i curse my stars in bitter grief and woe

I have not translated the vidas, or biographical lives of the poets, which are highly unreliable, though charming as legend, but have referred to them where relevant. Many dates and facts are conjecture, and so the order of the poets is at times somewhat arbitrary where dates of birth and death are uncertain. For the uninitiated I would also suggest reading a little about the Troubadours on Wikipedia, which leads the reader on to a vast amount of interesting material online, especially the music. I have given the first lines of the poems, the incipits, as Occitan headings (one only is in Latin), so that a quick search on the Web for the line, remembering to enclose it in double quotes, will usually turn up the original text for those who need to see it. These translations attempt to stay close to the original text, in rhythm, rhyme-scheme and content.

I have gone for rhyme and aimed for accuracy of meaning. Form is half their art and crucially their poems were set to music, a large amount of which survives.Įither approach, rhymed or un-rhymed, is of course valid. I considered a simple prose or free verse translation of these poems, but to show the Troubadours without their rhyme schemes, their form, seemed to me too great an admission of failure. This personal selection of Occitan poetry is of verse that I feel has true poetic merit, and nothing is included solely for its historic interest. John of Abbeville, Sermones dominicales, last quarter of the 13th century or first quarter of 14th century I wish to mourn Blacatz, now, in skilful song,.

Planher vuelh En Blacatz en aquest leugier so.

A harsh thing it is that brings such harm,.

The glance that my lady darts at me must slay,.

Anonymous Balade (13th century or later).Peire Raimon de Toulouse (fl.1180 - 1220).Ah, Limousin! Country free and courtly,.The day I saw you, lady that first time,.Keep a watch, watchman there, on the wall,.Deep waves that roll, travelling the sea,.Plus que.l paubres quan jai el ric ostal.To this light tune, graceful and slender,.The firm desire that in my heart enters.I see scarlet green, blue, white, yellow.Er vei vermeilhs, vertz, blaus, blancs, gruocs.I am the one that knows the pain that flows.It’s sweet when the breeze blows softly,.Now I must sing of what I would not do,.If all the grief and woe and bitterness.With pale Phoebus, in the clear east, not yet bright,.This work may be freely reproduced, stored and transmitted, electronically or otherwise, for any non-commercial purpose. Kline © Copyright 2009 All Rights Reserved ( A selection of sixty Provençal poems, translated from the Occitan)

I curse my stars in bitter grief and woe