Iambic Trimeter Research Articles

A Stylistic Analysis into the Art of Deviation as Stylistic Features of Dickinson’s Poem “I Heard a Fly Buzz -When I Died”

Emily Dickinson is one of the most outstanding and influential American poets of the 19th century. Her poem “I Heard a Fly Buzz -When I Died” is told from a perspective of narrator who is near her death. As a typical modernist poet, Dickinson’s poems have prominent modernist characteristics. Her poetry language deviates from the norm, not limited to the language norms, forming a unique foregrounding effect from different levels such as phonetic level (the repetition of diphthong, flow, nasal, and iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter), graphological level (the frequent use of capital words and dashes), rhetorical level (enjambment, contrast, synesthesia, oxymoron), semantic level (lexical meaning transference) and grammatical level (juxtaposition and ellipsis). Exploring the stylistic characteristics of Dickinson’s poetry based on the theory of deviation from the functional stylistics is helpful to excavating the implicated theme meaning and unique aesthetic value of Dickinson’s poetry.

Gavriil Derzhavin’s logoaedic verse

The poetic works of Gavriil Romanovich Derzhavin (1743–1816) published from 1777 to 1790 demonstrate a rather limited set of meters — mostly iambic (iambic tetrameters, аlexandrines, free iambic verse); the presence of trochees (exclusively tetrameters) is modest, and ternary meters are completely absent. The year 1791 was a turning point. In that year, Derzhavin published his polymetric cantata “To a Patron of the Arts”, which, although predominantly iambic, contains two dactylic passages. After that year, the poet often used iambic trimeter as well as trochaic tetrameter, which was inspired by his sudden interest in anacreontics. A year later, Derzhavin published his first version of “The Swallow” in The Moscow Journal, written in ternary trimeters with variable anacrusis, which was apparently the first experiment of this kind in Russian poetry. Soon afterwards, Derzhavin began to experiment with the dactylic tetrameter, resembling similar work by N. P. Nikolev, I. I. Dmitriev and N. M. Karamzin beginning in the late 1780s. Like those poets, he initially omitted one syllable in the second foot, and then two syllables, which led to the emergence of logoaedic structures in his poems. He uses these meters in their pure form (“Snowbird”), and also combined them in stanzas with syllabo-tonic meters (“Spring”, “On Atheists”, “To the Publisher of My Songs”, “The Rainbow”). He also created “logoaedized dolniks”, irregularly combining logoaedic lines with syllabo-tonic ones (“On the capture of Warsaw”, the sixth stanza of “The Encounter of Orpheus with the Sun”, “Autumn”). In the poems “On G. Ozerov, Who Dedicated ʻOedipus’ to Me” and “To Polyhymnia”, Derzhavin loosened the principle of isometric stanzas. One of the sources of inspiration for these experiments was Derzhavin’s enthusiastic and rather vague conception of the great rhythmic diversity of ancient poetry (primarily of Sappho’s and Horace’s poems) compared to modern European lyric poetry.

The Greek Tragic Trimeter as a Prosodic Milieu

The iambic trimeter has been studied extensively, but mostly from a descriptive point of view. This article places the discussion of the tragic trimeter in relation to the functionalist tradition of the study of rhythm and syntax in verse. It presents new data on the interdependence of rhythm and word boundary placement in the tragic trimeter (based on the work of Attic tragic playwrights and the Byzantine Christus Patiens), focusing on the remarkable stability of word placement patterns and the salience of the underlying binary structure of the iambic rhythm toward the end of the line. In this light, the restrictions on word boundaries in the last metron, most importantly Porson’s bridge, are argued to have a rhythmical explanation. Furthermore, based on a juxtaposition of a number of prosodic criteria, including the repertories of word shapes (rhythmic words) in various genres and authors, the study argues that the tragic iambic trimeter represents a distinctive prosodic milieu, different from both prose (and, very likely, spoken speech) and melic poetry.

