| FARAI CHANSONETA NUEVA ... | SOON, WIND AND RAIN ... |
| William IX, Duke of Aquitaine | trans. James H. Donalson (from Provençal) |
|
Farai chansoneta nueva, ans que vent ni gel ni plueva; ma dona m'assai' e·m prueva, quossi de qual guiza l'am; e ja per plag que m'en mueva no·m solvera de son liam; Qu'ans mi rent a lieys e·m liure, qu'en sa carta·m pot escriure; e no m·en tengatz per yure s'ieu ma bona dompna am, quar senes lieys non puesc viure, tant ai pres de s'amor gran fam. Que plus ez blanca qu'evori, per qu'ieu autra non azori: si'm breu non ai ajutori, cum ma bona dompna m'am, morrai, pel cap sanh Gregori, si no·m bayz' en cambr' o sotz ram. Qual pro y auretz, dompna conja, si vostr' amors mi deslonja? par que·us vulhatz metre monja. e sapchatz, quar tan vos am, tem que la dolors me ponia, si no·m faitz dreg dels tortz qu'ie·us clam. Qual pro y auretz, s'ieu m'enclostre e no·m retenetz per vostre? totz lo joys del mon es nostre, dompna, s'amduy nos amam, lay al mieu amic Daurostre dic e man que chan e no bram. Per aquesta fri e tremble, quar de tam bon' amor l'am; qu'anc no cug que·n nasques semble en semblan del gran linh n'Adam. |
Soon, wind and rain will come along, and I must write another song to show my girl my love is strong: my lady says it's just a test but even if she does me wrong my ties to her are unrepressed. Instead, I give myself to her; I'm in her book without a blur: I'm not a fool for loving her and if, with her, I am in love I cannot live except with her: I'm hungering only for her love. Her skin is white as ivory; no other's in my history: an urgent show of love for me is needed to remove all doubt. I'll die now, by St.Gregory, without a kiss, indoors or out. What good, fair lady, will be done if with your love you'd up and run? perhaps you want to be a nun? I tell you now, that I love you: by sorrow I will be undone unless my claim appeals to you. What good if I become a friar, instead of letting me aspire to worldly joys, let us conspire, my lady, don't abhor my vow. So, send this to my friend, the Lyre, to sing, but not to roar it now. She makes me tremble, I aver: because my love has been sublime I think no lady quite like her has ever come from Adam's line. |
Trans. Copyright © James H. Donalson 2003