Lines written on being rejected (again and again!) by publishers and literary agents …

FRAGILITAS

IN MENTE MEA FRAGILEM

ME ESSE ET DIFFICILEM

   SEMPERQUE SEMPER SENTIO.

E VANIS NUNC CONSILIIS

ET VACUIS PRAESIDIIS

   FURTIVUS FURTIM FUGIO.

DUM RECIDO AD NIHILUM

IN EGESTATE TUI SUM

   ME MISERUM MEMINERIS.

DUM MENTIS IN PALUDIBUS

ET DESUM POTESTATIBUS

   ABUSQUE ABSENS ABERIS?

NUNC REPULSO A DOMINO,

CONFUSO ME IN ANIMO,

   DONARE DONUM DEBEAT.

QUI PLENUS POTESTATIS FIT

NON NIMIS GLORIOSUS SIT,

   NEC NEMINI NON NOCEAT.

[n.b. 8-syllabled accentual verse, iambic; rhyme scheme aabccb; alliteration of every third line; 1st stanza, 1st-person main vbs, 2nd stanza, 2nd-person, 3rd stanza 3rd person.]

Rough translation:

Ever and anon my mind feels fragile and troubled. Now furtively thief-like I flee from vain plans and empty strongholds. Will you remember miserable me while I amount to nothing, in need of your presence?  Will you be so far away while my mind is in the mire and I am powerless? Now that I have been rejected by my master, my spirit in disorder, let him bestow a gift. He who is made powerful, let him not be excessively proud, nor hurt anyone.

Olim in orbe caeli, qui longissime abest …

Tempus est belli civilis. Caelestis classis seditiosa, impetu e latibulo facto in Malum Imperium Orbis Caelis, primum superior discessit.

Dum pugnatum est, exploratores seditiosi descriptiones arcanas armorum ultimorum Imperii, Stellae Mortis – videlicet castrorum caelestorum in quibus satis sunt vis ut totam stellam errantem delere queant – rapere poterant.

Legatis maleficis Imperii subsequentibus, Leia virgo regia in nave caelesti sua domum currit, custos descriptionum raptarum, quae gentem eius liberare et libertatem caelo restituere poterunt …

At times like this I wonder if I’m just kidding myself – have these books been vanity projects? Do I really have the ability to do what I think I can do? Or am I a Salieri who thinks he’s a Mozart? In my head I have novels, screenplays, history books spinning around waiting to be released. But like Aeolus and his bag of winds, I have to keep them shut in.

So it’s official – I really am a windbag!

In the meantime, I’m toying with some accentual rhymed verse. Here’s the first stanza:

“Fragilitas”

IN MENTE MEA FRAGILEM
ME ESSE ET DIFFICILEM
  SEMPERQUE SEMPER SENTIO
E VANIS NUNC CONSILIIS
ET VACUIS PRAESIDIIS
  FURTIVUS FURTUM FUGIO.

PLATO MI (Hendecasyllables)

TU CARISSIMUS ES CANICULORUM,

PLATO MI, MIHI CALLIDISSIMUSQUE:

TU STERTENS QUOQUE SEMPER IMPUDENTER

STRATIS, ME GELIDO, CUBARE RAPTIS

FURTIVE POTES IMMEMORQUE DORMIS.

SI FORTASSE RUAS VIAM IOCOSE

PELLENS PAPILIONEM IN AERE AGENTEM,

TU TUTUS MIHI, MACHINIS VITATIS,

REDDAS SEMPER, ET IMMEMORQUE MORTIS.

FELICISSIMUS ES CANICULORUM.

Translation:

You are to me, my dear Plato, the dearest of little dogs, and the most cunning: stealthily having stolen the sheets you lie down, shamelessly always snoring, too, and while I am shivering, heedless you sleep. If perhaps playfully you should rush headlong into the road putting to flight a butterfly fluttering on the breeze, may you always come back safe to me, having avoided the cars, and heedless of death. You are the luckiest of little dogs.