Κακὸν κακῶς σε in Demosthenes, De corona 267

Abstract The words κακὸν κακῶς σε at D. 18.267 are printed in quotation marks in many modern editions of the speech. This sequence scans as the beginning of an iambic trimeter and is connected by καί with two quotations from tragedy. This article questions the idea that the sequence should be interpreted as the start of an interrupted quotation by showing that (1) these words are part of a standard, vernacular Greek curse formula, (2) initial καί may be interpreted as a discourse-level connector rather than as a syntactic coordinator, and (3) word order in the curse may be accounted for without invoking metrical effects. In particular, it is suggested that Demosthenes’ wording of the curse should be interpreted as a parody of the plea to the judges at Aeschin. 2.180.

Quando i metri vengono da soli: a proposito di Luc. Men. 1

In the opening scene of Lucian’s Menippus, the protagonist, after citing some Euripidean trimeters, explains that his metrical delivery is due to his recent meeting with Euripides (and Homer) in Hades; in these self-explanatory words Harmon detected a comic iambic trimeter (αὐτόματά μοι τὰ μέτρα ἐπὶ τὸ στόμα ἔρχεται). The paper aims to demonstrate that this metrical segment, far from being incidental, is not even a comic quote, as Harmon himself suggests, but rather a slip by Menippus, metrically rough precisely because it is not intentional; the literary meaning of this Lucianic verse is then investigated.

An Iambic Quotation in Plato’s Timaeus

Abstract At Timaeus 86d2 Plato quotes a line and a third of iambic trimeter probably from an unknown tragedy, possibly from a comedy. Its context is Timaeus’ argument that one suffering from diseases of the soul is often considered willingly bad, but wrongly so: οὐχ ὡς νοσῶν ἀλλ’ ὡς ἑκὼν κακὸς κακῶς | δοξάζεται, ‘he is wrongly considered not as sick but as willingly bad’. This quotation has not to my knowledge been noted in scholarship. The prosaic vocabulary of the quotation is reminiscent of Euripides, whereas its theme links it to Deianeira’s remarks on the disease of eros in Sophocles’ Trachiniae. As transmitted in Parisinus A and printed in modern editions, the quotation is metrically defective, lacking the word κακῶς. I argue that it was lost by haplography and ought to be restored, as was proposed in the commentary of a sixteenth-century translator, Cornarius (1561).

Trois études stylistiques sur la clausule du trimètre iambique d’Aristophane (Vesp. 1219-1264 – Ran. 1365-1413 – Thesm. 846-928)

In the iambic trimeter, there are tragic line-ends and other comic ones. These two types of clausulae alternate in para-tragic scenes of Aristophanes, in the song competition of the Wasps , in the line weighing of the Frogs and in the Helen parody of the Thesmophoriazusae .

Die Hiatregel in den Jamben von Gregor von Nazianz

Abstract In the Iambs of Gregory of Nazianzus occur many hiatuses: this might suggest that his verses had been composed with carelessness. In fact, if we examine the various kinds of hiatuses, we notice that some of them should not be considered as such, because they occur after words, or along with iuncturae, that usually admit them. There remains, however, a considerable number of hiatus in caesura. The article strives to demonstrate that these hiatuses are due to the imitation of the well-known hiatus in trocaic caesura in the hexameter, which was allowed since Homer’s age. As a matter of fact, in some cases, the same words that produce a hiatus after a trochaic caesura in Homer show an identical one after a caesura in Gregory’s trimeters. Moreover, hexameter and iambic trimeter were frequently juxtaposed by the late ancient metric-grammatical tradition. The article further analyzes the occurence of the hiatus in caesura in the Byzantine dodecasyllables, which, among other reasons, might be due also to the influence of Gregory in Byzantine poetry.

