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 raÔtz,
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)
Iíve 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

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