HORACE – POET ON A VOLCANO: Kevin Saving considers Peter Stothard’s brief but lively biography of the Roman poet
Horace - Poet On A Volcano
Peter Stothard (2025)
Yale University Press
ISBN 978-0-300-25658-1
pp313, £18.99
They didn’t teach much Latin at my Secondary school – nor ancient Greek either. They probably didn’t think most of the kids, destined for employment of one kind or another at the local brickworks, would derive much benefit from it. Consequently, I have had to obtain any familiarity I possess with the “Classics” (Homer, Aeschylus, Virgil, Ovid et al) secondhand, via translations in their annotated editions, courtesy of “Penguin Classics” etcetera. These expressions via, et al and etcetera reflect how Latin permeates the English language that we in this country still (mostly) speak and in which a few Latin tags, garnered from the mouths of dead Romans, can still provide a kind of shibboleth between the learned, the cultured and, sometimes, the merely “entitled”.
Horace -Poet on a Volcano (spoiler alert: this claim is not literally true) boasts in its blurb to be the “first modern retelling of Horace’s life” – again, not wholly accurately. Old Etonian and wine-buff, Harry Eyres’ Horace and Me: Life Lessons from an Ancient Poet (2013) provides a very personal “take” on the life, thought and poetry of Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65-8 BCE). Horace’s work is generally divided into four main categories: the Epodes, Satires, Epistles and Odes – though it is the last for which he is today chiefly remembered. These are not entirely without literary precedent. The Roman satirist Lucilius and the Greeks Alcaeus, Mimnermus (an epigrammatist and hedonist) and the racy, un-illusioned Archilochus – who wrote of the feel of a woman’s mouth “head-down as she did her work like a Thracian drinking beer through a straw” – prefigure them.
The son of a freed slave, Horace enjoyed the early patronage of Marcus Brutus (assassin of Julius Caesar) and fought on the losing side at the battle of Philippi (before throwing in his lot with one of the victors, Octavian (who was later to style himself “Augustus Caesar”). Following a period in Rome working as a clerk, Horace would find further patronage under Gaius Maecenas, one of the new Princeps‘s chief henchmen. Peter Strothard’s fascinating and accessible new biography shows how the parvenu poet used his position within this new patron’s circle of amici to secure a small estate in the Sabine hills (thirty miles Northeast of Rome) where he could enjoy the leisure to write; a place, as he put it, where he wanted nil amplius (nothing more). Well might he exclaim Hoc erat in votis (this is what I prayed for!). After seeing Rome’s internecine strife up-close and sanguinary, the poet knew just how lucky he was.
This shortish volume represents a partial history of Horace’s times as much as the story of a man about whom much remains unknown or uncertain (his own testimonies might, perhaps, be best considered as “unreliable witness statements”). So much of the poetry has to be taken in context and even then it remains – other than to the truly engaged scholar of Latin – a little elusive. Possibly this might serve as an off-hand definition of poetry itself: “That which is untranslatable”? Stothard provides us with a helpful, thirty-page section of “Source Notes” which -like the book they illuminate- are both studious and insightful.
Horace seems to have enjoyed a slightly ambivalent relationship with the new Caesar, carefully declining his overtures to join the imperial secretariat. It appears that the former Octavian – who probably had little time for highly personal, subjective or bawdy poetry –took no offence. The poet was, he joked, purissimum penem: “an amusing little fucker”. Horace had, metaphorically, skirted close to the volcano’s rim but had not fallen in. His “voice” is often a highly arresting one. Whether he is being “smutty” (in a way which has been periodically abandoned by English literature), “revelatory”, vehement or more conventionally “lyrical”, he is always recognisably human. Here are a few examples
From Epodes 7
Can't you see you're rushing headlong into ruin?
Why do your right hands grasp once-sheathed swords?
Do you think too little Roman blood's been spilled
On far-flung fields and in ocean deeps?
...Or is it just blind madness, or some stronger power,
Or is it guilt which drives us on?
(Translated by Harry Eyres)
From Odes 2.14
The earth, our home, our dear, our loving wife
Are only lent to us and must be left behind
And all those trees you've planted far and wide
Will outlive you, all except the cypresses;
And your prized wines, all those grand crus
You've cellared, under lock and key,
Your Oh so worthy heir will glug the lot
And stain the floor with your exquisite vintages.
(Translated by Harry Eyres)
From SORACTE, Odes 1.9
(Monte Soratte stands approximately 28 milesto the North of Rome)
Do you see how Soracte stands white with snow,
How the struggling woods let go of their loads,
How the rivers are stiff
With sharp ice?
{...} pile logs on the fire and be generous with the wine,
Four years old from Sabine jars,
Unmixed with water.
Leave all else to the gods for the time when
They've calmed those winds that war with each other
Over the furious sea, when the old oaks and ash have
Ceased to tremble.
Avoid asking what will come tomorrow
And see as gain each day that fortune gives.
While you are young neither set aside sweet love
Nor say no to parties.
With miserable old age still far away
Frequent the sports field and the public squares
At night when the lover's whispers grow louder
In the dark,
Where the laugh of a hiding girl betrays her place
In a shadowy corner, just as some token
Is snatched from a finger or a wrist,
Hardly resisting.
(Translated by Peter Stothard).
Horace expresses similar sentiments more famously, and more succinctly, (in Odes 1.11) where we’re exhorted to “Carpe Diem“.
Quintus Horatius Flaccus had no children of his own but he is, in some ways, a father to us all. He was not shy of boasting of his achievements: “I have built a monument more lasting than bronze”. (Odes 3.30). My local brickworks were demolished decades ago but Horace, well over two millennia since his death, still has plenty to teach us – most specifically about ourselves.