Syntax of the «Poet of Thought» (To the 220th Anniversary of the Birth of Evgeny Baratynsky)

E. A. Baratynsky’ influence on the 20th-century Russian philosophical lyrics is undeniable. The syntax used by the «poet of thought» demonstrates a tendency towards complication and archaization over time, which generally contradicts the aspirations for the democratization of the poetic syntax that emerged in the Karamzin era. The complexity of the syntactic structure in the poet’s search for a «metaphysical» language is achieved not by increasing the number of complex structures, which make up half of the sentences used by Baratynsky, but rather by saturating sentences with various kinds of clauses (participial, adverbial participial, adjective, noun, adverbial, infinitive) that complicate the model by conjunctive syntagms (prepositional-nominal, comparative, conjunctive), parentheses, vocatives, segments of the «nominative of the theme» type. In an effort to preserve the continuity of poetic traditions for a thoughtful, attentive reader, Baratynsky resorts to archaizing the syllable at the lexical and grammatical levels and, in particular, to using absolute clauses. Complex constructions often accompany iambic trimeter, trisyllabic metres, variable-foot verses consisting of longer and shorter lines characterised by changing the order of stress. Sentences with cumbersome isolated clauses are typical for iambic and dactylic hexameter, metres with a connotation of «high» genres. A more complex syntactic structure is observed in polymetric and variable food poems. The added complexity of syntax in long-sized verses is achieved not by increasing the number of parts of complex structures, but rather by adding clauses and homogeneous parts of the sentence. Large stanza forms are frequently divided into several simple sentences of two or three lines in length. The tradition of poetic rhythm requires a coincidence of the boundaries of quatrain and sentences – their symmetry; therefore, in quatrains, similar to couplets, the occurrence of complex and compound structures is much higher. Free stanza or the lack of stanza division additionally complicates the syntax.

Notes on the position of the Pronoun Ἐγώ in the iambic trimeter of Greek Theatre

A study of the most frequent positions of the Pronoun ἐγώ in the iambic trimeter of Greek Theatre, and in Tragedy in particular, with a comparison between Aeschylus, Sophocles and Euripides: Over all, Aeschylus and Sophocles seem to display opposing tendencies.

‘Aesop’, ‘Q’ and ‘Luke’

The last chapter of the gospel of Luke includes a story of the risen Christ meeting two of his disciples on their way from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus and chastising them with the poetic expression ὦ ἀνόητοι καὶ βραδεῖς τῇ καρδίᾳ ‘O foolish ones, and slow in heart’ (Luke 24.25). No commentator has ever observed that Jesus' expression occurs verbatim, in the same iambic trimeter metre, in two poetic versions of animal fables attributed to the famous Greek fabulist Aesop. It is plausible that Luke is here, as at least twice elsewhere in his gospel, tapping into the rich tradition of Aesopic fables and proverbs that were widely known throughout the Mediterranean world in the first century ce.

Οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην: A Euripidean Novelty

AbstractThis article studies a Euripidean innovation: the introduction into tragic language and the subsequent (selective) usage of the expression oὐκ ἂν δυναίμην by Euripides. This negative potential optative appears sixteen times within the surviving Euripidean corpus, as a stereotypical syntactic structure that is intertwined with dramatic content and meaning. But, surprisingly, this expression is absent from Aeschylus, Sophocles, and all other tragedians. Through close reading of the sixteen Euripidean cases, the article traces and defines the conspicuous context of this expression: oὐκ ἂν δυναίμην is uttered by high-status individuals (for example, members of a royal family), when they envisage the impossible/unattainable in present and future within an intensely emotional atmosphere (ranging from hatred and loathing to agonising grief and despair), during pivotal moments of the play. Metrical convenience is also served, as the expression covers the first five elements of the iambic trimeter.

