Temporal Framing — hesternō... diē
Vocative Address — Licinī (Calvus)
Key Theme — ōtiōsī
Ludic Vocabulary — lūsimus
Metonymy — tabellīs
Neoteric Term — dēlicātōs
Diminutive — versiculōs
Anaphora — modo... modo
Hendiadys — per iocum atque vīnum
Neoteric Term — lepōre
Erotic Metaphor — incēnsus
Neoteric Term — facetiīs
Dramatic Self-Pity — miserum
Diminutive — ocellōs
Chiasmus — nec... nec clauses
Temporal Framing — hesternō... diē
Line 1
What's happening: "Yesterday" — the poem plunges us straight into a specific moment. This isn't some vague poetic musing; Catullus wants you to know exactly when this happened. The framing word hesternō wraps around the vocative Licinī to embrace diē, creating an elegant hyperbaton. It's like saying "on yesterday, Licinius, day" — the time-reference sandwiches the friend's name, binding them together.
In an exam: "The hyperbaton of hesternō... diē ('yesterday'), framing the vocative Licinī, immediately establishes temporal specificity while syntactically binding the addressee to the memory of their shared leisure."
Vocative Address — Licinī (Calvus)
Lines 1, 8
What's happening: Catullus names his friend twice — once at the start, once in the middle when emotions are heating up. Licinī is the vocative of "Licinius," but we usually call him Calvus — his cognomen (nickname), meaning "Bald." His full name was Gaius Licinius Macer Calvus, a famous orator and poet, one of Catullus's closest friends. Romans often used family names (nōmina) in direct address, so "Licinius" in the Latin, "Calvus" when we talk about him. The repeated vocative creates intimacy — we're overhearing a private address. It's like those texts you send to a friend where you keep using their name because you're so fond of them.
In an exam: "The repeated vocative Licinī (lines 1, 8), addressing the poet Calvus by his family name, creates intimacy and emotional intensity. The second instance coincides with the shift from playful reminiscence to burning passion, marking Calvus as the object of Catullus's heightened feelings."
Key Theme — ōtiōsī
Line 1
What's happening: Ōtium ("leisure") is the title concept! For Romans, ōtium was the opposite of negōtium (business, public duty). Here, two friends being ōtiōsī — "at leisure" — isn't laziness; it's the productive idleness that allows poetry to happen. This is the neoteric lifestyle: rejecting politics for the pursuit of refined pleasure and artistic play.
In an exam: "The programmatic ōtiōsī ('being at leisure') signals the neoteric rejection of negōtium (public business) in favour of refined literary pursuits. This cultivated leisure is the precondition for the poetic play that follows."
Ludic Vocabulary — lūsimus
Line 2
What's happening: "We played" — but wait, lūdere means both "to play" and "to write poetry" in Catullan vocabulary. It's a neoteric buzzword. Poetry isn't serious work (labor); it's play (lūdus). The verb returns in line 5 with lūdēbat — play is the dominant mode. This casual attitude masks immense artistic skill; it's the studied carelessness the neoterics cultivated.
In an exam: "The verb lūsimus ('we played') exemplifies neoteric poetic vocabulary, where lūdere describes artistic composition as playful leisure rather than serious labour. Its recurrence in lūdēbat (line 5) emphasises the ludic nature of this poetic exchange."
Metonymy — tabellīs
Line 2
What's happening: Tabellae are wax tablets — the Roman equivalent of a notepad. They literally "played on" these tablets, writing verses back and forth. The metonymy (tablets for poetry) grounds the abstract poetic activity in physical reality. You can almost see them, sitting there, scratching verses into wax with their styli.
In an exam: "The metonymy in meīs tabellīs ('on my tablets') grounds the poetic activity in material reality. The wax tablets serve as the medium for their impromptu poetic competition, giving concrete form to literary play."
Neoteric Term — dēlicātōs
Line 3
What's happening: Dēlicātōs means "refined, elegant, frivolous" — it's another loaded neoteric term. Being dēlicātus isn't a flaw; it's an aspiration. It's the aesthetic of the refined elite who value wit over weighty epic. "As it had suited us to be frivolous" — they chose this mode deliberately. It's a lifestyle statement disguised as an offhand remark.
In an exam: "The adjective dēlicātōs ('refined/frivolous') is a key neoteric value term, denoting the cultivated elegance prized by Catullus's circle. The phrase ut convēnerat esse dēlicātōs presents this aesthetic choice as a mutual agreement, a shared literary programme."
Diminutive — versiculōs
Line 4
What's happening: Not versūs ("verses") but versiculōs ("little verses, trivial verses"). Catullus loves his diminutives — they're cute, affectionate, self-deprecating. Calling his poetry "trivial little verses" is false modesty, of course, but it signals the neoteric preference for short, polished poems over epic bombast. Small is beautiful.
