Review: The Fables of Avianus

[guppiecat]

I remember being excited several years ago when a new translation of Aesop's Fables was released, as they were translated by ignoring the "corruptions" caused by Victorian sensibilities. (Yes, I am that geeky.) However, at that time, I was unaware that the fable form had also been taken up and adapted by the Romans. I had thought that the Victorians (and slightly earlier) had simply worked from the Greek. Not so.

The Fables of Avianus are collected from the known fables written about 150 years after Aesop (fuzzy numbers abound in History ;) and recently re-translated by David Slavitt who, according to his introduction, was looking for a light diversion. (If you think I'm geeky, this guy translates Latin for fun!) I picked it up for a similar reason.

I did not find anything particularly dark as I occasionally did in Aesop, but I did find some that were surprisingly touching. They do have a "teaching lessons" component, which I would hope all fables do. However, there is a certain playfulness with the language that is noticeable in the translation. I suspect that it's there in the Latin too, but I'm not nearly good enough to track it down and verify this. After all, that's what translators are for, right?

The topics are various, ranging from social commentary (surprisingly sexist at times) to lessons on self improvement. However, what I found most surprising were the number of fables with which I was already familiar, though I had attributed them to other sources (Fontaine, the Bible, general folklore). It's strange to have a name associated with them.

I have four in particular that I wish to share with you all, however I don't think that that would be quite fair to the translator (I suspect that Avianus is somewhat beyond the need to make a buck). Instead, I shall share two, one touching and one haunting. I'll try to have this copy with me for a while (it'll be a good car book) in case anyone wants to read more.

The Monkey
Never mind why -- the gods behave with whimsy -- but once,
   Jove decided to hold a cute-baby contest,
and invited all the world's creatures to enter their kiddies,
   every beast of the earth, and fish of the sea,
and bird of the air.  And they came (oh they came!)
   fussing and cooing, their youngsters gussied up
in ribbons and bows.  The fish had scales that gleamed like jewels,
   and the little birds with their iridescent plumage
looked like a cunning jeweler's simulacra of birds.
   The mothers paraded their darlings before the god
in a grand procession, and Jupiter nodded, beamed, and preened,
   congratulating them all and of course himself . . .
And then, at the critical moment, just before the awards,
   a mama monkey appeared, pushed herself forward,
and put her wizened wee one down on the floor before him,
   a kind of hairy prune with arms and legs,
and a face that could stop a thousand clocks.  And the god laughed!
   And everyone else laughed, and the baby monkey
blinked its pop-eyes, and smiled, and everted its lower lip,
   and everyone roared the louder, until the mother
called them all to order: "Let the god decide
   however he will, and give the prizes out . . .
What does it matter?  This is my child, my darling, my love,
   the dearest baby in all the universe."
And again their was laughter, but quickly it gave way to silence
   and awe before her blind passion's truth.


The Calf and the Ox
Scampering the pasture, that's how now,
the brown cow, a calf still, sees
in the next field, yoked to a heavy plow,
the dumb ox, and stops to shoot the breeze:
"What's that contraption? What kind of life
is that?"  The questions, even the mocking laught
get no rise from the ox, but a silent stare
at the farmer who carried a glittering butcher knife
and a light halter, coming toward the calf.
Nobody gets to choose which yoke to wear.