8. Metre

Reacting to the death of his supposed father, Polybus, Oedipus’ dismisses the power of Apollo's shrine in Delphi at the very point when that god is inexorably bringing him to his destruction. The immense relief which Oedipus feels on learning that after all he will not kill his father is strikingly marked by the metre. An iambic trimeter usually scans ×—⏑—×—⏑—×—⏑— (where — represents a long syllable, ⏑ a short, and × an anceps which can be long or short); but line 967 scans ⏑—⏑— —⏑⏑⏑⏑⏑⏑⏑⏑⏑—, with three successive resolutions, or substitutions of a long syllable by a double short (⏑⏑). With the intervening short ancipites, this gives fully nine consecutive short syllables, something unparalleled among the few tragic instances of threefold resolution, and indicative of the impact of the news: Oedipus is giddy with relief. The vivid metrical effect coincides with the phrase ‘my father’ and the reference to his death: this is what has triggered the outburst of joy from this previously frantic man.

Lermontov’s Borodino Strophe and Issues of Russian Verse Theory

The paper considers several issues of Russian Verse Theory connected with the architectonics of Lermontov’s Borodino strophe. This rare and unique strophe is characterized by an odd number of lines (seven), peculiar rhyme, and mainly by the different number of syllables in its lines: five lines of the strophe contain nine syllables of iambic tetrameter, while the third and the seventh contain six syllables of iambic trimeter. Such a structure does not allow the use of traditional (statistical) methods of the study of verse rhythmics. To prove that, this paper describes the construction of “stress profiles” for the quatrain in iambic tetrameter, and shows that it is impossible to carry out this procedure for Lermontov’s Borodino strophe. Unlike the traditional approach, our method of rhythmic-harmonic precision imposes no restrictions on the architectonics of verse, which is why it is this method that underlies the analysis of the structural harmony of the Borodino strophe given in this paper. Our analysis compares the rhythmic-harmonic potential of the strophe and the actual values of the rhythmic harmony parameter with iambic and trochaic quatrains and with Onegin’s strophe in Pushkin’s verse. Another task of our work was a rhythmic-conceptual study of the “Borodino” text. This poem was published in 1837; together with the poem “On the Poet’s Death,” it immediately moved Lermontov to the forefront of Russian poets. The main result of our work consists in proving that in its structural-harmonic aspect, the Borodino strophe is unique and, moreover, it turns out to be the perfect verse construction for the expression of a mixed sublime-descending poetic mood: inspiration (in our case, a patriotic rise) and the following disappointment. Our study shows that Lermontov’s great poem “Borodino” not only passes “the trial of harmony with algebra,” but also, from the point of view of its single a rhythm-sense, stands near the best works of the first Russian poet, Pushkin.

Review of Yonatan Malin,Songs in Motion: Rhythm and Meter in the German Lied(Oxford University Press, 2010)

