Ovid is in love!! The touch of her pale gleaming skin, the slight tickle from the sway of her long lustrous hair that bounces on those wonderful voluptuous arches and the slender torso giving way to a pair of youthful thighs worthy of praise; Ovid is downright horny for Corinna nurturing a burning desire to explore her warm velvety trail.
Hardly a poetry enthusiast with my last poetic comprehension being Keats’Ode On A Grecian Urn And Other Poems , selecting Amores was purely for the melancholic erotica. It got me thinking, if anyone of us(emphasizing on “me”) has ever send an erotic SMS , a note or emails to the one (or many) we romantically love or lust, then maybe we all in a way are nascent poets rendering testaments of our restive hormones. I always wondered as to why the word ‘dirty’ is associated with sex. Sexual crimes are dirty, but not sex. It is messy, sweaty, pleasurable, adventurous and much better than Tylenol for a soundless sleep. And then there is the worldly question of ‘illicit love’. Is it ethical? Do the unthinkable become acceptable when the word “love” camouflages forbidden lust? Can you deceive the already deceived? Amores battles out the stranded notions of shameless acquisition of love and dissolution of its illusory facets once the reality sets in.
Coming back to my first sentence; Ovid is in love with Corinna (at least that is what he believes). Corinna, an upper-class married woman has no intentions on divorcing her affluent husband (divorce it is said was a legal procedure in ancient Rome) celebrated her sexual vanities with numerous young men, Ovid being the pivotal sexual relationship. Loyalty was never a criterion in this web of corrupt lovers with Ovid philandering with Corinna’s maid and several hourly whores equalizing Corinna’s sexual trysts. Dismissing this sexual façade in an imprudent way, labeling Corinna as a distressed housewife looking for young penises to fill up her concave yen and Ovid being a horny motherfucker who pleasure fucking and playing sexual games in the name of love would do an injustice to this brilliant piece of literature. Although, I would categorically put my money on this inference.
Written during his youthful years (presumably 19yrs as it was Ovid’s earliest works), Ovid’s poems are a candid testament of raging testosterones that create havoc muddling sanity with uncompromising urges. The sexual explorations, misinterpretations of lust, reckless antics in the heat of covetousness and a stubbornness of achieving the impossible essays the intricacies of a quixotic sexual dilemma. Corinna’s display of puritan societal lady, her clandestine abortion whilst showing no signs of waning adultery highlights hypocrisy we see or tend to bring with a holier-than –thou panache. Ovid becomes a metaphor to several sexual ventures carried in the most secretive manner where silence is gold and unsighted forays are cherished like strawberries in champagne. Amores spells out every emotion out of a torrid adulterous affair that wrecks ethical foundations of love clarifying that sexual acts does not establish love except physical gratification. The only thought that lingered much after the book ended – Did Ovid ever masturbated? And if he did indeed, how would he write about it?