| PRO AI DEL CHAN ESSENHADORS ... | AROUND ME I HAVE MANY THINGS ... |
| Jaufré Rudel | trans. James H. Donalson (from Provençal) |
|
Pro ai del chan essenhadors Entorn mi et ensenhairitz: Pratz et vergiers, albres e flors, Voutas d'auzelhs e lais e critz, Per to dous termini suau, Qu'en un petit de joi m'estau, Don nulhs deportz no·m pot jauzir Tan cum solatz d'amor valen. Las pimpas sian als pastors Et als enfans burdens petitz, E mias sion tals amors Don ieu sia jauzens jauzitz! Qu'ieu la sai bona tot'aitau Ves son amic en greu logau; Per so·m sen trop soen marrir Quar no n'ai so qu'al cor n'aten. Lues es to castelhs e la tors On elha jay e sos maritz, Et si per bos cosselladors Sosselhan no suy enanitz - Q'autre cosselhs petit m'en vau, Aitant n'ay fin talan corau, - Alres noy a mais del murir, S'alqun joi non ai en breumen. Totz los vezis apel senhors Del renh on sos jois fo noyritz, E crey que·m sia grans honors Quar ieu dels plus envilanitz Cug que sion cortes lejau: Ves l'amor qu'ins el cor m'enclau Ai bon talan e bon albir, E sai qu'ilh n'a bon escien. Lai es mos cors si totz c'alhors Non a ni sima ni raïtz, Et en dormen sotz cobertors Es lai ab lieis mos esperitz; Et s'amors mi revert a mau Car ieu l'am tant e liei non cau: Tost veirai ieu si per sufrir N'atendrai mon bon jauzimen. Ma voluntatz s'en vai lo cors, La nueit et dia esclarzitz, Laintz per talant de socors; Mas tart mi ve e tart mi ditz: "Amicx, fa s'elha, gilos brau An comensat tal batestau Que sera greus a departir, Tro qu'abdui en siam jauzen." Per so m'en creis plus ma dolors Car non ai lieis en luecs aizitz, Que tan no fau sospirs e plors Qu'us sols baizars per escaritz Lo cor no·m tengues san e sau. Bona es l'amors e molt pro vau, E d'aquest mal mi pot guerir Ses gart de metge sapien. |
Around me I have many things and thoughts that teach me how to sing: the meadows, gardens, trees and flowers, the trills, laments and cries of birds, the sweeter, milder season brings; though now I have but little joy, and no amusement can console the way a noble love would do. Now let the shepherds have their pipes, also the children as they play: just let me have the kind of love that lets me give and take some joy! I know my lady's always kind to her good friend in his sad place, so I too often feel I'm lost, not having what my heart expects. Her tower and castle are far off and she is with her husband there: if I'm not helped by good advice, that comes from good advisors too, (other advice is little worth, I want her so within my heart) I’ve nothing else to do but die if I don't quickly find some joy. Now all the folk I call 'my lords' who come from where she was brought up: this seems to greatly honor me for I think that the worst of them are courtly and are loyal men: and towards the love that's in my heart I have good hopes and I've good thoughts and she is conscientious too. My heart's entirely there as well: it has no other root nor branch. While sleeping under coverlets my spirit is far off with her, so that this love's bad luck for me: I love her, but she doesn't care but I'll see if, by bearing up, I can expect my joy at last. My will is rushing off down there by night or in the bright daylight, drawn by the hope of getting help. At last my will returns, and says: "My friends, she tells me jealous oafs have set afoot a tumult such as makes it hard to settle down, so let us both rejoice at this." This just increases all my pain, I'm not in the right place with her: my sighs and tears are not so bad, for just a little kiss, no more, can make my heart beat safe and sound. My love is good and valued much and it can cure me of my ills without recourse to doctors' arts. |
Trans. Copyright © James H. Donalson 2005