| AMORS, ENQUERA·US PREYARA ... |
O LOVE, AGAIN I'M PRAYING YOU ... |
| Bernart de Ventadorn | trans. James H. Donalson (from Provençal) |
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Amors, enquera·us preyara que·m fossetz plus amoroza, c'us paucs bes dezadolora gran re de mal; e paregra s'era n'aquessetz merce. e car de me no·us sove? mas e·m pes qu'enaissi·m prenha com fetz al comensamen, can me mis al cor la flama de leis que·m fetz estar len, c'anc no m·en detz jauzimen. Mout viu a gran aliscara et ab dolor angoissoza selh cui totz tems assenhora mala domna; qu'eu m'estegra jauzens, mas aissi m'ave que leis cui dezir, no cre qu'eu l'am tan c'a mi covenha l'onors ni·l bes qu'eu n'aten; et a·n tort, c'als no reclama mos cors mas leis solamen e so c'a leis es plazen. Totz tems de leis me lauzara, s'era·m fos plus volontoza c'amors, qui·l cor enamora, m'en det (mas no·m escazegra): non plazers, mas sabetz que? envey' e dezir ancse! e s'a leis platz que·m retenha far pot de me so talen, melhs no fa·l vens de la rama, qu'enaissi vau les seguen com la folha sec lo ven. Tant es fresch' e bel' e clara qu'amors n'es vas me doptoza, car sa beutatz alugora bel jorn e clarzis noih negra. Tuit sei fait on mielz coven. Son fin e de beutaz ple no·n dic laus, mas mortz mi venha s'eu no l'am de tot mo sen' mas, domn', Amors m'enliama, que·m fai dir soven e gen de vos manh ver avinen. Doussa res, conhd' et avara, umils, franch' et orgolhoza, bel' e genser c'ops no fora, domna, per merce·us queregra, car vos am mais c'autra re, que·us prezes merces de me, que tem que mortz me destrenha, si pietatz no·us en pren. e s'eu mor, car mos cors ama vos, vas cui res no·m defen, tem que i fassatz falhimen. Soven plor tan que la chara n'ai destrech' e vergonhoza, e·l vis s'en dezacolora, car vos, don jauzir me degra, pert, que de me no·us sove. e no·m don Deus de vos be, s'eu sai ses vos co·m chaptenha, c'aitan doloirozamen viu com cel que mor en flama; e si tot no·m fatz parven, nulhs on menhs de joi no sen. |
O Love, again I'm praying you to love me just a little more: a little goodness will remove the pain of many evils, and will show if you have mercy still. Why do you not remember me? Because to me it seems as though it's just as it began to be when you lit in my heart the flame for her, that troubles even now though you have never given joy. I'm living in the greatest need and with an agonizing grief, as I'm controlled at all times by an evil lady. I rejoice to sing of her, but it would seem the one I want does not believe I love her so,that I deserve the honors I expect from her; She's wrong: my heart has made no claim except for her and for the things that would be pleasing just to her. I'm always full of praise for her, if only she had more good will, and may the love that stirs my heart now give me (I can claim no more) not pleasure, but do you know what? a steady craving and desire, and if she's pleased to keep me on, to do with me as she may wish, just as the wind does to the branch, and I will follow her the way the leaf of autumn does the wind. Her beauty is so fresh and clear that Love is not in doubt of me. Her beauty brightens any day and lightens up the blackest night. Let these things be where best befits: her beauty isn't what I praise but let death overtake me now if I don't love with all my heart; but, lady, love envelops me and makes me speak repeatedly of your abundant qualities. My sweet one, you're desirable, you're noble, haughty but you're meek and measurelessly beautiful. My lady, pity me, I pray; I love you more than anything, so do have mercy upon me. I fear that death will tread me down if pity doesn't come from you, and if I die, since my heart loves but you, from whom I've no defense, I fear you'll make me slip away. I often weep so much my face is sorrowful and full of shame, my face has lost its color too, for you, in whom I should rejoice, will lose by not remembering me, and God won't grant me good from you if without you, I can get by, and I will live with all the pain of one who dies a death in flames, and if you cannot help me out nobody could feel less of joy. |
Trans. Copyright © James H. Donalson 2004