nox, noctis, f. noun. [cf. Skt. nak, Gk. νύξ , Eng. night] The time between sunset and sunrise, night; noctis avis, an owl; in contexts implying nightfall; personified as a god or goddess; nocte, by night, at night; diem noctemque, day and night, without cessation or pause; in noctem, for use at night-time; nox aeterna, perpetua, i.e. death; the conditions of night, nocturnal darkness, etc.; in a fig. context, as symbolizing concealment or mystery; also chaos, turmoil.
Nox is a fitting title for Ann Carson’s eulogy of her older brother Michael whom she hadn’t seen in many years. Nox refers not only to his death, but his absence, the blackness, and mystery that surrounded his turbulent life. Carson’s brother had gotten into trouble because of drugs and, in 1978, instead of going to jail he fled to Europe and her family rarely heard from him. She writes that he phoned her “maybe five times in 22 years.” Nox is an accordion style, color reproduction, of Carson’s memorial notebook that contains texts, photos, letters, and sketches. The entire notebook is housed in a gray box which little tomb of sorts seems appropriate for such a project.
Ann Carson chooses Catullus Poem 101 as the starting point, the inspiration for this notebook and scrapbook she keeps about the troubled life and death of her brother. Catullus’s brother is also older than him and died far away from Rome, in the Troad. Catullus’s poem is meant to serve as a private eulogy delivered at his brother’s graveside, long after the formal burial and death rituals have taken place. Similar to Catullus, Carson is not able to be at her brother’s funeral because his widow didn’t find his sister’s contact information until two weeks after the memorial service. She writes about her experience with Catullus Poem 101:
7.1 I want to explain about the Catullus poem (101). Catullus wrote poem 101 for his brother who died in the Troad. Nothing at all is know of the brother except his death. Catullus appears to have travelled from Verona to Asia Minor to stand at the grave. Perhaps he recited the elegy there. I have loved this poem since the first time I read it in high school Latin class and I have tried to translate it a number of times. Nothing in English can capture the passionate, slow surface of a Roman elegy. No one (even in Latin) can approximate Catullan diction, which at its most sorrowful has an air of deep festivity, like one of those trees that turns all its leaves over, silver, in the wind. I never arrived at the translation I would have liked to do of poem 101. But over the years of working at it, I cam to think of translation as a room, not exactly an unknown room, where one gropes for the light switch. I guess it never ends. A brother never ends. I prowl him. He does not end.
The very first page of Nox has a complete copy of Catullus poem 101. From there Carson gives a lengthy definitions for every single word in the Catullus poem. These definitions occupy the left-hand side of the notebook, while the right-hand side is dedicated to her own personal observations, photos, and mementoes of her brother. Through the personal stories, anecdotes and observations about her brother and the few experience they shared together, Carson does successfully capture the sorrow and the “deep festivity” of a Catullus poem. She talks, for instance, about his nickname for her when they were younger. He calls her “pinhead” or “professor,” names that imply some sort of acknowledgement for her intellectual gifts. And later on, in one of their few phone calls, he sounds melancholy except for a brief moment when he calls her “pinhead.”
It was such a great experience for me to translate Catullus poem 101 with my students this year and share Ann Carson’s book with them. They commented that it made the Catullus elegy more meaningful and they were amazed at the uniqueness of the accordion folded book. One of them remarked that the scrapbook style of Nox, with torn notes and letters, was fitting for the brother and sister’s scattered and disjointed relationship.
My favorite part of this Catullus poem has always been the very last line. Its emotion, its finality are so perfectly captured by Catullus’s simple words. It is fitting that Carson ends her memorial with her own translation of this poem—the photocopy of it on the final page is faded and blurred like the memories of her sibling—so the last line of Catullus also serves at the ending of Nox.
atque in perpetuum, frater, ave atque vale.
And into forever, brother, farwell and farewell.