Carmen Latinum: De Martini Lutheri King Iunioris Constantia

Carmen meum primum Latine scriptum tandem mihi confecisse videor. Sic in poese ut in omnibus: quae prima temptantur plerumque evadunt subincondita. Itaque mira sunt ni hoc nugas est. Strophas has alcaicas barbarismunculis locutionibusque insulsis universe scatere haud dubito. Sed quod scripsi, ut praefectus quidam dixisse fertur, scripsi. Eccum vobis. Interpretationem Anglicam soluta oratione in extremo adieci.

De Martini Lutheri King Iunioris Constantia

Forsan nimium optimisticus fui. Nimium forsan exspectavi. 
— MLK, "Epistola ex Carcere Birminghamiae"

Ille hic Lŭthērus quo melius nihil
Sol Āmĕrīcae vidit ab aethere,
 Bombam feram ferrumque iactum
  Cum superasset, in aequitate
Audax iniquis sistere legibus
Fraudis cutem abscidit stabili Rosā.
 Exercuitque humanitate
  Turbam. Ita turbine mansionem
Albissimam turbavit amorifer.
Non carcer illum, non inimicior
 Dimovit armis turba saevis,
  Nec Tabularii1 atrocis index.
Prosensit autem quid sibi luridā
Morbo parasset patria noxio2.
 Nondum expiatā passione
  Ut cecidit. Facie refractā
Est mortuus. Sollemnia quid ferent?
Tam sunt decoră quam velut antea
 Si suaviaretur Catonis
  Funera putidus Imperator.
Offendor istis: CONTINVAVIMVS
NITI·ET·NIHIL·LONGO·AGMINE·FLECTIMVR
 Quam splendidae in iactatione 
  Vafritiae stomachor ministris.  
Est mortuus. Nunc desine fabulas.
Nil sol videt. Quid volvis inaniter
 Ubi sit Āmĕrīca "nostra"?
  Hic iacet in tumulo Lŭthēri.

1Significatur Tabularium Inquisitionum Foederale vulgo FBI appellatum.

2 King, Praside Kennedy nuper necato, uxori suae fertur dixisse "et mihi hoc continget. Hanc tibi dictito civitatem esse morbosam."

Interpretatio:

On the Constancy of Martin Luther King Jr.

Here is that Luther, than whom the sun never saw anything better in America from its sky. When he weathered the brute bomb and the hurtled metal, in his right mind bold enough to stand against wrong laws, he cut away the skin of fraud with an unbending Rose. He trained a crowd in humanity. Thus in a whirlwind unsettled that most white of houses, a love-bringer. Him neither jail nor the more hostile mob with its savage weapons, nor the vicious FBI's informant could drive back. Yet he sensed ahead of time what his pale ghastly country, in its virulent sickness, had been readying for him, and sustained a "passio" that has yet to be atoned for. Face-shattered he died. He is dead. What are ritual holidays in aid of? They're about as fitting as a fulsome Emperor kissing Cato's carcass long ago. I loath all the "We have continued the struggle! We can never stop the long march!" The officials so outstandingly skilled at canned histrionics piss me off. He is dead. Leave off myths now. The sun doesn't see anything. Why do you idly maunder about where "our" America is? Here lies it in Luther's grave.

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