When was it now I do not care to remember I began a translation of Lope de Vega's mock epic La Gatomaquia. It was for a penance of sorts is all that I recall. The poem is a mock epoch in the stile of the Batromaquia from Homer's time. However instead of frogs and rats duking it out we have cats anthropomorphized to make fun of 17th century Spanish gallantry and questions of honor. Besides Chesterton I have not seen a poet or writer equal the energies of Lope, in his popularism and celebration of life. And Cervantes would shrug to hear me say this, but Lope created Spain as a literary construct in the popular imagination. Including a lot of the stereotypes which Antonio Banderas (the voice of Puss n' Boots picture above) and others have made their careers on. However, in this poem Lope is basically poking fun at himself in his old age, as the structure of the poem follows many of his plays.
Although I have not as yet finished the entire work I have many a canto stuffed away in my drawer, or electronic folder as the case may be. Here is the general Introduction and the first part of Canto I:
Introductory Sonnet
With a sweet voice and diligent pen
not dressed with confusing chaos
you sing, Tomé, the weddings and soirées,
of Shoo-kitty and valiant Puss n’ Fluff.
If Homer’s illustrious forehead was crowned
for singing about the arms of Greek ships
And you chant the most excellent meows of jealousy,
wars of love on account of sudden events
You well deserve a cat-hair bag of doubloons
even though you do not celebrate Lope or Tasso,
Richard the Lion Heart or Geoffrey de Bouillon.
Because of you, second Catspeare
the libraries of Parnassus
will always remain free of mice.
Prologue
I, the one who in times past
sang of forests and meadows;
these dressed with great trees,
those with cattle and flowers,
the arms and laws
that conserve kingdoms and kings
now in a less grave instrument
I sing of gentle love, anger and disdain.
Good things and bad not all forgotten,
the fierce drum beat tempered
with the whistle of the sonorous horn.
You, muses of Castalia’s choir,
give me favor the same
as you gave me genius so that I can
sing the war, loves, and trials
of two valiant cats.
As others go to the dogs
for their own wrongdoings
or those of others
there too are men who go to cats
because of the neglect of ungrateful princes
or because fortune persecutes them
from within the swing of earth’s cradle.
You, sir Lope, if perchance
you allow yourself to be distracted by Parnassus,
the Dutch pirate, the thieving cat of our silver
who infests the coasts which you wander along with the Armada,
stay for a time that valiant steel
with which you enter into battle
and listen to my famous Cat Fight.
Thus from the Indies to Romania
our name and fame resound
and now it runs through out our fatherland
since you saw the Moorish port of Tunez and Bizerta,
a child armed like Cupid
alongside the famous Marquis of greater title
blessed like his father, through out the sea,
you do not always have
to attend to wrathful Mars,
as practiced since your tender age
dressed with diamonds,
proud, arrogant and topped-off with feathers.
Sometimes rest is a cordial comforter of arms
and Venus at peace like Saint Elmo
removes his helmet with marble hands . . .
Canto I.
On top of a tall rooftop
there sat beautiful Shoo-kitty
licking her tail and bottom
in the cool breeze,
so stuffy and proud
as if she were a cat from a convent.
Her own thoughts served as a mirror
since a broken piece
attracted a joshing magpie
that left no hairpin or collar
that she did not hide on that roof,
which was at the corner of a Master’s hallway.
After she had washed and licked her paws,
covered in a mink fur,
she sang a sonnet in a half-formed voice
from her windpipe
as the Thracian muse could have sung
so that anyone of a feline nature
who heard her discordant meows
would know she didn't
give a damn for mice.