[1] Art song involves an oftentimes uneasy marriage between poetry and music, and nowhere is this more apparent than in their respective rhythms. In Songs in Motion Yonatan Malin wades into sometimes fractious relationship between rhythms and musical rhythm and in nineteenth-century German Lied. Malin serves not as a marriage counselor, but more like a sociologist (or sociobiologist) of marriage, a neutral observer, but one with a deep knowledge of and love for institution.[2] Malin approaches and musical rhythm and in Lied taxonomically, looking at most common musical renderings for feet along with their settings in lines of different length (iambic trimeter, trochaic tetrameter, and so forth). He also develops a straightforward schema for representing rhythms and their (musical) metrical setting: accented syllables are indexed relative to their metric position; beats that carry weak or empty syllables are marked with a dash. So, for example, a trimeter (three-stress) line in simple duple might be set [1, 2 / 1 - ], that is, with strong syllables on beats 1, 2, and following 1, and a weak or empty syllable on next beat 2 (16-17). With this elegantly simple premise and methodology, Malin first shows range of possibilities for putting particular rhythms into various musical settings, and then-and this is book's key contribution-he is able to show what possibilities were actually used and are most prevalent. Malin is thus able to talk about these songs in terms of compositional choices made under a complex set of constraints, both musical and lyrical. He is also well positioned to trace rhythmic evolution of genre over course of nineteenth century, from a poetically dominated volkstumlich approach, preferred by composers and poets (especially Goethe) at beginning of nineteenth century to settings with far greater rhythmic variety and complexity at century's end.[3] In his opening chapter Malin lays out his basic poetic/musical taxonomy, with an ear sensitive to nuances of both and musical rhythm. The feet of German lyric poetry involve two or three syllables, typically arranged with three or four stresses per line (trimeter and tetrameter), though dimeter and pentameter (and longer) lines do occur. As Malin notes, however, the recurring patterns of stress and line that define get us only so far to a full understanding of motion...The relationship between rhythm and [poetic] is analogous to relationship between musical rhythm and meter (9). That is, like patterns of duration in music, words can appear in different meters, and have different senses of accentuation, depending upon their setting and placement. In taking account of nuances of accentuation, Malin takes special note of substitutions (e.g., replacing a strong-weak trochee with a weak-strong iamb), degrees of accentuation in longer and more complex lines, and caesuras within and enjambments between lines. He then rings changes for trimeter, tetrameter, and pentameter line types, illustrating each with numerous musical examples. Malin shows how increasing poetic cardinality (moving up from 3 to 4 to 5+ stresses per line) leads to increasing complexity and variety of musical settings and textual-musical rhythmic interactions. A structural Rubicon is crossed in case of pentameter, as five-stress line naturally supports a trimeter subcomponent-indeed, such subdivision of pentameter line is not only possible, but likely.[4] In laying out interactions between and musical rhythm and meter, Malin also resuscitates work of Hans Georg Nageli (1817). Nageli spoke of polyrhythm, that arises from interaction between rhythm, melodic rhythm, and accompaniment rhythm (and metrical aspects of all three). Nageli's approach marks a shift in Lied aesthetics at start of nineteenth century, moving from a preference for volkstumlich tunes to a more ambitious artform of higher status (32). …

Poetam vincit amor: Eros no Livro dos Epodos de Horácio

This paper intends to show the importance of Eros in the Epodes. First of all, it is necessary to study the structure of the book: in the first part (1-10), ten poems in a combination of iambic lines (an iambic trimeter followed by an iambic dimeter); in the second part (11-17), seven poems in various combinations. In this part, when the poet introduces new meters, Eros appears in the book and conquers the poet, modifying the poetry.

Comic Metrical Signatures in Menander's Dyskolos

Many scholars have commented on Menander's facility in alternating between tragic and comic forms of the iambic trimeter, and the subtle effects he creates thereby in manipulating the mood of a scene. But characteristically these effects are interpreted solely in dramatic terms, and the statements made are rather vague, at the most detailed (and rarely then) merely noting that in a given line a particular tone is created by the overall form of metre used. What I aim to show is that deliberate metrical manipulation of a quite different kind is also involved, and in order to appreciate better Menander's art we need to attend to the metrical form of individual words.

