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<rss xmlns:itunes="http://www.itunes.com/dtds/podcast-1.0.dtd" xmlns:atom="http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom" xmlns:podcast="https://podcastindex.org/namespace/1.0" xmlns:media="http://search.yahoo.com/mrss/" version="2.0"><channel><title>Metamorphoses (Miller Version)</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/metamorphoses-miller-version--7114978</link><description><![CDATA[Immerse yourself in a realm where change is the only constant, as inspired by the theme of "Metamorphoses." This podcast delves into the rich tapestry of transformation found in mythology, exploring the fluidity of identity, the passage of time, and the profound shifts that define existence. Every episode features a new complete audiobook, inviting listeners to engage with a rotating collection of tales that reflect the essence of change, featuring characters caught in moments of decision, yearning, and evolution. Each story offers a unique perspective on the transformative power of love, loss, and the unexpected twists of fate, ensuring that no two narratives are alike. This is not a single story, but a series of unique explorations that challenge and inspire, inviting you to discover a new book with every episode and expand your understanding of the human experience through the lens of transformation.]]></description><atom:link href="https://www.spreaker.com/show/7114978/episodes/feed" rel="self" type="application/rss+xml"/><language>en</language><category>Books</category><copyright>Copyright Poetry Genre</copyright><image><url>https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg</url><title>Metamorphoses (Miller Version)</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/podcast/metamorphoses-miller-version--7114978</link></image><lastBuildDate>Wed, 09 Sep 2026 09:10:59 +0000</lastBuildDate><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:owner><itunes:name>Poetry Genre</itunes:name><itunes:email>spreaker74@podcastlibrary.org</itunes:email></itunes:owner><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:subtitle>Immerse yourself in a realm where change is the only constant, as inspired by the theme of "Metamorphoses." This podcast delves into the rich tapestry of transformation found in mythology, exploring the fluidity of identity, the passage of time, and...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Immerse yourself in a realm where change is the only constant, as inspired by the theme of "Metamorphoses." This podcast delves into the rich tapestry of transformation found in mythology, exploring the fluidity of identity, the passage of time, and the profound shifts that define existence. Every episode features a new complete audiobook, inviting listeners to engage with a rotating collection of tales that reflect the essence of change, featuring characters caught in moments of decision, yearning, and evolution. Each story offers a unique perspective on the transformative power of love, loss, and the unexpected twists of fate, ensuring that no two narratives are alike. This is not a single story, but a series of unique explorations that challenge and inspire, inviting you to discover a new book with every episode and expand your understanding of the human experience through the lens of transformation.]]></itunes:summary><itunes:category text="Arts"><itunes:category text="Books"/></itunes:category><itunes:category text="Religion &amp; Spirituality"/><itunes:category text="Religion &amp; Spirituality"><itunes:category text="Religion"/></itunes:category><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><podcast:guid>bf5bb35a-8074-5fb7-b32e-f91850272cdd</podcast:guid><itunes:type>episodic</itunes:type><item><title>Life and Death of Mr. Badman-John Bunyan</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/life-and-death-of-mr-badman-john-bunyan--74397034</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74397034</guid><pubDate>Wed, 09 Sep 2026 09:00:54 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74397034/life_and_death_of_mr_badman_john_bunyan.mp3" length="207768299" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>25945</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Faust I-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/faust-i-johann-wolfgang-von-goethe--74370847</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74370847</guid><pubDate>Tue, 08 Sep 2026 09:01:04 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74370847/faust_i_johann_wolfgang_von_goethe.mp3" length="124462662" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>15542</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Treasure Island (version 3, dramatic reading)-Robert Louis Stevenson</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/treasure-island-version-3-dramatic-reading-robert-louis-stevenson--74349832</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74349832</guid><pubDate>Mon, 07 Sep 2026 09:01:00 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74349832/treasure_island_version_3_dramatic_reading_robert_louis_stevenson.mp3" length="182860595" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>22835</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Bacteria in Daily Life-Grace Coleridge Frankland</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/bacteria-in-daily-life-grace-coleridge-frankland--74327548</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74327548</guid><pubDate>Sun, 06 Sep 2026 09:00:41 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74327548/bacteria_in_daily_life_grace_coleridge_frankland.mp3" length="137514004" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>17172</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Flowers of Evil-Charles Baudelaire, James Huneker</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/flowers-of-evil-charles-baudelaire-james-huneker--74306141</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74306141</guid><pubDate>Sat, 05 Sep 2026 09:00:28 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74306141/flowers_of_evil_charles_baudelaire_james_huneker.mp3" length="53809748" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>6719</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Short Nonfiction Collection, Vol. 073-Various</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/short-nonfiction-collection-vol-073-various--74288665</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74288665</guid><pubDate>Fri, 04 Sep 2026 09:00:36 