| AR VEY QU'EM VENGUT ALS JORNS LONCS ... |
I SEE NOW THAT THE DAYS ARE LONG ... |
| Guilhem de Cabestany | trans. James H. Donalson (from Provençal) |
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Ar vey qu'em vengut als jorns loncs, Que·il flors s'arenguo sobr'els troncx, Et aug d'auzelhs chans e refrims Pe·ls playssatz qu'a tengutz embroncx Lo fregz, mas eras pe·ls soms prims, Entre las flors e·ls brondelhs prims, S'alegra quascus a son for. Mas ieu m'esjauzisc e·m demor Per un joi d'amor q'ai al cor, Don m'es dous deziriers techitz; Que mains que serps de sycomor Me·n deslong per us vars fraiditz, Anz m'es totz autres jois oblitz Vas l'amor don paucs bes ajust. Anc pus N'Adam culhic del fust Lo fruig don tug em en tabust Tam belha no·n aspiret Crist: Bel cors benestan, car e just, Blanc e lis plus qu'us almatist, Tant es ylh belha qu'ieu·n sui trist, Quar de me no·lh pren mais de sonh. Et ja mais no·il serai tan lonh Que l'amors que m'aflama e·m ponh Si parta del cor ni s'esquins; Mas a la vetz quan si desjonh S'espandis defors e dedins. Adoncx sui cobertz, claus e cins D'amor plus que de flors ysops. Et am tant que menhs n'a mortz trops, E tem que·l jorns mi sia props, Qu'Amors m'es cara et e·l sui vils; E ges aissi no m'agra ops, Que·l fuecs que m'art es tals que Nils No·l tudaria pus q'us fils Delguatz sostendria una tor. Mas ieu sols, las! sosteing l'ardor E la pena que·m ven d'amor Ab doutz desirs, ab mains destricx, E·m n'espalezis ma color. Pero non dic que s'er'anticx E blancs devengutz cum es nicx, Qu'en re de ma dona·m clames. Quar dompnas fan valer ades Los desvalenz e·ls fels engres: Que tals es francs et agradius Que si ja dompna non ames Vas tot lo mon fora esquius; Qu'ieu·n sui als pros plus humilius E plus orgulos als savays. E1 Joglars, no·t tenha·l cautz estius: Vai e saluda·m mos amius, E·N Raimon plus, car el val mais: E2 Que·l mals m'es douz e saborius E·l pauc ben mana don me pais. |
I see now that the days are long, the blossoms line up on the branch, I hear the songs and trills of birds in hedges, birds the cold has kept in silence, now on highest peaks among the flowers and early fronds each one rejoices in his way. But I rejoice and I am glad, for joy of love that's in my heart, which formed a sweet desire in me. As serpent seeks the sycamore I'd get away from perfidy, and I've forgot all other joy for love that does me little good. Since father Adam picked the fruit that's had us all in trouble since, Christ gave breath to no fairer one A body that's proportionate and polished more than amethysts; she is so beautiful, I'm sad for she has not a thought of me. I'll never be so far from her that love that drives me will depart, or leave my heart and its four parts - but sometimes when it opens up it spreads within and spreads without, so, shut and bound, I'm covered round more than the hyssop by its flowers. I'll never be so far from her that love that drives me will depart or leave my heart and its four parts, but some times when it opens up it spreads within and spreads without, so, shut and bound, I'm covered round more than the hyssop by its flowers. Less love than mine has killed good men, and I'm afraid my time is near: Love's dear to me, but thinks I'm mean, and that is just not what I need, because the fire that's burning me the Nile could not put out, nor could a slender thread hold up a tower. The ladies build up courage in the weak and even criminals: the noble and the grateful, though, if they have not a lady-love, are disagreeable to all. So I am humble to the good and I am prouder to the bad. E1 Jongleur, don't let the heat stop you, go on and greet my friends for me, Sir Raymond most, the worthiest. E2 My ills are sweet and savory: what's good, is manna feeding me. |
Trans. Copyright © James H. Donalson 2005