Meta Description: Join Dr. David Noe and Dr. Jeff Winkle in Ad Navseam Episode 211 as they explore the surprising Latin language poetry of the great Reformer, Martin Luther. From beautiful paraphrases of the Psalms to 16th-century rap battles and scatological takedowns of the “Poop Poet,” discover a side of Luther you never knew existed.


Introduction: The Return of the Light in the Vomitorium

Welcome back, classical gourmands, to Episode 211 of the Ad Navseam Podcast! We are broadcasting from deep within the bunker, affectionately known as Vomitorium Parnassus Central, our final resting place.

Your hosts, Dr. David C. Noe and Dr. Jeffrey T. Winkle, are feeling the seasonal shifts. The back of winter is finally breaking in West Michigan. The days are getting longer, which appropriately ties into Dr. Winkle’s recent lesson that the word “Lent” comes from a German word meaning “to lengthen,” referencing the return of the light and the lengthening of the days. Dr. Noe is simply trying to survive until March 1st, completely avoiding the cursed “Smarch” word so as not to jinx the thaw.

Dr. Winkle is sporting a casually mandated “I am GRCC” t-shirt, sanctioned by the college president to boost morale, while Dr. Noe prepares to flee to the sunny climes of Florida.

Shout-Outs & Giveaways: Aristotle and The Clouds

Before we dive into the 16th century, we have some housekeeping.

First, we are giving away a beautiful, bright purple two-volume set of the Collected Works of Aristotle, edited by C.D.C. Reeve and Pavlos Kontos. To enter the drawing (which takes place on March 12), email Dave and put the keyword KONTOS in the subject line.

We also have a brilliant piece of listener mail from Tony P. regarding our recent episodes on Aristophanes’ The Clouds. Tony points out a detail from Plato’s Phaedo, where Socrates mentions his early interest in natural sciences and Anaxagoras. Tony brilliantly posits that the comedic, head-in-the-clouds depiction of Socrates investigating natural phenomena in the play might actually be historically accurate to his younger, pre-Socratic days before the Oracle of Delphi declared him the wisest man in Athens. Dr. Noe loves this “Puxutawney Phil” time-travel hypothesis—proving there is always a kernel of truth at the bottom of the popcorn bag.

The Main Event: Martin Luther, Classicist

Today, we are jumping 2,000 years forward from Aristophanes to the 16th century to discuss a fascinating new book: The Latin Verse of Martin Luther: Texts, Translations, and Commentary by Carl P.E. Springer (Bloomsbury Neo-Latin Series, 2025).

Dr. Noe recently reviewed this hot-off-the-presses volume. Like all humanists trained in the 16th century, Martin Luther learned to write poetry in the Latin language as a young boy. But what is shocking to many—even to seasoned scholars like Dr. Winkle—is that Luther maintained this practice for his entire life.

When the young, radical friar-to-be entered the Augustinian monastery in Erfurt, he didn’t bring pious Christian devotionals; he brought the works of Vergil and the Roman comedy playwright Plautus. Dr. Winkle finds Plautus completely tracking with Luther’s earthy sense of humor, but Luther’s devotion to Vergil was remarkably profound. Twenty years later, Luther was still quoting Vergil at the dinner table, even suggesting that the Aeneid would have been an even greater tragedy if Vergil had lived to see the fall of the Roman Republic.

Springer’s book collects these scattered Latin verses—from personal letters, margin notes, and obscure 19th-century collections—into one masterful volume.

The Pious Paraphrases: Psalmody

Luther’s poetry runs the gamut of human emotion. The collection begins with beautiful paraphrases of the Psalms.

Dr. Noe reads De Pastore Deo, a four-line elegiac distich (hexameter and pentameter) summarizing Psalm 23.

Ipse Deus Pastor meus est nil deficiet me… (God himself is my shepherd. I shall lack nothing.)