Jun 30 2025
HORACE – POET ON A VOLCANO
HORACE – POET ON A VOLCANO: Kevin Saving considers Peter Stothard’s brief but lively biography of the Roman poet
They didn’t teach much Latin at my Secondary school – nor ancient Greek either. They probably didn’t think most of the kids, destined for employment of one kind or another at the local brickworks, would derive much benefit from it. Consequently, I have had to obtain any familiarity I possess with the “Classics” (Homer, Aeschylus, Virgil, Ovid et al) secondhand, via translations in their annotated editions, courtesy of “Penguin Classics” etcetera. These expressions via, et al and etcetera reflect how Latin permeates the English language that we in this country still (mostly) speak and in which a few Latin tags, garnered from the mouths of dead Romans, can still provide a kind of shibboleth between the learned, the cultured and, sometimes, the merely “entitled”.
Horace -Poet on a Volcano (spoiler alert: this claim is not literally true) boasts in its blurb to be the “first modern retelling of Horace’s life” – again, not wholly accurately. Old Etonian and wine-buff, Harry Eyres’ Horace and Me: Life Lessons from an Ancient Poet (2013) provides a very personal “take” on the life, thought and poetry of Quintus Horatius Flaccus (65-8 BCE). Horace’s work is generally divided into four main categories: the Epodes, Satires, Epistles and Odes – though it is the last for which he is today chiefly remembered. These are not entirely without literary precedent. The Roman satirist Lucilius and the Greeks Alcaeus, Mimnermus (an epigrammatist and hedonist) and the racy, un-illusioned Archilochus – who wrote of the feel of a woman’s mouth “head-down as she did her work like a Thracian drinking beer through a straw” – prefigure them.
The son of a freed slave, Horace enjoyed the early patronage of Marcus Brutus (assassin of Julius Caesar) and fought on the losing side at the battle of Philippi (before throwing in his lot with one of the victors, Octavian (who was later to style himself “Augustus Caesar”). Following a period in Rome working as a clerk, Horace would find further patronage under Gaius Maecenas, one of the new Princeps‘s chief henchmen. Peter Strothard’s fascinating and accessible new biography shows how the parvenu poet used his position within this new patron’s circle of amici to secure a small estate in the Sabine hills (thirty miles Northeast of Rome) where he could enjoy the leisure to write; a place, as he put it, where he wanted nil amplius (nothing more). Well might he exclaim Hoc erat in votis (this is what I prayed for!). After seeing Rome’s internecine strife up-close and sanguinary, the poet knew just how lucky he was.
This shortish volume represents a partial history of Horace’s times as much as the story of a man about whom much remains unknown or uncertain (his own testimonies might, perhaps, be best considered as “unreliable witness statements”). So much of the poetry has to be taken in context and even then it remains – other than to the truly engaged scholar of Latin – a little elusive. Possibly this might serve as an off-hand definition of poetry itself: “That which is untranslatable”? Stothard provides us with a helpful, thirty-page section of “Source Notes” which -like the book they illuminate- are both studious and insightful.
Horace seems to have enjoyed a slightly ambivalent relationship with the new Caesar, carefully declining his overtures to join the imperial secretariat. It appears that the former Octavian – who probably had little time for highly personal, subjective or bawdy poetry –took no offence. The poet was, he joked, purissimum penem: “an amusing little fucker”. Horace had, metaphorically, skirted close to the volcano’s rim but had not fallen in. His “voice” is often a highly arresting one. Whether he is being “smutty” (in a way which has been periodically abandoned by English literature), “revelatory”, vehement or more conventionally “lyrical”, he is always recognisably human. Here are a few examples
From Epodes 7 Can't you see you're rushing headlong into ruin? Why do your right hands grasp once-sheathed swords? Do you think too little Roman blood's been spilled On far-flung fields and in ocean deeps? ...Or is it just blind madness, or some stronger power, Or is it guilt which drives us on? (Translated by Harry Eyres) From Odes 2.14 The earth, our home, our dear, our loving wife Are only lent to us and must be left behind And all those trees you've planted far and wide Will outlive you, all except the cypresses; And your prized wines, all those grand crus You've cellared, under lock and key, Your Oh so worthy heir will glug the lot And stain the floor with your exquisite vintages. (Translated by Harry Eyres) From SORACTE, Odes 1.9 (Monte Soratte stands approximately 28 milesto the North of Rome) Do you see how Soracte stands white with snow, How the struggling woods let go of their loads, How the rivers are stiff With sharp ice? {...} pile logs on the fire and be generous with the wine, Four years old from Sabine jars, Unmixed with water. Leave all else to the gods for the time when They've calmed those winds that war with each other Over the furious sea, when the old oaks and ash have Ceased to tremble. Avoid asking what will come tomorrow And see as gain each day that fortune gives. While you are young neither set aside sweet love Nor say no to parties. With miserable old age still far away Frequent the sports field and the public squares At night when the lover's whispers grow louder In the dark, Where the laugh of a hiding girl betrays her place In a shadowy corner, just as some token Is snatched from a finger or a wrist, Hardly resisting. (Translated by Peter Stothard).Horace expresses similar sentiments more famously, and more succinctly, (in Odes 1.11) where we’re exhorted to “Carpe Diem“.
Quintus Horatius Flaccus had no children of his own but he is, in some ways, a father to us all. He was not shy of boasting of his achievements: “I have built a monument more lasting than bronze”. (Odes 3.30). My local brickworks were demolished decades ago but Horace, well over two millennia since his death, still has plenty to teach us – most specifically about ourselves.