IN COLLE CONCAVO AMBULANS  (Scazons)

AMOENA MOLES, OPTIMI LOCI PALMAM

DEDI TIBI, DUM PRATA PER TUA ERRABAM:

UBIQUE PALOR CUM CANICULO, PASSIM

CUNICULOSAS ILLE PER VIAS CURRENS

COMESQUE LAETUS. HIC COLUMNA NUNC SURSUM,

STILUS SUPERBUS IMMINENS SUPER CAMPIS

QUIBUS SONORUM TINNULE SONAT TEMPLUM.

RENIDET AESTAS: MURMURAT IOCOSA AURA

PER ARBORESQUE VEPRIBUS SUSURRATVE,

CRESCITVE VENTUS APTUS AD VOLANDUMQUE

VENTOSA VELA: SUBVOLANT SIMUL CORDA,

CADIT DEORSUM IN STRAGULIS AGRIS CURA.

Translation:

While walking on Coombe Hill: O delightful hill, to you I have awarded the prize of best place of all as I rove through your meadows: I wander everywhere with my little dog, while he capers here and there along rabbity paths, a happy companion. Now here arises the column, a proud monument overhanging the plain, in which the sonorous church rings clangingly. Summer shines cheerfully: playful breezes murmur through the trees or whisper among the bushes, or a wind increases suitable for flying breeze-blown kites: at the same time as our hearts fly up, worries tumble down into the patchwork fields.

 (texts and translations copyright Mark Walker, 2009)

See my website www.pineapplepubs.co.uk for more.

I’m trying not to panic (thinking about the cover of The Hitch-Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, those large friendly letters: DON’T PANIC) — Amazon has a listing for my next book BRITANNICA LATINA already.

Di immortales! And I’ve hardly even started it yet. The copy deadline is June, for October publication. Now, I know that in the middle of a distinctly frosty January summer feels like a long way off, but I also know (a) how long it took to write my other two Latin books and (b) how many other projects I am juggling, not to mention the extra teaching I am about to take on. Not that I’m complaining (heaven forfend!) — it is wonderful to have so many rewarding assignments. But there remains that nagging panic at the back of my mind: so much to do, so little time. Still, nil desperandum and all that.

As for BRITANNICA LATINA itself, thus far I have collected material ranging from Gildas and Bede through Geoffrey of Monmouth to Francis Bacon and Isaac Newton, to Augustan poetry — and am investigating contemporary 21st century Latin poets too. Along the way we’ll have the tale of Lady Godiva, St. Columba vs. the Loch Ness Monster and Walter Map on Vampires, so all in all something for everyone I think — should be a bestseller!

That’s enough for now — I’d better get back to work … euge!

This really is turning out to be a bit of an Annus Mirabilis for me after all. Hercle!

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Annus Mirabilis

The previous day I had a phone call from one of their producers, who tempted me along with the prospect of plugging my book “Annus Horribilis” on air. An opportunity no self-respecting (and hard up!) author could resist. So I duly arrived at the seaside, to be met by affable comedian Stephen K. Amos and the tiny crew (not short people, you understand, just not very many of them). Off we went, Stephen Amos and I, on a “mission” to teach the unsuspecting inhabitants some Latin words and phrases. In case people didn’t get the idea that I was some sort of Latin teacher I was kitted out — like a time traveller who had unwittingly fallen through a wormhole from an old Will Hay movie — in gown, mortar board and cane. I also had a small blackboard on which I was required to scribble in chalk random words — “exit”, “insomnia”, “agenda”, “per ardua ad astra” etc etc — and thus “teach” the natives, velle nolle.

All the while a voice in my head kept repeating: “This is not humiliating, this is not demeaning — this is light entertainment!”

To round off a bizarre day, we then staged a march on the Town Hall with half a dozen students rounded up from the local Student Union bar — they carrying witty placards, me with my chalk and mortar board, and Stephen Amos flanked by two rugby players in full Gladiator-style centurion gear (no one had the presence of mind to say “unleash hell” though, nor bring a copy of Zimmer’s soundtrack CD). So we marched: “sinister, dexter, sinister dexter”, as Sid James would say. Oh well, “Nihil exspectorans in Omnibus” I thought to myself, smiling inanely for the camera.

And after all that, I didn’t even get a chance to plug the book. O tempora o mores.

Annus Horribilis

post scriptum: it seems that after all this mucking about by the seaside, Richard & Judy thought the end result was just too feeble to broadcast. (Or did I miss it?) Ah the vicissitudes of celebrity!

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