En cossirer e en esmai
En cossirer et en esmai
sui d'un amor que.m lass'e.m te,
que tan no vau ni sai ni lai
qu'ilh ades no.m tenh' en so fre,
c' aras m'a dat cor e talen
qu' eu enqueses, si podia,
tal que, si.l reis l'enqueria,
auria faih gran ardimen.
Ai las, chaitius! e que.m farai?
ni cal cosselh penrai de me?
Qu'ela no sap lo mal qu'eu trai
ni eu no.lh aus clamar merce.
Fol nesci! ben as pauc de sen,
qu'ela nonca t' amaria
per nom que per drudaria,
c'ans no.t laisses levar al ven!
E doncs, pois atressi.m morrai,
dirai li l'afan que m'en ve?
Vers es c'ades lo li dirai.
no farai, a la mia fe.
si sabia c'a un tenen
en fos tot' Espanha mia;
mais vol morir de feunia
car anc me venc en pessamen.
Pois messatger no.lh trametrai
ni a me dire no.s cove,
negu cosselh de me no sai;
mais d'una re me conort be:
ela sap letras et enten,
et agrada.m qu'eu escria
los motz, e s'a leis plazia,
legis los al meu sauvamen.
(In anguish and torment am I because of a love that grips and holds me so that I can go neither here nor there without her holding me in her harness. And now I have courage and desire to court, if I can, one who, if the King himself were to pursue her, he would show great audacity.
Alas, unhappy one that I am! What shall I do? What counsel shall I take? For she does not know the sorrow that I bear, nor do I dare beg her for mercy. Fool, you have little understanding, since she will never love you, neither in name nor through intimacy. Let yourself be blown away by the wind. And so, since I must die, shall I confess to her my sorrow? Truly, I should do it right away. I won't do it, by my faith, even if I knew that all Spain would be mine. I would rather die of shame than to have entertained such a thought.
Since I shall not send her a messenger, and it is not fitting for me to speak myself, I don't know how to advise myself. But one thing consoles me: she knows the alphabet, and how to read, and I enjoy writing words, and if she pleases, may she read them so that I may be saved.)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Pois preyatz me, senhor
Pois preyatz me, senhor,
qu'eu chan, eu chantarai;
e can cuit chantar, plor
a l'ora c'o essai.
Greu veiretz chantador
be chan, si mal li vai.
Vai me doncs mal d'amor?
Ans mels que no fetz mai!
E doncs, per que m'esmai?
Gran ben e gran onor
conosc que Deus me fai,
qu'eu am la belazor
et ilh me, qu'eu o sai.
Mas eu sui sai, alhor,
e no sai com l'estai!
So m'auci de dolor,
car ochaizo non ai
de soven venir lai.
Amors, e que.m farai?
Si garrai ja ab te?
Ara cuit qu'e.m morrai
del dezirer que.m ve,
si.lh bela lai on jai
no m'aizis pres de se,
qu'eu la manei e bai
et estrenha vas me
so cors blanc, gras e le.
Bona domna, merce
del vostre fin aman!
Mas jonchas, ab col cle,
vos m'autrei e.m coman.
Qu'e.us pliu per bona fe
c'anc re no amei tan.
E si locs s'esdeve,
vos me fatz bel semblan,
que molt n'ai gran talan.
(Since you request me to sing, my Lords, I shall sing.And when I think of singing, I weep just at the moment when I begin. You will hardly ever here a singer who sings well, if he is unhappy. Am I thus unhappy in love? No, rather better than ever. Then why I am I in disarray?
I know that God has done me a great honor, since I love the most beautiful of women and she me, as far as I know. But I am elsewhere, and I do not know how she is, which kills me with sorrow, for I do not often have the opportunity to go there.
Now, Love, what shall I do? Shall I ever be cured of you? Right now I think I will die of the desire that comes upon me, if the fair one invites me to be near her, where she sleeps, so that I can caress and kiss and hold next to mine her body, white, round, and smooth.
Sweet lady, have pity on your faithful lover! Hands joined, head bowed, I commend myself to your mercy. For I swear to you in faith that I have never loved anyone as much as you. And if the right moment occurs, show me your best behavior, for I really desire it so.)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Era.m conseillatz
Era.m cosselhatz, senhor,
vos c'avetz saber e sen:
una domna.m det s'amor,
c'ai amada lonjamen;
mas eras sai de vertat
qu'ilh a autr'amic privat,
ni anc de nul companho
companha tan greus no.m fo.
