Most Read... Rebecca WattsThe Cult of the Noble Amateur
(PN Review 239)
John McAuliffeBill Manhire in Conversation with John McAuliffe
(PN Review 259)
Patricia CraigVal Warner: A Reminiscence
(PN Review 259)
Eavan BolandA Lyric Voice at Bay
(PN Review 121)
Vahni CapildeoOn Judging Prizes, & Reading More than Six Really Good Books
(PN Review 237)
Tim Parksin conversation with Natalia Ginzburg
(PN Review 49)
Next Issue Gwyneth Lewis ‘Spiderings’ Ian Thomson ‘Fires were started: Tallinn, 1944’ Adrian May ‘Traditionalism and Tradition’ Judith Herzberg ‘Poems’ translated by Margitt Helbert Horatio Morpurgo ‘What is a Book?’
Poems Articles Interviews Reports Reviews Contributors
Reader Survey
PN Review Substack

This poem is taken from PN Review 149, Volume 29 Number 3, January - February 2003.

The Art of Love (translated by Len Krisak) Ovid


Let anyone who lacks the art of love read on,
        And having read, his ignorance is gone!
It's art that makes a ship respond to sail and oar,
        And art that drives a team or guides Amor.
Automedon controlled his reins with expert grip
        Like Tiphys, helming that Haemonian ship.
Now Venus says that I shall rule her tender son;
        I'll be Love's Tiphys and Automedon.
And though he's wild, and prone to fighting me in school,
        He's still a little boy that I can rule
(The way that Chiron broke Achilles on a lyre,
        By banking down that cherub's feral fire).
They say that he whom enemies and friends both feared,
        Cowered before a Centaur's hoary beard,
And hands that Hector felt were once held out to feel
        A master's lashing into welt and weal.
...


Searching, please wait... animated waiting image