Learning about obscene 6th century vases via Twitter

Earlier tonight, Jen, a friend of mine both in real life and on Twitter, asked me about the Greek inscriptions on this vase:

Aryballos, c. 570 BCE, Attic, black-figure, signed by Nearchos as the potter

While it took a few minutes of searching the internet/trolling the LSJ Greek-English Lexicon online (thank you TLG!), I managed to track down the rather hilarious meanings of the inscriptions painted near the three satyrs.

A (perhaps too close) close-up

The words inscribed from left-to-right are, approximately, ΧΑΙΡΕΙ (χαίρει), ΔΟΦΙΟΣ (Δοφίος), ΤΕΡΠΕΚΕΛΟΣ (Τερπήκελος), ΦΣΟΛΑΣ (Ψώλας), and the inscrutable ΗΑΟΙ ΛΕΙ ΒΡΕ (ηαοι λει βρε, which will not be discussed here). I feel a little bit better about not understanding the last few words since the Metropolitan Museum's page on this vase says "Surprisingly, much of the writing, although finely lettered, is nonsense rather than real words."

The three central inscriptions, which frame the middle satyr, are meant to be the satyrs' names, each of which, rather hilariously, incorporates the satyrs' actions. 

The left satyr is identified as Dophios (Δοφίος), derived from the Greek verb δέφω, which means "soften by working with the hand," i.e., masturbate. Behind him is written χαίρει, the third person present indicative active of χαίρω, a standard verb often used in greetings, but in this particularly context takes on a more specific meaning: "he is enjoying [it/himself]".

Satyr in the middle has Terpekelos (Τερπήκελος) above his head, which is a really awesome compound phrase. The first half is from the verb τέρπω, which in the middle and passive voices has the meaning "enjoy oneself" or "delight in". The second half derives from the noun κῆλον, meaning "shaft" (usually an arrow, though here, clearly something a bit more suggestive). Terpekelos, therefore, is essentially "delighting in one's own virile member".

The right-side satyr is Psolas (Ψώλας). This name clearly derives from the Greek ψωλός, "with the prepuce (i.e. foreskin) drawn back". 

So, in sum, the names of the rather masturbatory satyrs depicted on this vase augment their visual/comedic effect! Hope you've all enjoyed this little interlude!

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Sources:

The Beazley Archive

Gisela M. A. Richter. 1932. "An Aryballos by Nearchos," American Journal of Archaeology 36 (3): 272-5.

The LSJ online (via the TLG)

Metropolitan Museum's page on this vase in the Heilbrunn Timeline of Art History.

Publish or Perish: it begins!

I'm not sure whether I wrote anything at all about the research I did last summer, but this seems to be as good a time as any (and this blog was in dire need of an update).

Last year, one of my fabulous professors (Nigel) and I were awarded Reed's Lankford Grant for Faculty-Student Collaborative Research in the Humanities, which funded our summer research project, initially entitled "The Rhetoric of Aging in Archaic Greece." Although I've joked to some of my friends that I essentially spent my summer reading (and subsequently getting very depressed) about old people, it was one of the best academic experiences of my life—I was able to work closely with my professor (and take care of his dog Toby when he was in Sicily!), studied wonderful and engaging literature, and had my first serious and glorious exposure to Pindar. By the time September rolled around, we had completed our research and had produced an article that would be submitted for publication.

In the past month, I've had two pieces of fantastic news. First, we will be presenting our research at a Classics conference in March. Second, our finished article, "Aging, Athletics and Epinician," will be published in the upcoming issue of the academic journal Nikephoros. Although I am a little nervous about the conference presentation, I couldn't be more excited about everything.

This might be the longest of long shots, but if any of you Reedies in this blog's extremely limited readership are at all interested in learning a bit about all of this, you should come to the Classics Symposium this Thursday at 4:15, during which Nigel and I will be presenting our research. There will be snacks!

Summer with Toby Monophthalmos, the best one-eyed dog around

Hadrian gets a cartoon

Kate Beaton has updated her absolutely lovely comic Hark! A Vagrant with another series of riffs on Edward Gorey book covers. Featured in the latest is:

Exegi monumentum aere perennius

Horace, Ode 3.30

Exegi monumentum aere perennius
regalique situ pyramidum altius,
quod non imber edax, non Aquilo impotens
possit diruere aut innumerabilis
annorum series et fuga temporum.
Non omnis moriar multaque pars mei
vitabit Libitinam; usque ego postera
crescam laude recens. Dum Capitolium
scandet cum tacita virgine pontifex,
dicar, qua violens obstrepit Aufidus
et qua pauper aquae Daunus agrestium
regnavit populorum, ex humili potens,
princeps Aeolium carmen ad Italos
deduxisse modos. Sume superbiam
quaesitam meritis et mihi Delphica
lauro cinge volens, Melpomene, comam.