In an exam: "The diminutive versiculōs ('little verses') exemplifies Catullan self-deprecation while encoding neoteric aesthetic values: the preference for short, polished poetry (lepos) over grand epic. The diminutive form adds affectionate intimacy."
Anaphora — modo... modo
Line 5
What's happening: "Now... now" — the repetition captures the back-and-forth energy of their poetic game. They're switching metres, trading verses, bouncing ideas. The anaphora mimics the rhythm of their exchange: now this metre, now that one. You can feel the playful competition, the quickfire creativity.
In an exam: "The anaphora modo... modo ('now... now') rhythmically enacts the alternation between metres, capturing the dynamic, improvisational quality of their poetic exchange. The repetition itself becomes a form of play."
Hendiadys — per iocum atque vīnum
Line 6
What's happening: "Amid jokes and wine" — two nouns linked by "and," but really describing a single atmosphere of convivial merriment. Wine-fuelled wit is the setting for their poetry session. It's a snapshot of the neoteric social world: friends, wine, wordplay. The symposium as creative space.
In an exam: "The hendiadys per iocum atque vīnum ('amid jokes and wine') evokes the sympotic setting of neoteric literary culture, where conviviality and creativity intertwine. The phrase establishes the social context for their poetic exchange."
Neoteric Term — lepōre
Line 7
What's happening: Lepos is THE neoteric buzzword — charm, wit, elegance, grace. It's what makes poetry good. Calvus has it in spades, apparently. "Your lepos" isn't just complimenting his friend's personality; it's praising his poetic excellence. This is literary criticism disguised as affection.
In an exam: "The term lepōre ('charm, wit') is a programmatic neoteric aesthetic term, denoting the refined elegance valued in both social behaviour and poetic style. Attributing lepos to Calvus praises both the man and his poetry."
Erotic Metaphor — incēnsus
Line 8
What's happening: "Fired, inflamed" — hold on, that's love-language! Incēnsus is what you are when you're burning with passion for a lover. But this is about a friend, a male friend. Catullus deliberately blurs the line between friendship and eros. His affection for Calvus is expressed in terms usually reserved for Lesbia. Bromance or romance? Both, perhaps.
In an exam: "The participle incēnsus ('inflamed') imports erotic vocabulary into the description of male friendship. This deliberate blurring of amatory and amicable registers elevates Catullus's intellectual bond with Calvus to the intensity of erotic passion."
Neoteric Term — facetiīs
Line 8
What's happening: Facētiae — "witticisms, clever remarks" — another neoteric value term. Paired with lepos, it completes the picture of Calvus as the ideal neoteric companion: charming AND clever. These two qualities — grace and wit — are what the neoterics lived for.
In an exam: "The noun facetiīs ('witticisms'), paired with lepōre ('charm'), completes the neoteric value system: elegant grace combined with intellectual wit. Together they define the ideal qualities of both poet and poetry."
Dramatic Self-Pity — miserum
Line 9
What's happening: "Wretched me!" — Catullus is being delightfully over-the-top. He can't eat, he can't sleep, all because of one evening's poetry session with a friend. The drama is ironic but also sincere. This is the Catullan persona: intensely emotional, performatively vulnerable. Miser is one of his favourite words about himself.
In an exam: "The accusative mē miserum ('wretched me') exemplifies Catullus's characteristic self-dramatisation. The exaggerated suffering — inability to eat or sleep — elevates intellectual stimulation to the level of erotic torment."
Diminutive — ocellōs
Line 10
What's happening: Not oculōs ("eyes") but ocellōs ("dear little eyes"). Another diminutive, and a typically Catullan one. His eyes are precious, delicate, vulnerable — and now sleep won't cover them. The diminutive adds tenderness and pathos. Poor sleepless Catullus with his dear little eyes!
In an exam: "The diminutive ocellōs ('dear little eyes') adds affective colouring, intensifying the pathos of Catullus's sleeplessness. The tender diminutive transforms insomnia into something precious and vulnerable."
Chiasmus — nec... nec clauses
Lines 9-10
What's happening: Look at the word order here — it's beautifully arranged. In the first clause we get Object (mē miserum) then Subject+Verb (cibus iuvāret). In the second clause it's reversed: Subject+Verb (somnus tegeret) then Object (ocellōs). The two clauses mirror each other in an X-pattern — that's chiasmus. It's like Catullus is tossing and turning in the very structure of his sentences, restless even in his syntax!
In an exam: "The parallel nec... nec clauses display chiasmus: Object–Subject–Verb (mē miserum cibus iuvāret) is reversed to Subject–Verb–Object (somnus tegeret ocellōs). This interlocking word order (ABBA pattern) creates syntactic balance while enacting the restless back-and-forth of Catullus's sleeplessness."