Dickinsonian Idiom in Finnish, on a Par

Dickinsonian Idiom in Finnish, on a Par Sirkka Heiskanen-Mäkelä (bio) P258/Helvi Juvonen Rückübersetzung Va/lo viis/toon lan/ke/aa Light falls slant tal/ven päi/vi/en. of winter's days. Se ah/dis/taa kuin pai/na/vuus It oppresses like the preponderance ka/ted/raa/li/en. of cathedrals. Taivas viiltää haavansa. Heaven slits its wound. Ei näy arpi sen. No scar appears thereof. On vain muutos sisäinen /There/ is but a change merkityksien. of meanings within. Sitä ei voi opettaa. It cannot be taught. Se on toivoton. It is beyond hope. Sinetti, kipu ylhäinen A seal, a pain celestial meille suotu on. upon us is conferred. Sen tulo pidättämään saa Its coming makes henkeään maiseman. the landscape hold its breath. Sen meno on kuin etäisyys Its going is like the distance katseessa kuoleman. on the look of death. Back in 1982 I wrote: One big problem, though not unsurmountable, in translating Dickinson into Finnish is her metrics. The natural rhythms [End Page 44] of Finnish are falling—trochaic or dactylic—and even if Dickinson herself sometimes uses trochaic meters, they rhythmically very little resemble e. g. the four-beat trochaic line so typical of native Finnish poetry. Besides, the excessive length of Finnish words (with the main word-stress always falling on the first syllable) makes it almost impossible to imitate phonologically the quick—or clipped—beat of Dickinson's verse, and her most usual meter—iambic tetrameter alternating with iambic trimeter lines—is (to say the least)—clumsy in Finnish. Even her own fondness of polysyllabic words does not help much, as these "big"—often Latinate—words very seldom have literal equivalents in Finnish, for which they have to be "explained" in some way or other. While Dickinson's own abstractive—or elliptic—diction calls for only a few words, the Finnish tongue—by nature very concrete and descriptive—demands a great many of them to translate the same idea. That means, among other things, that if the translator wants to keep to the meter, he or she has to leave out at least some of the literal content of the original poem. Dickinson's grammatical—syntactical or other—experimentations with the English language also tend to lose their flavor when one tries to render them into a language morphologically and syntactically so different from English.1 All these observations are, of course, valid even today. I also still believe, as "firmly" as I did then, that Dickinson's prosodic devices have to be imitated, as far as possible, in the translation and that even her metrical schemes have to be retained, however difficult they may be to render in Finnish. Dickinson's prosody is largely of her own making and as such surpasses the claims of a mere cultural norm. She used, for instance, her very simple stanza forms as a means of cutting her wording "to the meager essential," and the translator has to adopt the same manner, whatever resistance his or her own language may offer in this respect. Certain thematic and cultural—or even geographical and climatic—peculiarities always demand special attention in translating Dickinson's verse, but final success therein lies not in just interpreting her "Meanings" but in interpreting—or rather recreating in the target language—also the means by which she fixed on paper the "truths" she divined. It is also, in the end, the only way of "naturalizing" the poet's voice. [End Page 45] Owing to all these difficulties, Dickinson translators in Finland have been but few—mostly anthologists and critics.2 The largest single selection of Dickinson's verse published in Finnish so far, Valitsee sielu seuransa (Jyväskylä 1992), contains sixty five translations, eleven of them by a notable Finnish modernist poet Helvi Juvonen (1919-59). As editor, and one of the two other translators, of this selection I have the pleasure of presenting here her Finnish version of P258. In an admirable way Juvonen's rendering attains both to the substance and the prosodic restraint of the original, and is, accordingly, one of the finest Dickinson translations ever made...

Rhetoric and Cultural Synthesis in the Hexaemeron of George of Pisidia

George of Pisidia's longest and most profound work is a didactic poem whose generic title Hexaemeron or Kooloupyia is barely suggestive of its broad scope.' With 1894 lines set in correct iambic trimeter, the meter of classical dramatic dialogue, the text is, for one thing, an important witness to the classical literary tradition in seventh-century Constantinople. Four centuries after its composition, Michael Psellos thought enough of it to compare it to the poetry of Euripides.2 It echoes many classical writers, including Plato, Homer, Horace, Cicero and Seneca, and it frequently refers to episodes in Greek mythology. It even uses technical vocabulary from ancient medicine and biology to a degree of specificity not reached in the scientific handbooks.3 It also contains abundant theoretical discussion of astronomy, presenting the Aristotelian-Ptolemaic theory of the shape of the heavens, for example, in a favorable light alongside the biblical model.4 The poem also takes a firm, polemical stance where basic Christian doctrine is at issue. It is uncompromising, for example, in its position that the universe was created and not the product of eternal emanation.5 It makes frequent professions of faith in the Trinity and the Incarnation.6 In addition, despite its freedom from the narrative sequence of Genesis, biblical passages play a key role in its structure. Psalm 103 (LXX) in partic

