

to the river goes frisking---
one with the green life of water,

and one with the dim woods'
shadowy hair.


Fionnchú said...

Translate it all, & publish lest it perish... or meanwhile recommend the best version for those of us with no Greek and less Latin. I've enjoyed it in English, but the verse's glimpsed through a veil, I reckon, Great flow, this, Bo.

Anonymous said...

Wow, that is a lovely translation - and that's saying something because I've read a lot of versions of that play.

Bo said...

Glad you like it!

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