pgvb3931

DIU WELT WAS GELF RÔT UNDE BLÂ ...	THE WORLD WAS RADIANT, RED AND BLUE ...
Walther von der Vogelweide	trans. Tim Chilcott
Diu welt was gelf rôt unde blâ grüen in dem walde und anderswâ kleine vogele sungen dâ nû schrîet aber diu nebelkrâ pfligt si iht ander varwe jâ sist worden bleich und übergrâ des rimpfet sich vil manic brâ. Ich saz ûf eime grüenen lê da ensprungen bluomen unde klê zwischen mir und eime sê der ougenweide ist dâ niht mê dâ wir schapel brâchen ê dâ lît nû rîfe und ouch der snê daz tuot den vogellînen wê. Die tôren sprechent snîâ snî die armen liute owê owî des bin ich swære alsam ein blî der wintersorge hân ich drî swaz der unt der andern sî der wurde ich alse schiere frî wære uns der sumer nâhe bî. Ê danne ich lange lebt alsô den krebz wolt ich ê ezzen rô sumer mache uns aber frô dû zierest anger unde lô mit den bluomen spilt ich dô mîn herze swebt in sunnen hô daz jaget der winter in ein strô. Ich bin verlegen als êsâû min sleht hâr ist mir worden rû süezer sumer wâ bist dû jâ sæhe ich gerner veltgebû ê deich lange in selher drû beklemmet wære als ich bin nû ich wurde ê münch ze Toberlû.	The world was radiant, red and blue, the green of woods and other spots where tiny birds sang forth. But now the hooded crow croaks out. And changes to the colours of the world? Oh yes. It now is pale - a grey on grey - and deepens furrows on so many brows. I sat upon the greenest mound where flowers and clover had sprung up between me and a lake. Such pleasure for the eyes has faded now. Where once we made up garland chains, the snow and hoar frost now lie deep. The tiny birds are all distressed. The foolish cry out, 'Let it snow!' The poor reply, 'Oh no, oh no!' And I grow heavy, like a piece of lead. I have three winter cares. Whether one or all, I’d be so quickly free of them if summertime were near. If I must live like this for long, I'd rather eat raw crab. Summer, make us glad again! You decorate the meadows and the shrubs; and I can dance with flowers, my heart afloat in warm sunshine, with winter chased away like straw. I've come as low as Esau was, my smooth, clean hair become all rough. Lovely summer, where are you? I’d gladly have the fields ploughed up again. But if I have to face this any more, trapped in as I am now, I’d rather be a monk at Toberlu!

This evocation of the physical and emotional changes between summer and winter is charged
with a virtuoso display of Walther’s rhyming skills. As can be seen, each of the five stanzas
in the original German concludes with the same rhyming vowel, and in the proper alphabetical
order (â, ê, î, ô, û). But if the exigencies of rhyme seem occasionally to lead to forced meanings
in the original, even more would this be so in a translation that tried to follow the same rhyming
pattern. Hence, no attempt is made here to conclude each stanza with the same vowel sound.
Toberlû (later known as Dobrilugk, and then Doberlug) was a Cistercian monastery
renowned for its strict asceticism.