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Le Temps A Laisee Son Manteau
As I walked to the tip with an armful of cardboard I thought about how we'd just passed the Spring Equinox- and then about my favourite springtime poems.
When I got home I scanned all our bookshelves for the Oxford Book of French Verse so I could reacquaint myself with one of them- "Le temps a laisse son manteau" by the princely Charles d'Orleans. I couldn't find it (of course).
Oh, what the hell, it'll be online...
And here it is in old French.
Le temps a laissié son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluye,
Et s’est vestu de brouderie,
De soleil luyant, cler et beau.
Il n’y a beste ne oyseau,
Qu’en son jargon ne chante ou crie;
Le temps a laissié son manteau.
Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent, en livree jolie,
Gouttes d’argent d’orfaverie,
Chascun s’abille de nouveau :
Le temps a laissié son manteau.
Nothing is harder to translate than lyric verse. You can't be both lyrical and faithful. If you opt for lyricism you end up with what is essentially a new poem and if you choose fidelity the original content is usually so featherlight that the reader will wonder what all the fuss was about.
Anyway here's an English prose version- more or less word for word.
The weather has taken off its coat of wind, cold and rain and has dressed itself in an embroidery of sunshine, calm and beautiful.
There's not a beast or a bird that isn't singing or crying in its own language that the weather has taken off its coat.
River, spring and stream carry a pretty livery of silver droplets of goldsmith's work, each one is newly dressed: the weather has taken off its coat.
I've always loved that word "orfaverie". The English language is full of words of French origin (thanks to the Normans, of course) and it's a pity this one got left behind on the far side of the channel.
Charles d'Orleans was half Italian. He was captured at the Battle of Agincourt and spent 24 years imprisoned in England. He wrote poems in both French and English- and by the time of his release at the age of 46 spoke better English than French. He lived to be 70, was married three times and one of his children became King of France.
When I got home I scanned all our bookshelves for the Oxford Book of French Verse so I could reacquaint myself with one of them- "Le temps a laisse son manteau" by the princely Charles d'Orleans. I couldn't find it (of course).
Oh, what the hell, it'll be online...
And here it is in old French.
Le temps a laissié son manteau
De vent, de froidure et de pluye,
Et s’est vestu de brouderie,
De soleil luyant, cler et beau.
Il n’y a beste ne oyseau,
Qu’en son jargon ne chante ou crie;
Le temps a laissié son manteau.
Rivière, fontaine et ruisseau
Portent, en livree jolie,
Gouttes d’argent d’orfaverie,
Chascun s’abille de nouveau :
Le temps a laissié son manteau.
Nothing is harder to translate than lyric verse. You can't be both lyrical and faithful. If you opt for lyricism you end up with what is essentially a new poem and if you choose fidelity the original content is usually so featherlight that the reader will wonder what all the fuss was about.
Anyway here's an English prose version- more or less word for word.
The weather has taken off its coat of wind, cold and rain and has dressed itself in an embroidery of sunshine, calm and beautiful.
There's not a beast or a bird that isn't singing or crying in its own language that the weather has taken off its coat.
River, spring and stream carry a pretty livery of silver droplets of goldsmith's work, each one is newly dressed: the weather has taken off its coat.
I've always loved that word "orfaverie". The English language is full of words of French origin (thanks to the Normans, of course) and it's a pity this one got left behind on the far side of the channel.
Charles d'Orleans was half Italian. He was captured at the Battle of Agincourt and spent 24 years imprisoned in England. He wrote poems in both French and English- and by the time of his release at the age of 46 spoke better English than French. He lived to be 70, was married three times and one of his children became King of France.
no subject
He also wrote fine Middle English poetry having been a prisoner here.
Confession of a Stolen Kiss
BY CHARLES D'ORLEANS
My ghostly fader, I me confess,
First to God and then to you,
That at a window, wot ye how,
I stale a kosse of gret swetness,
Which don was out avisiness—
But it is doon, not undoon, now.
My ghostly fader, I me confess,
First to God and then to you.
But I restore it shall, doutless,
Agein, if so be that I mow;
And that to God I make a vow,
And elles I axe foryefness.
My ghostly fader, I me confesse,
First to God and then to you.
no subject
no subject
[in Just-]
BY e. e. cummings
in Just-
spring when the world is mud-
luscious the little
lame balloonman
whistles far and wee
and eddieandbill come
running from marbles and
piracies and it's
spring
when the world is puddle-wonderful
the queer
old balloonman whistles
far and wee
and bettyandisbel come dancing
from hop-scotch and jump-rope and
it's
spring
and
the
goat-footed
balloonMan whistles
far
and
wee
My other favorite poem is called "Winter Poem," but it is really about the coming of spring--written by the amazing Nikki Giovanni
Winter Poem
Nikki Giovanni
once a snowflake fell
on my brow and i loved
it so much and i kiss
it and it was happy and called its cousins
and brothers and a web
of snow engulfed me then
i reached to love them all
and i squeezed them and they became
a spring rain and i stood perfectly
still and was a flower
no subject
I'd met with the Cummings before but the Giovanni is new to me. thank you