I have completed a monument more lasting than bronze
and loftier than the kingly structure of the pyramids,
which neither consuming rain nor the headstrong North East wind
is able to destroy, nor the countless
succession of years and the flight of ages.
I will not wholly die and a great part of me
will evade the goddess of death; on and on I,
fresh with ensuing praise, will thrive. As long as
the pontifex ascends the Capitoline with a silent virgin,
I will be spoken of, where the Aufidus roars
and where Daunus, poor in water,
ruled his rustic people, powerful from a humble origin,
as the first to have brought Aeolian song into
Italian meters. Accept the proud honor
obtained by your merits and with a Delphic laurel,
Melpomene, willingly encircle my locks.
              Translated by me (E.M.H), November 2011


We're just finishing up Book 3 of the Odes in my Horace class. This is one of my perennial (no pun intended) favorites. The ode, the final poem of the three book collection, is composed in the first Asclepiadean meter, which only occurs elsewhere at Ode 1.1 (a nice metrical bookend, of sorts).

I've been the worst blogger ever but I think a fresh start is in good order...

...mostly because I think updating this blog on at least a weekly basis will be a really nice outlet for all of the classics-related internet finds and personal thoughts, exacerbated by my senior thesis, that I feel bad about sharing excessively with my friends (not all of whom are quite so inclined) on my other social media outlets.

So, updates to come in the next few days––a week at the latest!––on my summer research grant project and, of course, that simultaneously wonderful and horrifying thing that is my Thesis.

Forgot to post this in July, but the footnote still amuses me

"Finally, when a victory was much desired, a very rich patron could of course enter more than one team of horses, chariots, or mulecarts to improve his chances of winning. [Footnote: Cf. Th. 6.16 Alcibiades entering with seven chariots, which admittedly was thought to be rather excessive.]" (from W.E. van den Groenendaal, Mnemosyne 63, p. 392)

Odyssey 8

They reached for the good things that lay outspread
and when they'd put aside desire for food and drink,
Odysseus, master of many exploits, praised the singer:
"I respect you, Demodocus, more than any man alive--
surely the Muse has taught you, Zeus's daughter,
or god Apollo himself. How true to life,
all too true . . . you sing the Achaeans' fate,
all they did and suffered, all they soldiered through,	550
as if you were there yourself or heard from one who was.
But come now, shift your ground. Sing of the wooden horse
Epeus built with Athena's help, the cunning trap that
good Odysseus brought one day to the heights of Troy,
filled with fighting men who laid the city waste.
Sing that for me--true to life as it deserves--
and I will tell the world at once how freely
the Muse gave you the gods' own gift of song."
Stirred now by the Muse, the bard launched out
in a fine blaze of song, starting at just the point	560
where the main Achaean force, setting their camps afire,
had boarded the oarswept ships and sailed for home
but famed Odysseus' men already crouched in hiding--
in the heart of Troy's assembly--dark in that horse
the Trojans dragged themselves to the city heights.
Now it stood there, looming . . .
and round its bulk the Trojans sat debating,
clashing, days on end. Three plans split their ranks:
either to hack open the hollow vault with ruthless bronze
or haul it up to the highest ridge and pitch it down the cliffs	570
or let it stand--a glorious offering made to pacify the gods--
and that, that final plan, was bound to win the day.
For Troy was fated to perish once the city lodged
inside her walls the monstrous wooden horse
where the prime of Argive power lay in wait
with death and slaughter bearing down on Troy.
And he sang how troops of Achaeans broke from cover,
streaming out of the horse's hollow flanks to plunder Troy--
he sang how left and right they ravaged the steep city,
sang how Odysseus marched right up to Deiphobus' house	580
like the god of war on attack with diehard Menelaus.
There, he sang, Odysseus fought the grimmest fight
he had ever braved but he won through at last,
thanks to Athena's superhuman power.

That was the song the famous harper sang
but great Odysseus melted into tears,
running down from his eyes to wet his cheeks . . .
as a woman weeps, her arms flung round her darling husband,
a man who fell in battle, fighting for town and townsmen,
trying to beat the day of doom from home and children.	590
Seeing the man go down, dying, gasping for breath,
she clings for dear life, screams and shrills--
but the victors, just behind her,
digging spear-butts into her back and shoulders,
drag her off in bondage, yoked to hard labor, pain,
and the most heartbreaking torment wastes her cheeks.
So from Odysseus' eyes ran tears of heartbreak now.
But his weeping went unmarked by all the others;
only Alcinous, sitting close beside him,
noticed his guest's tears...  Trans. by Robert Fagles, 1996.