Courageous Timocritus, this is his grave.
War spares the coward, not the brave.
Greek epigrams give us a view into the lives and thoughts of
individuals – who may or may not have been writing for an audience. Clearly, when we read Thucydides, Plato or
Aristophanes, we are participating in a one way didactic exchange. One is a singer of the great events – at least
how he saw them, the next is engaged in a teleological discourse that we view
from over the shoulder of history, the latter was turning his jaundiced eye on
the cultural decay around him. The audience
may have been physically present or somewhat removed – but all three put their
ideas into the world with the expectation that more than a handful of
individuals would receive it. There may
be admonition or a bearing of witness in their work, but there is always a take away. If I were to write a note in a guestbook at a
wedding, set up a memorial plaque in a relatives honor, or leave some graffiti expressing
my views on such and such, and this may be anachronistic, I would be doing so in
the context of a limited receivership. A
random passerby, a handful of interested parties, God. It is this impulse which I believe the elegiac
epigrams, lovingly assembled by Michael Wolfe, allow us to glimpse.
I am not going to be discussing the organizational structure
of Cut These Words Into My Stone, other than to say it is logically arranged with each chapter beginning with an essay to provide
context and background to the following epigrams. The text is bi-lingual with each English translation
followed by the Greek.
It is rare that one reads a book on the ancient world, published
in the last 30 years, without being reminded of the deeply innate misogyny in Ancient
Greek culture. I don’t care to argue the
reality or mention the ubiquitous nature of those structures, but the needed
recognition of that reality has become rather dogmatic and monumental. Simply put: it’s complicated. Recent scholarship has highlighted instances
of female power in certain social contexts; mystery religions, priesthoods, and
a central role within the oikos. I doubt
a thete prior to the advent of the Athenian navy would have found himself more
advantaged than the wife, daughter or slave of an aristocratic household.
It’s complicated. The
epigram that I believe rewards being read and considered from multiple angles
is as follows:
I, Callicrateia, bore twenty-nine children.
Not one son or daughter died before me.
I lived to be a hundred and five and
Never set a shaking hand upon a cane.
If this was written at her behest before her death, then it is much deserved boasting of her strength and good fortune. If it was composed or commissioned by family after her passing then it shows an appreciation for an aspect of her life beyond what anyone would call prodigious fertility and skill in seeing children into adulthood – at a time when that was a very unsure thing. The last line: Never set a shaking hand upon a cane. An appreciation for the quality of life that Callicrateia lived up until the end. It is apparent that she was more than an old crone sitting with her distaff, unnoticed, the years of child-rearing far behind her. Could this be a woman with a role, with respect- whose family had affection for her? This is jarring when juxtaposed with the writing of someone like Keuls.
Epigram for a man 3rd-2nd century
B.C.E:
Stranger, Don’t Mourn me.
Pass by this tomb.
Even dead, I have nothing worth lamenting.
I enjoyed one woman, who grew old with me.
Cut These Words Into My Stone: Ancient Greek Epitaphs
Translated by Michael Wolfe
178 pages
The John Hopkins Univesity Press, 2013
ISBN 978-1-4214-0803-3
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