| SOLS SUI QUI SAI LO SOBRAFAN ... | I AM THE ONE THAT KNOWS THE PAIN ... |
| Arnaut Daniel | trans. A.S.Kline (from Provençal) |
Sols sui qui sai lo sobrafan que·m sortz al cor d'amor sofren per sobramar, car mos volers es tant ferms et entiers c'anc non s'esduis de celhiei ni s'estors cui encubic al prim vezer e puois; qu'ades ses lieis dic a lieis cochos motz, puois quand la vei non sai, tant l'ai, que dire. D'autras e d'auzir sortz qu'en sola lieis vei e aug e esgar; e jes d'aisso no·ill sui fals plazentiers que mais la vol non ditz la boca·l cors; qu'ieu non vau tant chams, vauz ni plans ni puois qu'en un sol cors trob aissi bos aips totz; qu'en lieis los volc Dieus triar e assire. Ben ai estat a maintas bonas cortz, mas sai ab lieis trob pro mais que lauzar: mesur' e sen e autres bos mestiers, beutat, joven, bos faitz e bels demors; gen l'enseinhet cortesia e la duois tant a de si totz faitz desplazens rotz de lieis no cre rens de ben si'a dire. Nuilhs jauzimens no·m fora breus ni cortz de lieis cui prec qu'o vuoilla devinar, que ja per mi non o sabra estiers si·l cors ses digs no·s presenta de fors; que jes Rozers, per aiga que l'engrois, non a tal briuqu'al cor plus larga dotz no·m fass' estanc d'amor, quand la remire. Jois e solatz d'autra·m per fals e bortz, c'una de pretz ab lieis no·is pot egar, que·l sieus solatz es dels autres sobriers; ai! si no l'ai, las! tan mal m'a comors; pero l'agans m'es deportz, ris e jois, car en pensan sui de lieis lecs e glotz: ai Dieus, si ja'n serai estiers jauzire! Anc mais, so·us pliu, no·m plac tant treps ni bortz, ni res al cor tant de joi no·poc dar cum fetz aquel, don anc feinz lausengiers non s'esbrugic, qu'a mi sol so·s tresors; dic trop? ieu non, sol lieis non si' enois: bella, per Dieu, lo parlar e la votz vuoilh perdr' enans que diga ren, que·us tire. E ma chansos prec que no·us si' enois car, si voletz grazir lo son e·ls motz, pauc prez' Arnautz cui que plass' o que tire. | I am the one that knows the pain that flows Through loving hearts that suffer love’s excess, For my will is ever so firm and whole I have never denied her, never wandered From one I so desired at once and ever: Far from her, now, I call to her urgently, Though when she’s here I know not what to say. My blindness, my deafness to others shows That only her I see, and hear, and bless, And I offer her no false flatteries so For the heart more than the mouth gives word; That in field, plain, hill, vale, though I go everywhere I discern all qualities in one sole body, Only hers, where God sets them today. Many a goodly court my presence knows, Yet in her there’s more that does impress, Measure and wit and other virtues glow Beauty, youth, good manners, actions stir, Of courtesy she has well-learnt her share Of all displeasing things I find her free I think no good thing lacking anyway. No joy for me was too brief that arose From her, I hope that she might guess, For of me she’ll otherwise not know, Since the heart such words can scarce utter, That the Rhone, its swollen waters there, No fiercer than my heart flows inwardly, Nor floods more with love, when on her I gaze. Solace and joy seem false from those Other girls, none share her worthiness, Her solace exceeds all others though, Ay, alas, ill times if I do not have her, Yet the anguish brings me joy so fair, For thinking brings desire of her lustily: God, if I might have her some other way! No play ever pleased more, you may suppose, Nothing could bring the heart more happiness, Than that from which no evil rumours grow All publicly, to me alone its treasure; I speak too openly? Not if it brings no care: My beauty, by God, I’d lose my tongue and speech, Rather than trouble you by what I say. And I pray my song indeed brings you no care, For if you like both words and melody What cares Arnaut whom it pleases or shall dismay. |
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Trans. Copyright © A.S.Kline 2008