1) Do your translation. If you can't translate, you can't really enjoy the Latin. The more you translate, the more facile you become at translating. It's tempting to shirk, but you're shooting yourself in the foot, Latin-abilities-wise, everytime you skip a line. Do your translation, and do it often, which brings us to the next tip.

2) Don't take gaps of time off without Latin. The line from Pliny (I just looked it up) "numquam diem sine lineam" might be helpful here; anyday it's not used, your Latin ability walks a little bit farther away. Your translation skill, every day, gets better or it gets worse. It does not stay the same.

3) Learn each poem on multiple levels. Know the literal meaning of the text, then know the general meaning of the text, then understand the arc of the poem. Each one alone is sort of sad, and not altogether helpful.You should approach other language literatures in this way too; if I did so, my Literature (all in English translation) class would be much easier and more enjoyable.

4) Review the texts. This is sort of 'cheating,' in terms of learning Latin, but in terms of learning a text, it may be the most helpful thing. Look over the Latin. Look over the English. Compare the two. Look over them again. Read them out loud. Think about them. Make songs about them in the shower. The more you study them, the more they will sing into your pores, the better you will know them, the better you will do on tests (because, of course, tests are the end of all schooling). Recording the English language translation on to a tape, to be listened to while reviewing the Latin before exam time will not improve your Latin very much, but it will improve your grade very much. Also, you will begin to memorize the text, which is a) helpful on quizzes etc., not to drive that point too much b) fun on dates, etc. (you cannot come up with better words than Catullus, even in translation, I promise) c) entertaining at parties (maybe not all sorts of parties, but dropping a line from Vergil and then nonchalantly citing it has all sorts of fascinating social consequences).

5) Know various uses of the subjunctive. I never really fully learned them in Latin II, which was probably ok, because it's hard to just digest Jenny; it's like digesting cardboard. But when you first see the various constructions, especially subjunctive constructions, in "real text," stop and make sure you totally understand how and why they are made. If possible, make some yourself. Translating every subjunctive as "may" or "let," which I've been doing for a few weeks now, only gets you so far. Also, the distinction between clauses of result and clauses of purpose apparently is important; learn that too.

6) Learn your forms, and recognize them in the text. This is tied with the above tip, and also is a little obvious, but it's hard to remember that mirabere is an alternate second person singular indicative verb, active in meaning but passive in form, when you see it sitting in the middle of a line of poetry. I don't really have advice for how to do this. If you find some, please email me at michael.pomeranz [at] yale [dot] edu.

7) Poetry sounds prettier in scansion. Tied with point 4, this isn't so important, really, though occasionally you can make a point about a word's placement in meter as you can about a word's placement in a line, either in poetry or in prose. But, when surrounded by ridiculously well-read people who read poetry in meter, as it should be read, you feel silly if you don't read the meter correctly. And, frankly, it just sounds a lot better (and is better for impressing non-Latinists).

8) Understand the sense and the effect of the text. This is tied with point three, and rather important. College literature classes are not so concerned with techinical terms (though I've learned two fun new ones: ecphrasis and parataxis, both apparently evident in Homer). While you ought to know the techinical terms, the professors want to know (and therefore, I assume, you ought to learn) how the device used impacts the overall sense of the poem. ("The sense of the poem" is the sort of thing you hear a lot in college poetry classes, I think.) It's difficult for me to convey what this means, but let me try this way: what's going on in this part of the text? Now tell me: what's really going on? These questions get asked every class, and you need to know what everything means, but to answer the second, you need to understand how the poet does what he (we're still in very ancient periods, so yes, what he) does. To answer the second, and possibly more important question, you can bring in any silly literary device you want (I made a point about the cacaphony of the beginning of the last line of Catullus 8, and apparently it was not a terrible point, because I tied it to the sense of the poem. Words like 'tone' are useful in conversations like these). Tie it to the purpose of the passage. It's good literature because it's intentional. Or something.

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