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Hugh Denard is a Trinity alumnus in Drama and Classical Civilizations (1992) and currently lectures in the Classics Department. He has wide-ranging musical experience, having been a member of both Cathedral choirs in Dublin and numerous chamber ensembles.

John Feeley holds both the MusB and MA degrees from Trinity College, Dublin; an MA from Queens College, City University of New York, and a PhD from the NUI Maynooth. He currently teaches at the Royal Irish Academy of Music. He has recorded many CDs as a guitarist and has performed in numerous prestigious venues around the world, including the Sydney Opera House, the Old Opera House, Frankfurt, the Arena in Verona, and New York’s Carnegie Hall. Anna Lombardo Geymonat is currently writing up her PhD dissertation on the American poet Amy Lowell at Trinity College, Centre for Gender and Women Studies. She is a poet, teacher, translator and editor of the cultural magazine Le Voci della Luna. Since 2009 she is the artistic director of the International Poetry Festival “La Palabra en el Mundo”, which is held in Venice in May every year. Kevin McGee studied philosophy at NUIG and classics at Trinity College, Dublin. Since his debut in the Dublin Theatre Festival of 1991, his plays have been performed regularly in Ireland, London and New York. He has a Hennessy Award for poetry and a PhD in Medieval Latin epic. Fionnuala Murphy studied Classics at TCD, where her particular focus on Greek theatrical practice included a stunning original-language performance in the title role of Sophocles’ Electra. She is perhaps best known for her film work with Stephen Frears and her long association with the Abbey Theatre. Andrew Robinson studied music and philosophy at TCD in the late sixties and early seventies. He currently teaches viola da gamba and ukulele privately, and renaissance music theory at the DIT Conservatory of Music & Drama. He is a member of The Dublin Consort, and Ukeristic Congress. John Scattergood is Emeritus Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Literature at Trinity College, Fellow Emeritus, and Pro-Chancellor of the University of Dublin. He has written widely on medieval and Renaissance literature, politics and society, and on Latin and Middle English manuscripts. His John Skelton: The Career of an Early Tudor Poet is forthcoming from Four Courts Press. Venina Svetli Kalistratova recently graduated with Gold Medal in Classics at Trinity College, where she is currently pursuing an MPhil in Medieval Literatures, Languages and Cultures. She aims to proceed to a PhD on the poetry of Beowulf. Rachel Talbot studied music at TCD in the nineties. She has sung and played with a number of Early Music ensembles and appeared as soprano soloist in oratorio. She has also staged baroque operas, most recently Arne’s Thomas and Sally for Opera Antiqua. She has recently submitted a PhD thesis on the subject of Kane O'Hara’s opera Midas. A special thank to Leofranc Holford-Strevens and Bonnie Blackburn for their invaluable assistance with the manuscript of John Wilson (1595–1674) in the Bodleian Library.

Anna Chahoud June 2014

The Augustan Space

Rome Ad 14 – dublin 2014 Bimillenniumm Conference

Réseau international de recherche et de formation à la recherche dans le domaine de

la poésie augustéenne

welcome

reception & Recital

12 June 2014

Provost’s House

Trinity College

University of Dublin

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PROGRAMME Virgil, Aeneid 10: Aeneas Arrives Fionnuala Murphy John Scattergood, Stella Comata John Scattergood John Wilson, Integer Vitae Rachel Talbot – Voice

Andrew Robinson – Bass viol John Feeley – Lute Virgil, Eclogue I: Meliboeus’ Farewell Venina Svetli Kalistratova Anna Lombardo Geymonat Fionnuala Murphy Seamus Heaney, Virgil: Eclogue IX John Scattergood

Fionnuala Murphy John Wilson, Diffugere Nives Rachel Talbot – Voice Andrew Robinson – Bass viol John Feeley – Lute

Director: Kevin McGee Musical Advisor: Hugh Denard

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In memory of

Mario Geymonat

(1941–2012)

Seamus Heaney

(1939–2013)

David West

(1926–2013)

