For decades, literary historians have considered the origins of ancient prose and poetry a closed issue. In April 2018, those origins were called into severe question, as an excavation site just north of Sicily unearthed nine tablets that radically reshaped the academic view of early poetry. Etched by the Romans, the nine slabs comprise a collection of poems both known within the empire and recounted to imperial scholars by travellers from distant nations. Professor Nigel Rothford of the University of Cambridge’s Department of World Literature has described the contents of these carvings as “Possessing a command of language to put Keats to shame and demonstrating an eye for everyday beauty to rival Li Bai”.
The following is an excerpt from tablet three: “Haikus and Sonnets”, translated by Rothford for his newly released Penguin publication “Lingua Immortalem: The Sicily Tablets”:
Empty gravy boat,
Meat sauce has gone down my gob,
The guests sit appalled.
Error at line 5,
Variable out of range,
Program has been stopped.
Out in the garden,
I harvest my fruit roll-ups,
Gummy worms squirm by.
Time for midnight drums,
Neighbours listen to my snares,
Red-faced dad next door.
Buying steel mall knives,
Breaking into boss’s car,
Rescuing my Pogs.
Crawling the desert,
A glint on the horizon,
The brands have arrived.
Paul, John, Ringo, George,
Fighting over Sandler films,
Soon, the killing blow.
Facebook board meeting,
Mark forgot to bring the chips,
Unprofessional.
My two bumbling sons,
Hit the switch for DEFCON 1,
Bad news for Donnie.
I’ll trade you Squirtle,
Just nullify the divorce,
Okay, be that way.
Solving Rubik’s Cube,
If I finish the blue side,
The state won’t jail me.
Talk of the devil,
He will appear in due time,
Still has my golf clubs.
Sonic the Hedgehog,
Weeping as his car is towed,
Why would he drive cars?
I’m Beyblade grandad,
Tearing up the stadium,
Destroying your tops.
New Order twelve inch,
Blaring at son’s communion,
God’s will has been done.
Small jeans fire breaks out,
The smell of burning denim,
Orange-blue leg hell.
Shaking the bottle,
Staring directly at cork,
Pink circle on head.
Parliament slug man,
Tables motion to eat kids,
Prepares knife and fork.
Bag of crisp too big,
Do you want to finish it?
They’re cheese and onion.
Cat outsmarted me,
House full of fish and tunnels,
I’m a scratching post.
Bright and infinite,
My fathers in hydrogen,
Forges of atom.
