Anna Jackson
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    • Pasture and Flock
    • I, Clodia, and other portraits
    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
    • Catullus for children
    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
  • Home
  • Poems
  • Books
    • Pasture and Flock
    • I, Clodia, and other portraits
    • Thicket
    • The gas leak
    • Catullus for children
    • The pastoral kitchen
    • The long road to teatime
    • Last stop before insomnia
    • Dear tombs, dear horizon
    • The Bedmaking Competition
  • About
  • Actions and Travels
  • News and Enthusiasms
  • Catullus translations
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YOUR CART

​He seems like a god to me,
more than a god, if this makes sense,
he who can sit across from you  
watching you, hearing
 
your sweet laugh which seizes from me
my own senses! From the very first instant, each time
that I see you, Lesbia, nothing is on
the tip of my tongue,
 
numb, my language, thick in my mouth, yet fire runs
fiercely through my body, my ears resound with
their own sound, my eyes are lit up with their own 
dazzling darkness...
 
Too much free time, Catullus, is bringing you down,
it’s too much free time that accounts for these extravagant gestures,
that same free time that brings down kings, that 
brings down whole cities. 
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