A Fresh Approach to Catullus 29.23

H.R. Dettmer: Catullus 29.2323 A Fresh Approach to Catullus 29.23 Helena R. Dettmer eone nomine urbis +opulentissime+ socer generque, perdidistis omnia? The communis opinio is that opulentissime at Catullus 29.23 is corrupt.1 The superlative adjective is problematical for two reasons. First, the third syllable violates the pure iambic trimeter in which the poem appears to be written.2 Second, the vocative urbis opulentissime, which must refer to Crassus, introduces a third person at the end of the poem;3 such an intrusion disturbs the obvious symmetry in which the recipients of vv. 1-10 (Pompey) and of w. 11-20 (Caesar) are addressed jointly in the final four verses.4 Most attempts to repair opulentissime involve reading an interjection o and a masculine plural superlative adjective to agree with socergenerque in verse 24. A recent critic, however, appears to be driven to despair over healing the passage; he proposes that "the MS reading opulentissime reflects a gloss [which] makes restoration of the line a fruitless endeavor."5 This paper will suggest that the 1 Most commentators accept urbis as genuine. 2 The spondee nunc Galliae at the beginning of verse 20 also is problematical. As for the spondaic Mamurra in the first foot of verse 3, most critics allow Catullus the liberty, practiced by other Latin poets, of shortening or lengthening the quantity of a syllable in a proper name to fit the meter. 3 For a defense of the manuscript reading, however, see J.D. Minyard, "Critical Notes on Catullus 29," CP 66 (1971) 174-81. 4 M.B. Skinner, "Parasites and Strange Bedfellows: A Study in Catullus' Political Imagery," Ramus 8 (1979) 151-52, note 31. 5 H.Y. McCulloch, Jr., "Mamurra, Caesar, and Pompey: A Textual Note on Catullus 29.2324 ," CW 78 (1984) 111. S.G.P. Small also observes that the textual "problem is as yet unsolved" (Catullus: A Reader's Guide to the Poems [Lanham and London 1983] 61). 24Syllecta Classica 2 (1990) line can be repaired. I intend to show how the close connection of C. 28 and 29 points to a solution.6 C. 28 and 29 are attacks on the Roman system of patronage. In the one Piso and Memmius fail to reward members of their pretorial staffs, while in the other Mamurra is "over-rewarded" for his services as a result of the misguided generosity (sinistra liberalitas) of Caesar and Pompey. C. 28 focuses on the disappointment of Catullus and of Fabullus and Veranius at their failure to make money from their service abroad. The poem opens with Catullus' friends returning to Rome empty-handed,7 having endured cold and hunger, but without any financial reward to show for their time in Macedonia on the staff of Piso (1-5): Pisonis comités, cohors inanis, aptis sarcimilis et expeditis, Verani optime tuque mi Fabulle, quid rerum geritis? satisne cum isto vappa frigoraque et famem tulistis? Catullus can sympathize with their situation, for his own experience in Bithynia under Memmius was financially disastrous too (6-8): ecquidnam in tabulis patet lucelli expensum, ut mihi, qui meum secutus praetorem refero datum lucello? The poem takes an unexpected turn at the center; thoughts of lack of profit lead to the topic of sexual violation (9-10): o Memmi, bene me ac diu supinum tota ista trabe lentus irrumasti. "Memmius, with that whole shaft of yours you raped me long and well as I lay on my back, and you took your time about it." Catullus then suggests that Fabullus and Veranius have suffered a fate similar to his own (11-13): sed, quantum video, pari fuistis casu: nam nihilo minore veipa farti estis. pete nobiles amicos! "With no less a prick have you been stuffed." Farti estis at verse 13 recalls and responds to the earlier imagery of emptiness and hunger at verses 1 and 5 (inanis; famem). The final section shifts from Catullus' friends to a curse against Piso and Memmius, the perpetrators of their financial failure (14-15):° Critics who see a relation between 28-29 include E. Badián, "Mamurra's Fourth Fortune," CP 72 (1977) 322; H. Offermann, "Einige Gedanken zum Aufbau des Catull...