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74288665/short_nonfiction_collection_vol_073_various.mp3" length="196155599" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>24495</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Country Wife-William Wycherley</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/country-wife-william-wycherley--74269254</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74269254</guid><pubDate>Thu, 03 Sep 2026 09:00:34 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74269254/country_wife_william_wycherley.mp3" length="103286309" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>12898</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Psychopathology of Everyday Life-Sigmund Freud</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/psychopathology-of-everyday-life-sigmund-freud--74254114</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74254114</guid><pubDate>Wed, 02 Sep 2026 09:00:40 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74254114/psychopathology_of_everyday_life_sigmund_freud.mp3" length="209246013" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>26130</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Pharsalia; Dramatic Episodes of the Civil Wars-Lucan</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/pharsalia-dramatic-episodes-of-the-civil-wars-lucan--74239086</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74239086</guid><pubDate>Tue, 01 Sep 2026 09:00:37 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74239086/pharsalia_dramatic_episodes_of_the_civil_wars_lucan.mp3" length="270693779" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>33803</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>By Desert Ways to Baghdad-Louisa Jebb Wilkins</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/by-desert-ways-to-baghdad-louisa-jebb-wilkins--74225450</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74225450</guid><pubDate>Mon, 31 Aug 2026 09:00:38 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74225450/by_desert_ways_to_baghdad_louisa_jebb_wilkins.mp3" length="204894570" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>25586</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Dramatic Reading Scene and Story Collection, Volume 005-Various</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/dramatic-reading-scene-and-story-collection-volume-005-various--74205100</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74205100</guid><pubDate>Sun, 30 Aug 2026 09:00:32 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74205100/20304_dramatic_reading_scene_and_story_collection_volume_005_various.mp3" length="174099545" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>21739</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Soren Kierkegaard, Various Readings-Various</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/soren-kierkegaard-various-readings-various--74178866</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74178866</guid><pubDate>Sat, 29 Aug 2026 09:00:33 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74178866/soren_kierkegaard_various_readings_various.mp3" length="128630190" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>16062</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Hero and Leander-George Chapman, Christopher Marlowe</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/hero-and-leander-george-chapman-christopher-marlowe--74152879</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74152879</guid><pubDate>Fri, 28 Aug 2026 09:00:30 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74152879/hero_and_leander_george_chapman_christopher_marlowe.mp3" length="104387358" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>13035</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Canadians of Old-Philippe Aubert de Gaspé</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/canadians-of-old-philippe-aubert-de-gaspe--74126271</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74126271</guid><pubDate>Thu, 27 Aug 2026 09:00:38 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74126271/canadians_of_old_philippe_aubert_de_gaspe.mp3" length="273885626" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>34201</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Wonder-Working Magician-Pedro Calderón de la Barca</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/wonder-working-magician-pedro-calderon-de-la-barca--74078323</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74078323</guid><pubDate>Wed, 26 Aug 2026 09:00:49 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74078323/wonder_working_magician_pedro_caldero_n_de_la_barca.mp3" length="73982462" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>9239</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Down South or Yacht Adventure in Florida-Oliver Optic</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/down-south-or-yacht-adventure-in-florida-oliver-optic--74055843</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74055843</guid><pubDate>Tue, 25 Aug 2026 09:00:29 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74055843/5167_down_south_or_yacht_adventure_in_florida_oliver_optic.mp3" length="193391676" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>24150</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Life and Adventures of Santa Claus (Version 3 Dramatic Reading)-L. Frank Baum</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/life-and-adventures-of-santa-claus-version-3-dramatic-reading-l-frank-baum--74033615</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74033615</guid><pubDate>Mon, 24 Aug 2026 09:01:54 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74033615/life_and_adventures_of_santa_claus_version_3_dramatic_reading_l_frank_baum.mp3" length="85592037" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>10688</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Satyricon-Gaius Petronius Arbiter</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/satyricon-gaius-petronius-arbiter--74014685</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/74014685</guid><pubDate>Sun, 23 Aug 2026 09:01:50 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/74014685/satyricon_gaius_petronius_arbiter.mp3" length="228799989" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>28571</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Venus and Adonis</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/venus-and-adonis--73992353</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73992353</guid><pubDate>Sat, 