Poets Translate Poets: A Hudson Review Anthology (31 page)
Read Poets Translate Poets: A Hudson Review Anthology Online
Authors: Paula Deitz
For the favor of me.
And have a care, daughter;
I knew such another
Once, who showed great desire
Only for my favor.
W. S. Merwin, 1952
Pe ro M e o g o
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Joa n de Guilh a de
(Th
irteenth Century)
“Friends, I cannot deny”
Friends, I cannot deny
Love wears me grievously,
For I walk sorrowfully
And sorrowfully I say:
Th
ose green eyes I have seen
Changed me in this fashion.
He that lends ear may learn
Whose eyes draw my lament;
And he may make complaint;
Th
is, live I or die, is mine:
Th
ose green eyes I have seen
Changed me in this fashion.
But no man should betray
His senses’ weakening
By sorrow in his speaking,
And I say sorrowfully:
Th
ose green eyes I have seen
Changed me in this fashion.
W. S. Merwin, 1952
270
P o r t u g u e s e
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Nuno Fer n a ndes Tor neol
(Th
irteenth Century)
“Waken, my love, who sleep in the cold morning,”
Alba
Waken, my love, who sleep in the cold morning,
—all the birds in the world, of love were speaking.
Merrily walk I.
Waken, my love, in the cold morning sleeping,
—all the birds in the world, of love were singing.
Merrily walk I.
All the birds in the world, of love were speaking,
Th
inking upon our love, on our love thinking.
Merrily walk I.
All the birds in the world, of love were singing,
Remembering our love, remembering.
Merrily walk I.
Th
inking upon our love, on our love thinking.
But you have hushed the boughs where they were swinging.
Merrily walk I.
Remembering our love, remembering.
But you have hushed the boughs where they were sitting.
Merrily walk I.
But you have hushed the boughs where they were swinging
And you have dried the springs where they were drinking.
Merrily walk I.
But you have hushed the boughs where they were sitting
And you have dried the springs where they were bathing.
Merrily walk I.
W. S. Merwin, 1952
N u no F e r na n de s T or n e ol
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Fr a ncisco de Sá de M ir a nda
(1481–1558)
“At the voice of the enchanter”
At the voice of the enchanter
Even the serpent shuts his ear:
Lo, I who listened would that sense
Deranged with grief might disappear.
Th
ose most chary of the sea
Flee the singing of the siren;
Not strength restrained nor policy
When your voice invading me
Struck soul and senses alien.
W. S. Merwin, 1952
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P o r t u g u e s e
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P r o v e n ç a l
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Guillem Comte de Peitau
(1071–1127)
“Th
at the fevered breath attain relief ”
Vers
Th
at the fevered breath attain relief
I shape a song upon my grief
Who will to love no more hold fi ef
Here in Poitou or Limousin,
Who in terror turn and peril
A stranger, and commence my exile,
And where neighbors work his evil
In time of war forsake my son.
Ah lords and counties of Poitou,
In this forsaking is my sorrow!
I beseech Foucon d’Angou
To guard this country and his kin.
If not his hand avails us, nor
Th
at king in whom I rest my honor,
How great the pack eyeing the plunder:
Gascon thieves and Angevin.
Lords, if valor and wit be small
Th
ese when I leave will seize the wall
And quickly shake it, and it fall
Where little I left it, young and thin.
May he nearest who follows me
If ever I wronged him pardon me;
To Jesus on his throne I pray
Th
is in my own tongue and in Latin,
Who have been kin to strength and mirth
And know this parting from them both
Gu i l l e m C om t e de Pe i tau
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Toward that demesne whose king and faith
Wall them with peace even who sin.
I have been gay but this my laughter
Th
e lord forgets from his desire;
I can no burden longer bear,
So near I come to the last pain.
From all I love I turn aside,
I leave my knighthood and my pride;
May all reach welcome under God
And pray him that he take me in.
May those my friends aft er I die
Form in honor about my body
Who have been guest to mirth and joy
Far and near and in my mansion,
And thus depart mirth and joy,
Th
e colored robes and sable skin.
W. S. Merwin, 1950
“Friend, I would make verses . . . that’s understood,”
Vers
Friend, I would make verses . . . that’s understood,
But I witless, and they most mad and all
Mixed up,
mesclatz
, jumbled from youth and love and joy—
And if the vulgar do not listen to them?
Learn ’em by heart? He takes a hard
Parting from men’s love who composes to his own liking.
Two horses have I to my saddle, sleek,
Game: but husband both for battle? I have
Not the skill, for neither will allow the other.
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But could I fasten them both to serve my rein
I would not change cavalage with any other,
For then would I be better mounted than any man living.
