The Spectator Classics prize
Peter Jones announces the latest winner.
It was gratifying to note the expansion of the competition's constituency, especially when it was classically motivated, i.e., by the prospect of material gain — `Cripes, if there's champagne at stake, I'm your man!' (Robert Bass); 'I was hoping you would reward me with the opportunity of work experience at The Spectator' (Clare Garbett) — or 'future fame and glory' (Charlie Dallas).
There were extremely classy performances in Latin prose from Gary King, who worked on a review of a book about absinthe (aqua Artemidis), and from Patrick O'Keeffe, who translated a letter from the Saudi ambassador complaining about Mark Steyn; and in Greek prose from Stephen Kelly in New York, based on James Delingpole's article which compared giving up smoking to giving up support for the Iraq war. True, 'smoking' became 'drinking', but when Delingpole argued that smoking was almost as good as sex, Mr Kelly felicitously adapted a wordplay from Aristophanes' Frogs about glugging (pinein) and fugging (bineln).
But Colin Leach won by a whisker with an extract from David Lovibond's article on our inability to deal with death, in the best tradition of Horace's Sermones:
Vana tamen nostras et mania gauclia vitas Implerunt; nunquam nervos in Marte probamus, Nescimusque Lames dare quae solamina possint; Nos igitur tantum mater viduata lacessit. Outs didicit iusti luctus sollemnia, quisve Se gerere in rebus scit convenienter acerbis? Unde venit sapiens rnansuetave epistola nostro Tempore? at obliti cuncti sumus illius artis. Nuntia quid valeant solantia novit avita Aetas; scribebant not issima verba sed aequa — Hand foret in subito terrestris terminus orbis. Crescere et e tenebris semper lux grata soleret. At quid agit' rogitas 'aetatis epistola nostrat?' Participes luctus fieri cogemur, inane Tentamen, nostrosque placet conferre dolores. Consilio vano freti male pbarmacopolae. Saepe tamen cohibet nos Mors linguasque coercet, Colloquiumque vetat tristis quaesisse parentis.
'Preoccupied with shallow pleasures, untested by war and spiritually illiterate, we find the tears of the bereaved embarrassing. Without a continuing tradition of organised mourning, we have lost the knack of seemliness — most evident in the forgotten art of writing the letter of sympathy. Our grandparents understood the value of plain, comfortable words; the reassurance contained in old formulaic phrases that the world would not end, there would be light at the end of tunnels.
If we send letters at all now they ooze with negative capability, a therapy-induced compulsion to share the pain and provide windy comparisons with the writer's own suffering. Mostly, though, death halts our hands, ties our tongues and persuades us to avoid the company of the grief-struck.'
The Spectator Cup: rules of entry 1. The competition is for a translation of any 200-word passage from The Spectator into Latin or Greek prose or verse. The prize is a bottle of champagne. At the end of the year, the Spectator Classics Cup will be awarded to the best entry, 2. All entries will be typed, double-spaced, 14-point.
3. The English is to be included with your version.
4. One entry only per person.
5. In general, an emailed version is preferred (editor@spectator.co.uk). This will virtually guarantee your text error-free publication.
Previous page