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John Wilson, Diffugere nives Diffugere niues, redeunt iam gramina campis arboribus comae; mutat terra uices et decrescentia ripas flumina praetereunt; Gratia cum Nymphis geminisque sororibus audet ducere nuda chorus. Inmortalia ne speres, monet annus et almum quae rapit hora diem. Frigora mitescunt Zephyris, uer proterit aestas, interitura simul pomifer autumnus fruges effuderit, et mox bruma recurrit iners. Damna tamen celeres reparant caelestia lunae: nos ubi decidimus quo pater Aeneas, quo diues Tullus et Ancus, puluis et umbra sumus. Quis scit an adiciant hodiernae crastina summae tempora di superi? Cuncta manus auidas fugient heredis, amico quae dederis animo. Cum semel occideris et de te splendida Minos fecerit arbitria, non, Torquate, genus, non te facundia, non te restituet pietas; infernis neque enim tenebris Diana pudicum liberat Hippolytum, nec Lethaea ualet Theseus abrumpere caro uincula Pirithoo.

The snow has fled, grass is now coming back to the fields And leaves to the trees, The earth is making its change. Rivers are going down And flowing between their banks. A naked Grace dares to lead the dance of her two sisters And the Nymphs. Do not hope for immortality—the year gives warning and the hour That hurries along the life-giving day. The cold melts in the Zephyrs, Summer tramples on the heels Of Spring, and will die the moment Autumn laden with fruit pours out her crops, and soon Sluggish Winter comes running back. Swift moons make good their losses in the sky, But when we go down to be With pious Aeneas, wealthy Tullus, and Ancus, We are dust and shadow. Who knows if the gods above will add the hours of tomorrow To the total of today? Whatever you give your own dear self will escape The greedy hands of your heir. When you are dead and Minos has passed on you His splendid judgements, Not all your ancestry, Torquatus, nor eloquence, nor piety Will bring you back. Diana does not rescue her chaste Hyppolitus From the darkness beneath the earth, Nor does Theseus have the strength to break the Lethean chains That bind his dear Pirithous.

(Horace, Odes 4.7, transl. David West)

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Virgil, Aeneid 10: Aeneas Arrives

Iamque in 6onspectus Teucros habet et sua castra stans celsa in puppi, clipeum cum deinde sinistra

extulit ardentem. clamorem ad sidera tollunt Dardanidae e muris, spes addita suscitat iras, tela manu iaciunt, quales sub nubibus atris

Strymoniae dant signa grues atque aethera tranant cum sonitu, fugiuntque Notos clamore secundo. at Rutulo regi ducibusque ea mira videri

Ausoniis, donec versas ad litora puppis respiciunt totumque adlabi classibus aequor. ardet apex capiti cristisque a vertice flamma

funditur et vastos umbo vomit aureus ignis: non secus ac liquida si quando nocte cometae sanguinei lugubre rubent, aut Sirius ardor

ille sitim morbosque ferens mortalibus aegris nascitur et laevo contristat lumine caelum.

And now, as he stood high up in the stern-sheets, Aeneas held His Trojans and their encampment in view: so he lifted his shield with

His left hand and made it flash. The Dardans upon the walls there Raised a great shout; their fighting spirits revived at this new hope, Their fire was redoubled: so it is when under dark clouds

The cranes flying back to the Strymon announce their approach, and trail their Bugling cries as they swim through the air ahead of the South wind. But Turnus and the Italian commanders thought it a strange thing

Until, looking round, they saw ships backing up to the beach And the whole sea one swarm of vessels running towards them. The peak of Aeneas’ helmet was blazing, flame poured from its lofty

Crest, and the golden boss of his shield spurted hugh flashes: It was as when on some cloudless night you see a comet Glowing, blood-red and ominous, or the fiery Dog-star rising

Which glooms the sky with sinister light and carries with it Drought and pestilence to suffering humanity.

(Virgil, Aeneid 10.260–275, transl. Cecil Day Lewis)

John Scattergood, Stella Comata And so she comes back after long years Over my northern horizons. She appears In the dry season, illuminating the night Skies with her pale, indirect light, Dividing the chaos, a revenant from times And spaces no longer part of mine, Along her elliptical orbit. Icy-hearted, Trailing undamaging fire, but expected, Familiar from history, a portent from afar, She re-enters my world like a long-haired star.

(From In Leonardo’s Garden, 2007) John Wilson, Integer Vitae Integer uitae scelerisque purus The man who is pure of heart and innocent of evil non eget Mauris iaculis neque arcu Needs no Moorish spears, Fuscus, nec uenenatis grauida sagittis, Nor bow nor quiver heavy Fusce, pharetra, With poison arrows siue per Syrtis iter aestuosas Whether he is setting out across siue facturus per inhospitalem The sultry Syrtes or inhospitable Caucasum uel quae loca fabulosus Caucasus or lands licked lambit Hydaspes. By the fabled Hydaspes.

