Today I found out that the paper I wrote on the pronoun form tune in Vergil’s Aeneid got accepted at a conference. Everyone who put up with me stressing about it when I was still working on it earlier this semester was really nice about it. As for me, I’m excited, but really nervous. I share my professor Joel’s philosophy on this sort of thing: “Don’t f*** it up.” Unfortunately, f****** it up is what I’m best at.

Right now, I’m working on my epigraphy project. As it turns out, there is hardly any scholarship on the poem in my inscription. The closest thing to a proper commentary is a translation with notes, and there are very few of those; I think I have them all. The green-and-yellow Hellenistic Anthology omits my poem, probably because it is missing in one of the papyri. Therefore, unless I am missing something, I am the first person to write a real commentary on the poem. Not good. I spent three hours of the day agonizing over how to render two out of three forms of ἐάω that appear. Total headache. See, ἐάω means allow, but because it is kind of in the sense of “let it go,” it can also mean “leave off of.” In other words, its second definition comes close to a contradiction of the first. I’m citing other translations in my discussion, but they tend to conflict with each other. Then, my pal Callimachus decides to throw in a crazy sort of indirect question, just for me to interpret what it is doing. My project advisor basically left that one to me. Not that she didn’t know what it meant: the issue is that it could potentially refer to the speaker or the addressee, so it’s kind of my job to figure out which is best. She said I had her full confidence; I wish I had mine.

*12/2: There is some commentary out there. I was looking for commentaries on Callimachus, but, as it turns out, the epigrams are usually published in editions of the Palatine Anthology.


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