The Poetry of Anacreon by Anacreon
The Poetry of Anacreon is a collection attributed to the ancient Greek lyric poet Anacreon of Teos, who lived during the 6th century BCE. Known for his elegant elegiac and iambic verses, Anacreon's work primarily revolves around themes of erotic love and the pleasures of life, often expressed through vivid imagery. His poetry frequently celebrates the senses, with sentiments that resonate with both personal longing and jovial revelry, as seen in his fragments related to drinking and love. Anacreon’s works depict love as playful and sometimes elusive, with metaphors comparing romantic pursuits to the training of horses.
Besides love, he acknowledges the inevitability of aging and mortality, reflecting on the passage of time and the associated sorrows. Although there is a lightheartedness to much of his poetry, he also addresses themes of virtue and valor, praising brave individuals while critiquing societal pretensions. Despite the moral undertones present in his poetry, Anacreon expressed a preference for being remembered as a poet of joy and beauty rather than a serious moralist. His legacy continues to influence literature, particularly in the context of "Anacreontic" poetry, which captures the spirit of his themes, even when wrongly attributed.
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The Poetry of Anacreon by Anacreon
First transcribed: Sixth century b.c.e.
Critical Evaluation:
The historian Eusebius states that Anacreon of Teos, the lyric poet who wrote elegiac and iambic verse in the Ionic Greek dialect, flourished during the sixty-second Olympiad (532-529 b.c.e.) Many “Anacreontic” poems are really later imitations of his work erroneously attributed to Anacreon after his death. Erotic love, not necessarily heterosexual, is one of his main themes, as in his short poem, “I lust for Cleobulus, I am mad for Cleobulus, I gaze at Cleobulus.” He sings customarily of the pleasures of the senses as he says in a fragment that “children must love me for my words and my songs seeing that I sing pretty things and know how to say pretty things.” In one iambic poem he compares a love affair to training a horse in a manner similar to that of Ovid in his ARS AMATORIA, treating love as a game,
Why do you look at me sideways, my Thracian filly, and flee from me so resolutely as though I knew nothing of my art? You know that I could bridle you properly and take rein and ride you right about the turning post of the course. But instead you graze in the meadows and frolic; because you lack a clever breaker to ride you.
Fragments of drinking songs make up a large part of his work. When love eludes him (“But pledge me, dear, your slender thighs”), he turns to gallant drinking: “So I held the glass and drained it to the blond Erxion.”
On such a man old age weighs heavily. Sometimes he begs: “Listen, girl with pretty hair and golden dress, to an old man’s prayer.” Once he elaborates on the evils of growing old:
My temples have grown gray and my head bare and white and graceful youth has left me. My teeth are the teeth of an old man. There is left me only a short space of dear life. And so I often moan for fear of Hell. Dire is the dark grip of Death and deep is the road down. There is no road up.
But there is a serious strain to some of his work and he knows manly virtue when he sees it. So he praises the brave Agathon, “who died for Abdera and was mourned at his pyre by all the town; for the blood loving God of War never slew in the swirl of battle such a youth as he.” On the other hand, he knows the unmanly and the affected for what it is. So he derides the “litter rider Artemon” who
wore Cimmerian headdress with decorations in his ears and about his ribs the hairy oxhide cover of a dirty shield—the scoundrel Artemon who made a fraudulent living by consorting with bread wenches and whores, with his neck frequently tied to the whipping stock or the wheel and his back burned with the leather whip and his hair and beard pulled out. Now he rides in a coach wearing gold earrings fit for a fairy and carries a dainty ivory sunshade.
Although there is an evident system of values in Anacreon’s work, he would be unhappy if he were remembered as a serious moralist. He would prefer, perhaps, his own description: “I cannot bear the drinker who talks of battles and the misfortunes of war when he is drinking, rather think about happy things by mixing the art of the Muses and the splendid gifts of the Goddess of Love.”