The commentary from Springer provides an incredibly precise dating: Luther dictated this poem to his right-hand man, Philip Melanchthon, on March 12, 1537. Luther was recovering from a severe illness, finally sleeping and eating better, and feeling hilarior (quite jolly).

Another striking example is his paraphrase of Psalm 118:17 (Non moriar sed vivam—I shall not die but live). Luther reportedly wrote this verse on the wall of his study while at Coburg in 1530. He even sent it to a famous Swiss-born composer, Ludwig Senfl, requesting it be set to music, further cementing Luther’s status as a true Renaissance man.

The 16th-Century Rap Battles: Vergiliana and Satire

Not all of Luther’s poetry was deeply pious; much of it was weaponized. Winkle hypothesizes that Luther engaged in the 16th-century equivalent of “East Coast vs. West Coast rap battles” using the Latin language.

One such rival was Johann Cochlaeus, a humanist who turned aggressively hostile toward Luther. After Luther snubbed him at the Diet of Worms in 1521, Cochlaeus wrote a treatise attacking Luther, ending with the taunt Viros arma decent (“Arms are fitting for men”).

Luther fired back with a devastating mock-epic poem that parodied the famous opening of Vergil’s Aeneid:

Arma virumque cano… (“I sing of arms and the man who recently came from the banks of the Main River to Wittenberg… made stupid by faith, greatly afflicted by both the furies and the frenzy…”)

Luther didn’t spare the famous Erasmus of Rotterdam, either. Upset by Erasmus’s refusal to fully join the Reformation (earning him the nickname “Dr. Amphibolus” or the Slippery Eel), Luther penned a vicious two-liner.

“Anyone who doesn’t hate Satan should love your songs, Erasmus. The same person should also try yoking the Furies and milking Orcus.”

As Dr. Winkle notes, attempting to milk the underworld sounds like a terrible, impossible chore.

The Poop Poet and The Mourning Father

If you think milking Orcus is rough, wait until you get to Chapter 4: Invective, Scatology, and Satire.

Luther had a famous battle with Simon Lemnius, a former student of Wittenberg who turned turncoat. Lemnius fled to Switzerland and wrote epigrams mocking Luther and his chronic struggles with constipation and diarrhea.

Luther responded with a poem titled Dysenteria Lutheri in Merida Poetam Lemnian (Luther’s Dysentery Against the Poop Poet Little Lemnius). Using the Latin word merda (dung) almost relentlessly, Luther essentially tells Lemnius that his poetry is poop, his subject is poop, and he will end up as a pathetic poop-corpse for the crows. Luther viewed this scatological warfare not just as potty humor, but as a spiritual battle against the devil himself.

Yet, showcasing the incredible range of the man, the very same poet who wrote a poop-themed diss track also wrote one of the most heartbreaking epitaphs of the era.

Upon the death of his 14-year-old daughter, Magdalena, an agonizingly grieving Luther wrote a four-line epitaph taking on the persona of his deceased child. Dr. Noe compares it to the profound beauty of Catullus 101 (Ave atque vale) and Cicero’s grief over his daughter Tullia. It proves that these poems are absolutely worth reading not just because Luther wrote them, but because they are genuinely magnificent works of art.

Sponsors: Fuel for the Classical Renaissance

This deep dive into early modern literature is brought to you by the folks who keep the Ad Navseam bunker running:

The Gustatory Parting Shot

We conclude this exploration of 16th-century theology, poetry, and scatology with a quote from a 19th-century legend, Charles Dickens, who was paid by the word for his serialized novels.

In A Christmas Carol, a terrified Ebenezer Scrooge attempts to dismiss the ghostly apparition of Jacob Marley as a mere stomach ache:

“You may be an undigested bit of beef, a blot of mustard, a crumb of cheese, a fragment of underdone potato. There’s more of gravy than of grave about you.”Whether it’s a ghost or just bad cheese, we thank you for listening! Valete!

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