The Poetry Bus this week has been driven by The Weaver of Grass...
Ave Atque Vale
I've travelled half way round the world
with this last gift, a gift of words.
Your ashes are lost for a reply:
Fate has stolen you away from me.
O brother, who suffered this indignity,
receive (it was our parent's way:
no other way will do)
this gift, sad offering to the dead,
soaked in my tears. For all eternity,
my brother: Hail and Adieu.
After Catullus: not a literal translation of, but quite close to. I've provided the original below. Even if -like me- you don't do Latin, it sounds so sad when you've read an English version and grasp the broad sweep of its meaning:
6 years ago