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Namque me silua lupus in Sabina, dum meam canto Lalagem et ultra terminum curis uagor expeditis, fugit inermem, quale portentum neque militaris Daunias latis alit aesculetis nec Iubae tellus generat, leonum arida nutrix. Pone me pigris ubi nulla campis arbor aestiua recreatur aura, quod latus mundi nebulae malusque Iuppiter urget; pone sub curru nimium propinqui solis in terra domibus negata: dulce ridentem Lalagen amabo, dulce loquentem.

As I wandered far from my farm In Sabine forest singing my Lalage Without a care to burden me, a wolf ran away from me, Unarmed as I was— Such a monster as warrior Daunia Does not feed in her broad oak-woods, Nor does the land of Juba, dry nurse of lions, Bring it to birth. Set me on barren plains Where no summer breeze revives a tree, In a zone of the earth oppressed by clouds And a hostile Jupiter; Set me under the very chariot wheels of the sun In a land where no man can build a home— I shall love my Lalage sweetly laughing, Sweetly speaking.

(Horace, Odes 1.22, transl. David West)

Virgil, Eclogue I: Meliboeus’ Farewell 1 – 5 Tityre, tu patulae recubans sub tegmine fagi silvestrem tenui Musam meditaris avena; nos patriae fines et dulcia linquimus arva. nos patriam fugimus; tu, Tityre, lentus in umbra formosam resonare doces Amaryllida silvas. 46 – 58 Vecchio fortunato, dunque tuoi rimarranno i campi, abbastanza grandi per te anche se la nuda pietra e la palude col giunco limaccioso ricoprono tutti i pascoli. Ignote pasture non metteranno a repentaglio le madri sfinite, né le danneggerà il pericoloso contagio di un gregge vicino. Vecchio fortunato, qui prenderai il fresco ombroso tra fiumi noti e sacre sorgenti; da questa parte con il lieve sussurro spesso ti inviterà come sempre ad assopirti la siepe che qui presso delimita il confine e offre alle api iblee il pasto dei fiori di salice; da questa parte sotto l'alta rupe canterà all’aria il potatore; né cesseranno di tubare le colombe, a te care, o di genere dall'alto olmo la tortora…

(Transl. Mario Geymonat) 64 – 78

But the rest of us must go from here and be dispersed— To Scythia, bone-dry Africa, the chalky spate of the Oxus, Even to Britain—that place cut off at the very world’s end. Ah, when shall I see my native land again? After long years, Or never? — see the turf-dressed roof of my simple cottage,

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And wondering gaze at the ears of corn that were all my kingdom? To think of some godless soldier owning my well-farmed fallow, A foreigner reaping these crops! To such a pass has a civil Dissension brought us: for people like these we have sown our fields. Well, graft your pears, Meliboeus, and set your vines in rows. Move onward, little she-goat, onward, once-happy flock! No more shall I, stretched out in some green dingle here, Watch you poised far off on the bushy brows of a hillside. No more singing for me, no taking you to browse, My little goats, on bitter willow and clover flower.

(Transl. Cecil Day Lewis)

Seamus Heaney, Virgil, Eclogue IX

MOERIS Age robs us of everything, of our very mind. Many a time I remember as a boy Serenading the slow sun down to rest, But nowadays I’m forgetting song after song And my voice is going: maybe the wolves have blinked it. But Menalcas will keep singing and keep the songs. LYCIDAS Come on, don't make excuses, I want to hear you And now’s your chance, now this hush has fallen Everywhere—look—on the plain, and every breeze Has calmed and quietened. We’ve come half-way. Already you can see Bianor’s tomb Just up ahead. Here where they’ve trimmed and faced The old green hedge, here's where we’re going to sing. Set that creel and those kid-goats on the ground. We’ll make it into town in all good time. Or if it looks like rain when it’s getting dark, Singing shortens the road, so we’ll walk and sing. Walk then, Moeris, and sing. I’ll take the kids. MOERIS That’s enough of that, young fellow. We’ve a job to do. When the real singer comes, we’ll sing in earnest.

(From Electric Light, 2001)