22 Aug 2026 09:01:30 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73992353/venus_and_adonis.mp3" length="32230506" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>4025</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Autobiography of Goethe Volume 2-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/autobiography-of-goethe-volume-2-johann-wolfgang-von-goethe--73972157</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73972157</guid><pubDate>Fri, 21 Aug 2026 09:01:43 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73972157/8949_autobiography_of_goethe_volume_2_johann_wolfgang_von_goethe.mp3" length="250804946" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>31319</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>On the Incarnation-Athanasius of Alexandria</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/on-the-incarnation-athanasius-of-alexandria--73951467</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73951467</guid><pubDate>Thu, 20 Aug 2026 09:02:07 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73951467/on_the_incarnation_athanasius_of_alexandria.mp3" length="67680357" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>8451</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Wind in the Willows (version 2)-Kenneth Grahame</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/wind-in-the-willows-version-2-kenneth-grahame--73929885</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73929885</guid><pubDate>Wed, 19 Aug 2026 09:02:00 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73929885/wind_in_the_willows_version_2_kenneth_grahame.mp3" length="195634912" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>24430</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>The Tables of the Law; &amp; The Adoration of the Magi</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/the-tables-of-the-law-the-adoration-of-the-magi--73906449</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73906449</guid><pubDate>Tue, 18 Aug 2026 09:02:34 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73906449/the_tables_of_the_law_the_adoration_of_the_magi.mp3" length="20458489" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>2555</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>As I Lay Dying-William Faulkner</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/as-i-lay-dying-william-faulkner--73884949</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73884949</guid><pubDate>Mon, 17 Aug 2026 09:02:54 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73884949/as_i_lay_dying_william_faulkner.mp3" length="184958715" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>23096</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Men of Iron (Version 2 Dramatic Reading)-Howard Pyle</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/men-of-iron-version-2-dramatic-reading-howard-pyle--73864284</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73864284</guid><pubDate>Sun, 16 Aug 2026 09:02:52 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73864284/16959_men_of_iron_version_2_dramatic_reading_howard_pyle.mp3" length="236979866" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>29592</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Hermann and Dorothea-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/hermann-and-dorothea-johann-wolfgang-von-goethe--73844955</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73844955</guid><pubDate>Sat, 15 Aug 2026 09:03:51 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73844955/hermann_and_dorothea_johann_wolfgang_von_goethe.mp3" length="71920116" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>8981</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins (Version 2)-Gerard Manley Hopkins</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/poems-of-gerard-manley-hopkins-version-2-gerard-manley-hopkins--73375889</link><description><![CDATA["Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins (Version 2)" showcases the profound and innovative poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, a master of language and rhythm. His works delve into themes of nature, spirituality, and the complexity of human experience, capturing the beauty and intricacies of the world around us. Hopkins' unique use of sprung rhythm and vivid imagery creates a powerful listening experience that resonates with listeners today, reminding us of the enduring connection between faith and the natural world. This collection invites reflection on the beauty of existence and the depth of emotion, making it a timeless exploration of the human spirit.]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/73375889</guid><pubDate>Mon, 03 Aug 2026 09:01:51 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/73375889/poems_of_gerard_manley_hopkins_version_2_gerard_manley_hopkins.mp3" length="90409255" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>"Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins (Version 2)" showcases the profound and innovative poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, a master of language and rhythm. His works delve into themes of nature, spirituality, and the complexity of human experience, capturing...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA["Poems of Gerard Manley Hopkins (Version 2)" showcases the profound and innovative poetry of Gerard Manley Hopkins, a master of language and rhythm. His works delve into themes of nature, spirituality, and the complexity of human experience, capturing the beauty and intricacies of the world around us. Hopkins' unique use of sprung rhythm and vivid imagery creates a powerful listening experience that resonates with listeners today, reminding us of the enduring connection between faith and the natural world. This collection invites reflection on the beauty of existence and the depth of emotion, making it a timeless exploration of the human spirit.]