D'una re sui en error
e.n estau en pensamen:
que m'alonje ma dolor,
s'eu aquest plai li cossen,
e s'aissi.l dic mon pessat,
vei mon damnatge doblat.
Cal que.n fassa o cal que no,
re no posc far de mo pro.
E s'eu l'am a dezonor,
esquerns er a tota gen;
e tenran m'en li pluzor
per cornut e per sofren.
E s'aissi pert s'amistat,
be.m tenh per dezeretat
d'amor, e ja Deus no.m do
mais faire vers ni chanso.
Pois voutz sui en la folor,
be serai fols, s'eu no pren
d'aquestz dos mals lo menor;
que mais val, mo essien,
qu'eu ay' en leis la meitat
que.l tot perda per foldat,
car anc a nul drut felo
d'amor non vi far so pro.
Pois vol autre amador
ma domn', eu non lo.lh defen;
e lais m'en mais per paor
que per autre chauzimen;
e s'anc om dec aver grat
de nul servizi forsat,
be dei aver guizerdo
eu, que tan gran tort perdo.
De l'aiga que dels olhs plor,
escriu salutz mais de cen,
que tramet a la gensor
et a la plus avinen.
Mantas vetz m'es pois membrat
de so que.m fetz al comjat:
que.lh vi cobrir sa faisso,
c'anc no.m poc dir oc ni no.
Garsio, ara.m chantat
ma chanso, et la.m portat
a mo Messager, qu'i fo,
q'elh quer cosselh qu'el me do.
(Now give me counsel, Lords, you who are wise and intelligent. A lady, whom I long loved, gave me her love. But now I know for sure that she has another lover in secret, and never the company of another companion was so hard to bear.
One thing makes me out of sorts and pensive: that I prolong my suffering if I agree to this case. And if I say what I think, I see my injuries doubled. Whatever I do, or don't do, I can't accomplish for my own good.
And if I love her in dishonor, I shall be scorned by all; and the majority will consider me a passive cuckold. But if I lose her friendship, I hold myself disinherited by love, and may God never permit me again to compose verses and songs.
Since I am involved in madness, I should be mad if I did not chose the lesser of these two evils. for it is better, in my opinion, to have half of her than to loose everything through folly; for I have never seen an unfaithful lover win out for himself in love.
Since you want another lover, my lady, I shall not forbid it. And I agree more from fear than from anything else. And if ever someone should be grateful for forced labor, I should be rewarded, who have pardoned so great a wrong.
With the water that flows from my eyes, I send greetings, more than a hundred, that I transmit to the most fair and noble one. Often do I remember what she would do on parting -- how she would cover her face, so that she would be saying neither yes nor no.
Garsio, now go and sing my song, and bring it to my Messenger, who was there, and to whom I demand what counsel he [she] would give.)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Amics Bernart de Ventadorn
Amics Bernartz de Ventadorn,
com vos podetz de chant sofrir,
can aissi auzetz esbaudir
lo rossinholet noih e jorn?
Auyatz lo joi que demena!
Tota noih chanta sotz la flor,
melhs s'enten que vos en amor.
Peire, lo dormir e.l sojorn
am mais que.l rossinhol auvir;
ni ja tan no.m sabriatz dir
que mais en la folia torn.
Deu lau, fors sui de chadena,
e vos e tuih l'autr' amador
etz remazut en la folor.
Bernartz, greu er pros ni cortes
que ab amor no.s sap tener;
ni j tan no.us fara doler
que mai no valha c'autre bes,
car, si fai mal, pois abena.
Greu a om gran be ses dolor;
mas ades vens lo jois lo plor.
Peire, si fos dos ans o tres
lo segles faihz al meu plazer,
de domnas vos dic eu lo ver:
non foran mais preyadas ges,
ans sostengran tan greu pena
qu'elas nos feiran tan d'onor
c'ans nos prejaran que nos lor.
