| RASSA, TAN CREIS E MONTA E POJA ... |
RASSA, SHE'LL GROW AND MOUNT AND RISE ... |
| Bertrans de Born | trans. James H. Donalson (from Provençal) |
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Rassa, tan creis e monta e poja Cela qu'es de totz enjans voja, Sos pretz a las autras enoja, Qu'una moi a que re i noja, Quel vezers de sa beutat loja Los pros a sos ops, cui que coja, Que·lh plus conoissen e.lh melhor Mantenen adès sa lauzor E la tenen per la gensor, Qu'il sap far tant entiera onor, No vol mas un sol prejador. Rassa, domna es frescha e fina Coinda e gaia e meschina: Pel spur ab color de robina, Blancha pel corps com flors d'espina, Coude mol ab dura tetina, E sembla conil de l'eschina. A la fina frescha color, Al bo pretz e a la lauzor Leu podon triar la melhor Cil qui se fan conoissedor De mi ves qual part eu ador. Rassa, als rics es orgolhosa E fai gran sen a lei de tosa, Que no vol Peiteus ni Tolosa Ni Bretanha ni Saragoza, Anz es de pretz tant envejosa Qu'als pros paubres es amorosa. Pois m'a pres per chastiador, Prec li que tenha char s'amor E am mais un pro vavassor Qu'un comte o duc galiador Que la tengués a desoror. Rassa, rics om que re no dona Ni acolh ni met ni no sona E qui senes tort ochaisona E, qui merce·lh quer, no perdona M'enoja, e tota persona Que servizi no guizerdona; E li ric ome chassador M'enojan e·lh buzatador Gaban de volada d'austor, Ni jamais d'armas ni d'amor No parlaran mot entre lor. Rassa, aissous prec que vos plassa: Ric om que de guerra nos lassa Ni no s'en recré per menassa Tro qu'om se lais que mal no·lh fassa Val mais que ribiera ni chassa, Que bo pretz n'acolh e n'abrassa. Mauris ab n'Aigar son senhor Ac guerra ab pretz valedor: E·l vescoms defenda s'onor E-l coms deman lalh per vigor, E vejam la d'els al Pascor. E1 Mariniers, vos avetz onor E nos avem chamjat senhor Bo guerrier per tornejador; E prec an Golfier de la Tor Mos chantars no·lh fassa paor. E2 Papiols, mos chantars recor En la cort mon mal Bel-Senhor. |
Rassa, she'll grow and mount and rise who is devoid of trickery: your valor bothers other folk one woman feeds what nothing feeds on seeing what her beauty wins, the valiant, which displeases much, the ones who better know the best are still maintaining her renown and they hold that she's nobler still and one who'd honor thoroughly wants no more than one suppliant. Rassa, a lady's fresh and fine, tender, joyous and she's kind: her hair's as red as rubies are, her body white as hawthorn flower her arms are soft, her breasts are firm and like a rabbit from the back. Her color's fresh and fine to see, her value and her fame are good: they easily match with the best; whoever gets to know them well will see in verse what I adore. Rassa, with rich men she is proud, and for a girl, she makes good sense, she won't have Poitiers or Toulouse, or Saragosse or Brittany, but valor she's desirous of and poor but valiant she can love so she has me for counsellor: pray her to cherish all this love love more a valiant vavassor and not a tricky count or duke who wouldn't hold her honorably. Rassa, rich men who nothing give will nothing reap nor take nor care, and he who quarrels without cause and mercy seeks but pardons not annoys me; as do those who don't give recompense for services, and rich men out upon the hunt and falconers annoy me too, those who thrill at flights of hawks but not at loving or at arms won't say a word among themselves. Rassa, I hope that this will please; a rich man who won't leave off war or, even threatened, turn on it until they leave off harming him; he's worthier than hawk or chase, who gets his price and an embrace. Maurin and Sir Aigar, his Lord, had war with a rewarding price; the viscount stood up for his name, the count insists with vigor too and sees it through to Eastertide. E1 Sailor, you have honor too, and we have changed our lord as well: a warrior for a tourneyer; I ask Sir Goufier de Lastours not to be frightened by my songs. E2 Now, Papiol, go through my songs At court with naughty Bel-Senhor. |
Trans. Copyright © James H. Donalson 2005