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>11290</itunes:duration><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Metamorphoses Miller Version - Publius Ovid Ovidius Naso - Part 2</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/metamorphoses-miller-version-publius-ovid-ovidius-naso-part-2--72586136</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/72586136</guid><pubDate>Fri, 19 Jun 2026 09:00:17 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/72586136/metamorphoses_miller_version_publius_ovid_ovidius_naso_part_2.mp3" length="176135353" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>22017</itunes:duration><itunes:keywords>even,form,metamorphoses,miller,mutability,narrative,naso,ovid,poem,sisyphus</itunes:keywords><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item><item><title>Metamorphoses Miller Version - Publius Ovid Ovidius Naso - Part 1</title><link>https://www.spreaker.com/episode/metamorphoses-miller-version-publius-ovid-ovidius-naso-part-1--72586135</link><description><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of course, all this is spoken in the voice of a notorious vegetarian fanatic (Pythagoras!), who winds up the poem's theme with recollections of his own past lives, but Augustus knew very well the sly tricks of writers who want to avoid censorship. No wonder the poet was exiled to the ends of the earth! And no wonder he staged a public burning of his manuscript (secure in the knowledge that copies were safe in the hands of friends). Reading a prose translation of a poem may seem like quite a sacrifice since one loses the flavor and texture of the original language, the original rhythm (in the case of Latin a rhythm created by syllable length, reinforced by stress at the end of the line), and even the substituted English poetic form supplied by a poetic translation. Yet remember that the first two losses are unavoidable unless one reads the poem in the original and that any imposed poetic form will inevitably warp the meaning to some degree in order to fulfill the requirements of the form. A prose translation, on the other hand, puts the reader in touch with the original thoughts as closely as possible. (Summary by Thomas A Copeland)]]></description><guid isPermaLink="false">https://api.spreaker.com/episode/72586135</guid><pubDate>Thu, 18 Jun 2026 19:10:56 +0000</pubDate><enclosure url="https://dts.podtrac.com/redirect.mp3/api.spreaker.com/download/episode/72586135/metamorphoses_miller_version_publius_ovid_ovidius_naso_part_1.mp3" length="262915383" type="audio/mpeg"/><itunes:author>Publius (Ovid) Ovidius Naso</itunes:author><itunes:subtitle>Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but...</itunes:subtitle><itunes:summary><![CDATA[Ovid represents his work as a celebration of mutability in the form of a history of the world's notable transformations. It is a compendium of Greek and Roman mythology, valuable not only as a guide to the study of ancient literature and religion but also as an aid to understanding and appreciating later literature since it has been studied and often alluded to by educated Western writers. Mutability is not only the subject of the poem but the essence of Ovid’s narrative technique. The subject matter permits the poet to alternate between exciting action scenes and detailed psychological portraits in the form of interior monologues, especially of women tortured by indecision. The pace of the narrative varies greatly as he lingers here, rushes there, some stories occupying five pages, others five lines. The tone too varies greatly, for the characters have unique voices that alter according to emotion and audience, and the narrative voice itself also changes unpredictably. One story of violence, like the death of Hercules, may be treated with great dignity throughout, while another, like the brawl between the Lapiths and the centaurs, practically revels in grotesque horror. Every reader can recall the centaur who, although disemboweled, keeps fighting until he trips, entangled in his own guts. Tone can undergo drastic changes as well, even within a single tale. The descent of Orpheus to Hades is a study in high camp. After huddling the tragic details of the beginning into a few brief, factual sentences, the author quotes the lover's song to the infernal powers. Although to ordinary readers it may seem pedestrian, the author insists that it was so surpassingly beautiful as to halt the rotation of Ixion's wheel, draw tears down the cheeks of the Furies themselves (those old sentimental sadists), and even make Sisyphus sit down on his stone to weep (What? Sisyphus take a rest?). Yet the story very soon shifts from bathos to pathos. It is as if Ovid makes fun of an old chestnut just to show that he can turn even this into a tear-jerker. Brief moments of pathos flash out unexpectedly here and there like fireflies. One can never forget with what fortitude Polyxena bares her breast to the sacrificial knife and uses her last motion to cover her legs with her robe. Similar tender moments abound; compare this detail from a battle: "But he, even in death, with his eyes swimming in the black darkness, looked round for Athis, fell down by his side, and bore to the shadows this comfort, that in death they were not divided." Ovid follows a roughly chronological organization, but inclusion is more important to him than continuity. If between tales he can cram in a compressed tale or two, he does so, with a semblance of transitions, but when it comes to narrative connections between episodes of a single story, even to explain motivation or character development—that of Medea is a prime example—he simply does not take the trouble. He generally assumes the reader to know most of the major stories already as well as all of the gods, puzzling a modern reader with a reference like "the three goddesses" (meaning the Fates) with no other identifying information than a reference to "thread" and a prophecy about length of life. Unfortunately the translator also assumed that students of this bilingual edition would know nearly as much and therefore supplied few footnotes. By reading the Iliad as background, one can experience some of the pleasure Ovid's contemporary audience may have felt while reading Book 12's satire of Homer's tedious accounts of carnage and Book 13's many allusions to events in Homer's epic. It is also interesting to imagine the displeasure with which Rome's emperor Augustus must have read the final book of the poem, with its empty promise of Rome's everlastingness after so many examples of the inexorable triumph of mutability, not to mention the scarcely veiled cynicism with which Julius Caesar's deification is described. Of...]]></itunes:summary><itunes:duration>32865</itunes:duration><itunes:keywords>even,form,metamorphoses,miller,mutability,narrative,naso,ovid,poem,sisyphus</itunes:keywords><itunes:explicit>false</itunes:explicit><itunes:image href="https://d3wo5wojvuv7l.cloudfront.net/t_rss_itunes_square_1400/images.spreaker.com/original/9cc929ac3522ef013b2f4ea12e3e7df4.jpg"/><itunes:episodeType>full</itunes:episodeType></item></channel></rss>
