Document 460

A Small Book of Translations: 12 - Catullus 11

Author(s): Alexander Hutchison

Copyright holder(s): Alexander Hutchison

EGNATIUS, QUOD CANDIDOS HABET DENTES

Iggy, because he happens to have
white teeth, slaps on a permanent grin.
Suppose he approaches the plaintiff's bench –
the advocate plucking at the heart strings –
there's that smile. When tears are tripping
a mother bereft at the grave of her own sweet
biddable boy – he's smiling still. Whatever it is,
wherever he is, whatever else he may be up to,
you can guarantee his pan stays cracked.
It's an ailment he's got: in my view
neither flattering nor a fit state to be.
I'll tell you, Ignatius, old cheese, if you
were a Cockney, a Brummie, or a Geordie
or a lard-ass Liverpudlian, a blob from
Belfast, or a black and tusky Cardiff-ite –
or a Keelie (for nearest and dearest) –
or anyone else that cleans their teeth with
clean tap water, I still wouldn't want you to
plaster on that everlasting gob-stretching grin.
Nothing dies a death like a manufactured laugh.
As it is, you're a Mealie, and in Mealie-land
everyday the Mealies work their teeth and rosy
gums with what was pissed that morning –
so the more refulgent the choppers the more piss
you're seen to have downed or floated over.

Information about Document 460

A Small Book of Translations: 12 - Catullus 11