Th
e fi rst is of mountain stock, the swift er running;
Sure-footed, well-composed she treads, but wild,
Shy, fi erce, so savage she forbids currying. Th
e other
Was nourished up and bred past Cofolens
And I have seen none more beautiful to my knowing,
No, nor would exchange her, not for gold or silver.
I gave her to her lord a grazing colt,
Yet, by the saints, so well have I retained her
At a sign her bridle would she rive asunder to come to me.
Lord, in this diffi
culty counsel me!
Never was I more harassed in a choice.
Agnes or Arsen! Madness or death will take me fi rst.
At Gimel have I a castle under domain,
At Nieul have I pride before men; for both
Th
ese
nonpareils
are sworn to me, and pledged by oath.
Paul Blackburn, 1952
Gu i l l e m C om t e de Pe i tau
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Gir au t de Bor nelh
(Twelft h Century)
“Glorious Lord, fountain of clarity,”
Alba
Glorious Lord, fountain of clarity,
God of all power, if it please Th
ee,
Be by my friend unslumbering vigil
Whom I no longer see, for the night fell,
Until arrives the dawn.
Friend, whether dreaming or half-roused you stay,
Slumber no longer, but renew the eye
Where in the east I see the light rise
Th
at salutes day, and the star recognize
Th
at trembles upon dawn.
Friend, I smooth the entreaty into song:
Slumber no more, for I hear the bird sing
Th
at goes inquiring day among the trees,
And tremble lest one jealously surprise
You as now the dawn.
Friend, but approach and by the window stay
And see the stars diminish from the sky;
Judge if the word is amiable I send you
Th
at you neglect, and yours will be the sorrow
When the time fades to dawn.
Friend, friend, since you departed me,
I have not slept nor straightened from the knee
Petitioning the holy Virgin’s son
Th
at he to me render my companion,
And soon arrives the dawn.
Friend, on these garden and indiff erent stones
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I prayed that no sleep touch my orisons
Till all dark vanishing rewarded day,
But comes no answer when I sing or pray,
And early comes the dawn.
W. S. Merwin, 1950
Gi r au t de B or n e l h
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R a im bau t de Vaqueir a s
(ca. 1155–1205)
“Guard us well, my sentry,”
Alba
Guard us well, my sentry,
Cold the pike and heavy
While your radiant mistress, she
Most superb, most lovely,
I have to lie thus close to me ’til dawn.
Command the night stand to,
Bid or forbid as I will, day
Puts out my joy
Palbe, oc l’albe
.
’Til the auzel wakens,
Watchman guard this richness;
’Til the morningstar rises
Eastward, I am wantless.
Enemy am I of that gravesman, dawn:
But a long day forces
All candor from our eyes,
Wholly destroys us
l’albe, oc l’albe
.
Cry the hour from the keep, friend;
Keep us here below you from
Your ill-favoured master, warm,
Snug, snoring, cozened, Christ!
Flat on his back, symmetrical, ’til dawn.
Be warder on his treasure
Th
at I may count her over
And only fear
l’albe, oc l’albe
.
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Love, adieu, adieu!
Longer I could not stay
Beyond our kinsman night, who fl ies
Before the sun’s uprising.
How soggy red these fi elds lie in the dawn.
And changing his routine watch, unbuckling
Massive keys, my sentry
Cries from the tower
—
l’albe, oc Palbe!
—
Paul Blackburn, 1952
“High waves that shift and gather from the sea”
Planh
High waves that shift and gather from the sea
With any wind or fancy, from my lady
What do you, syllable or sighing, carry,
Or casual song, who comes not back to me?
And ah, Deus d’Amor,
Grant in its hour joy as grief in its hour.
Such sweetness folds him who returns from where
My lady holds her sojourn and glad slumber
As seems reprieve and liquid off ered where
Th
ese lips wait parted, aged with desire;
And ah, Deus d’Amor,
Grant in its hour joy as grief in its hour.
Poor is the love one sends from alien fi res
When all his hopes must make content with tears.
Now from her dreams the shape of me retires
As promises forgetfulness requires.
R a i m bau t de Vaqu e i r a s
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Ah, Deus d’Amor,
Grant in its hour joy as grief in its hour.
W. S. Merwin, 1950
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Peir e Vida l
(ca. 1175–1205)
From the
Vida
Canso
I suck deep in air come from Provence to here:
All things from there so please me, when I hear
In dockside taverns traveler’s gossip told,
I
listen
smiling,
And for each word ask a hundred smiling words—
all news is good
For no man knows so sweet a country as
from the Rhône down to Vence.
If only I were locked between
Durance and the sea:
Such pure joy shines with the sun there.
I left my heart-for-rejoicing
there among noble people,
And with her who bids my sadness dance.
No man can ever pass a day in boredom
who has remembrance of her,
For in her is the beginning and birth of all joy.
And he who would praise her,
No matter how well he speak of her, he lies;
For the world shall not look on one
better or fairer.
