GES NON PUESC EN BON VERS
FALLIR ...		 I CANNOT FAIL TO SING GOOD
VERSE ...
Peire Rogiertrans. James H.Donalson
Ges non puesc en bon vers fallir
nulh'hora qu'ieu de midons chan;
cossi poiri'ieu ren mal dir?
Qu'om non es ta mal essenhatz,
si parl'ab lieys un mot o dos,
que totz vilas non torn cortes;
per que sapchatz be que vers es,
que·l ben qu'ieu dic tot ai de liey.

De ren als no pes ni cossir
ni ai dezirier ni talan,
mas de lieys quo·l pogues servir
e far tot quant l'es bon ni·l platz;
qu'ieu non cre qu'ieu anc per als fos
mais per lieys far so que·l plagues,
que be sai qu'onors m'es e bes
tot quan fas per amor de liey.

Ben puesc los autres escarnir,
qu'aissi·m suy sauputz trair'enan
que·l mielhs del mon saupi chauzir;
ieu o dic e sai qu'es vertatz;
ben leu manz n'i aura gelos
que diran, 'Mens e non es res;'
no m'en cal ni d'aco no m'es,
qu'ieu me say cossi s'es de liey -

Greus m'es lo maltraitz a sufrir
e·l dolors, qu'ay de lieys tan gran,
don no·m pot lo cors revenir;
pero no·m platz autr'amistatz,
ni mais joys no m'es dous ni bos,
ni no vuelh que·m sia promes,
que, s'ieu n'avia cent conques,
ren no·ls pretz mais aquels de liey.

Bona dompna, soven sospir
e trac gran pen'e gran afan,
per vos, cuy am mout e dezir;
e quar no·us vey, non es mos graz;
mas si be m'estau luenh de vos,
lo cor e·l sen vos ai trames,
si qu'aissi no suy on tu·m ves,
el ben qu'ieu ai totz es de liey.

Ailas!- Que plangz?- la tem murir. -
Que as? - Am. - E trop? - Ieu hoc, tan
que·n muer. - Mors? - Oc. - Non potz guerir? -
Ieu no. - E cum? - Tan suy iratz. -
De que? - De lieys, don suy aissos. -
Sofre. - No·m val. - Clama·l merces. -
Si·m fatz. - No·y as pro? - Pauc. - No·t pes,
si·n tras mal. - No? - Qu'o fas de liey.

Cosselh n'ai. - Qual? - Vuelh m'en partir. -
No far! - Si faray. - Quers ton dan. -
Que·n puesc als? - Vols t'en ben jauzir? -
Oc, mout. - Crei mi. - Era diguatz. -
Sias humils, francs, larcx e pros. -
Si·m fai mal? - Sufr'en patz. - Suy pres? -
Tu oc, s'amar vols; mas si·m cres,
aissi·t poiras jauzir de liey.

E
Mon Tort-n'avetz mant, s'a lieys platz,
qu'aprenda lo vers, s'el es bos;
e puois vol que sia trames
mon Dreit-n'avetz lai en Saves:
Dieus sal e guart lo cors de liey.
 I cannot fail to sing good verse
when to my lady I must sing;
how could I speak improperly?
No one so lacks in learning that
if I just say a word or two
the churls turn into courtiers,
so that you'll know that it is verse,
and all my blessing comes from her.

I weigh, consider, nothing else,
nor have desire, nor am involved,
but wish to serve her better yet:
to do what's good or pleases her;
things I'd not do for someone else,
for for her, anything to please,
for I know it will honor me:
whatever I do for her love.

The others may well laugh at me
because I know how to advance
and chose the best one in the world;
I say and know that it's the truth;
there may be jealous people who
will say 'You lie, it isn't so';
it matters not at all to me,
for I know how it is with her.

All this mistreatment's hard to bear,
the pain I have from it is great;
my heart is not recovering;
but other friendships don't attract
and other joys are not so sweet,
nor do I want what's promised me
for if I won a hundred more
not one has merit such as hers.

I often sigh, good lady, and
I bear great pain and suffering
for you, whom I love and desire:
since I don't see you, I'm not pleased,
but even if I'm far from you
I've sent you both my heart and mind,
so I'm not here where you see me.
(The good I have is all from love.)

'Ah!' 'What?' 'I am afraid of death'
'From what?' 'From love' 'Too much?' 'Indeed':
'I'm dying' 'Dying?' 'Yes.' 'Can't you
get well?' 'I can't because I'm so depressed.'
'What by?' 'By her, afflicting me.'
'Why don't you beg for mercy, then?'
'I have.' 'Don't worry, though it hurts.'
'Oh, no?' 'What do you make of her"

'My mind's made up.' 'So?' 'I will leave.'
'Don't go!' 'I must.' 'It's to your harm.'
'What else is there?' 'You want some fun?'
'Indeed.' 'Believe!' 'Now tell me how.'
'Be humble, noble, liberal, brave.'
'If I am ill ...?' 'Then don't let on.'
'You're trapped if what you want is love,
but this way will let you enjoy.'

E
My Tort-n'avetz will, if she'd please,
learn all this poem, if it's good,
and then I want to send it to
my Dreit-n'avetz, down in Savès:
God save her body and her soul.
Trans. copyright © James H.Donalson 2004 






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