little soul

discors machina: an excerpt from Lucan's Pharsalia

anticum repetent iterum chaos omnia; mixtis
sidera sideribus concurrent: ignea pontum
astra petent: tellus extendere litora nolet,
excutietque fretum: fratri contraria Phoebe
ibit, et, oblicum bigas agitare per orbem
indignata, diem poscet sibi: totaque discors
machina divulsi turbabit foedera mundi.

To the ancient chaos all things will once again return.
Constellations on constellations will collide. The stars aflame
will fall upon the sea. The earth will refuse to only extend to her shores,
and will drive out the waves. Against her own brother,
The moon will go, resenting that she drives her pair on a covert circuit,
and she will demand the day for herself. And the whole
discordant machine will turn turbid the covenants of a world torn asunder.

~Lucan, Pharsalia (Book 1.74-80) [translated by dys]

While this entire description is marvelously poetic and vivid, the part that stuck out to me the most was the phrase discors machina, or 'discordant machine.' The paradoxical meaning was striking, as was the strange fellow feeling that it evoked: the sensation of organized chaos.

I don't actually remember much about the Pharsalia. I do remember it warmly, perhaps since Lucan writes in a style that is reminiscent of Vergil, whom I am incredibly fond of. But the contents have currently escaped me.

Not that I'm complaining. Now I get to reread it.

~dys

#classics #poetry #translation