Free The Art of Love by Ovid Page B

by lechers who give their word
    To make us believe that what never took place occurred?
    For myself, even with facts I’m confessionally mean:
    A thick veil protects my private scene.
        Don’t blame a woman for her weak points; most men find
    It pays here to pretend to be blind.
    Wing-footed Perseus found no objection
    To Andromeda’s Ethiopian complexion,
    And though Andromache was too big in the eyes
    Of the world, to Hector she was medium-size.
    Habit makes all things bearable: new love’s
    Sharp-eyed, and disapproves
    Of many faults which a love that’s grown
    Mature will readily condone.
    While a new graft is growing in the tree’s
    Green cortex, any breeze
    Can shake it down, but, time-toughened, that shoot
    Withstands the wind, bears its adopted fruit.
    Time cures all physical blemishes—the blot
    That used to bother you dwindles to a spot
    You scarcely see. Young nostrils can’t abide
    A bull’s hide
    In a tannery when it’s being cured,
    But the stink fades, the apprentice gets inured.
    Euphemisms are great soothers in this matter:
    Is she tar-black? Then “dusky” will flatter.
    Has she a cast in one eye? Then observe a
    Likeness to Venus. If she’s grey-haired, she’s Minerva.
    If she’s half-starved, all bones, tell her she’s “slim.”
    If she’s undersized, the word is “trim,”
    And “generously built” translates “too fat.”
    Bad points are good near-misses—play on that.
    [L ATIN :
Nec quotus annus…
]
        Don’t ask her age, under which consul her birth
    Was registered: leave the stern Censor to unearth
    Statistical truth,
    Especially if she’s past the prime of youth
    And lost her bloom, and begun
    To pluck the white hairs one by one.
    Young lovers, women at this middle stage
    Of life, or even of maturer age,
    Are well worth cultivating, there’s a rich yield:
    It’s up to you to sow the field.
        So, while your years and powers permit,
    Endure love’s labour, put up with it;
    Soon bent old age, sly-footed, will arrive.
    Churn the sea with oars, drive
    Ploughshares into the earth, pour
    Your manhood and ferocity into war—
    Or expend heart, guts, balls, the lot,
    On serving women. It’s not
    Unlike military service—it takes all you’ve got!
    Besides, they’ve been around, they’ve learnt to please—
    Only experience brings expertise—
    And they work hard to disguise
    Age with art, so that anno domini’s
    Made up for by finesse. You’ll be embraced
    In a thousand ways, according to your taste:
    No erotic picture could show
    The number of variations that they know.
    Their pleasure doesn’t depend on stimulus—
    Women should share the pleasure equally with us.
    I hate it when both partners don’t enjoy
    A climax—that’s why a boy
    Doesn’t appeal to me much. But my abomination
    Is a girl who does it from a sense of obligation,
    Who lies there dry, her thoughts flitting
    Back to her wool and her knitting.
    For me, that’s service, not pleasure: I’ll have no truck
    With a
dutiful
fuck.
    I like to hear her rapturous gasps imploring
    Me to take my time, keep boring,
    To watch her come with surrendering eyes, then, flaked out,
    Insist on a long pause before the next bout.
    Nature doesn’t grant youth these joys; they arrive
    Quite suddenly, after the age of thirty-five.
    Impatient lovers can gulp
“nouveau”;
    An ancient consul’s vintage, laid down years ago,
    Suits me. Only an older plane can shield
    Heads from the sun, bare feet are pricked by a new-sown field.
    Could you seriously prefer
    Helen’s daughter, Hermione, to her?
    Or Medusa to
her
mother? If you seek an
    Older woman’s love, press on, don’t weaken,
    And then, my friend,
    You’ll reap a handsome dividend.
        Look! Two lovers on a bed which has the air
    Of a witness. The door’s shut. Muse, stay outside. The pair
    Won’t need your prompting, passion will blurt
    The right words, hands won’t lie inert,
    Fingers will learn what to do in the secret parts
    In which,