Bernatz, so non es d'avinen
que domnas preyon; ans cove
c'om las prec e lor clam merce;
et es plus fols, mon escien,
que cel qui semn' en l'arena,
qui las blasma ni lor valor;
e mou de mal ensenhador.
Peire, mout ai lo cor dolen,
can d'una faussa me sove,
que m'a mort, e no sai per que,
mas car l'amava finamen.
Faih ai lonja carantena,
e sai, si la fezes lonhorn,
ades la trobara pejor.
Bernartz, foudatz vos amena,
car aissi vos partetz d'amor,
per cui a om pretz e valor.
Peire, qui ama, desena,
car las trichairitz entre lor
an tout joi e pretz e valor.
(- Friend Bernard de Ventadorn, how can you refrain from singing when thus you hear the nightingale rejoicing day and night? Listen to the joy he manifests. Every night he sings under the flowers; he is wiser in the ways of love than you.
- Pierre, I prefer sleep and rest to the nightingale's voice. And you can speak this way to me for a long time before I relapse into folly. God be praised, I am free of the chains, while you and the other lovers remain in folly.
- Bernard, it is difficult to be courtly and successful for him who does not persevere in love. Neither can love cause us such sorrow that it is not worth more than any other good. For if it hurts, later it consoles. It's hard to have a great boon without suffering; but joy conquers tears.
- Pierre, if for two or three years the world were made as I would like, the ladies (I tell you the truth) would no longer be pursued. Instead they would undergo such extreme pain that they would do us the honor of bring suit, rather than us to them.
- Bernard, it is not seeming for women to court, it is rather the man who pursues and asks for mercy. Madder than he who sows in the sand, in my opinion, is he who denigrates their virtue, and such a man is badly educated.
- Pierre, my heart is very sad when I remember that false one who killed me, I know not why, unless it was because I loved her truly. I have long been in quarantine, and if I prolonged it, I would find her worse still.
- Bernard, folly has gained you, for you leave off love, through which one gains worth and valor.
- Pierre, he who loves is mad, for the traitresses among them have undone joy and worth and valor.)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Per mels cobrir lo mal pes (Anne)
Per melhs cobrir lo mal pes e.l cossire
chan e deport et ai joi e solatz;
e fatz esfortz car sai chantar ni rire,
car eu me mor e nul semblan no.n fatz;
e per Amor sui si apoderatz,
tot m'a vencut a forsa e batalha.
Anc Deus no fetz trebalhas ni martire,
ses mal d'amor, qu'eu no sofris en patz;
mas d'aquel sui, si be.m peza, sofrire,
c'Amors mi fai amar lai on li platz;
e dic vos be que s'eu no sui amatz,
ges no reman en lai mia nualha.
Midons sui om et amics e servire,
e no.lh en quer mais autras amistatz
mas c'a celat los seus bels olhs me vire,
que gran be.m fan ades can sui iratz;
e ren lor en laus e merces e gratz,
qu'el mon non ai amic que tan me valha.
Dins en mo cor me corrotz e.m azire,
car eu sec tan las mias volontatz.
Mas negus om no deu aital re dire,
c'om no sap ges com s'es aventuratz.
Que farai doncs dels bels semblans privatz?
Falhirai lor? Mais volh que.l mons me falha!
Corona, man salutz e amistaz,
e prec midons que m'ayut e me valha.
(To better hide the dark thoughts and the pain, I sing and play around, I have pleasure and solace; I make an effort, because I know how to sing and laugh. Still, I am dying, but show no sign of it, and by Love am so overcome, for Love has conquered me by force and battle.
Never has God created martyrdom and travail that I could not undergo peacefully, except for lovesickness. Still, although it weighs on me, I suffer it, for Love makes me love where he pleases. And I say to you that if I am not loved, it is not the fault of my passivity.
I am the servant and friend and vassal of my lady, and I do not ask from her any other favor but this: secretly, to turn her fair eyes to me, for when I am distraught they do me much good. In my heart I blame and accuse myself for following so my desires. Noone should say such things, because we never know what our destiny will be. What shall I do, then, with her beautiful, secret glances? Shall I fail them? Better that the world itself fail me.
Corona, I send greetings and love, and I pray my lady that she aid and assist me.)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Pos de chantar
Pos de chantar m'es pres talentz,
Farai un vers don sui dolenz:
Mais non serai obedienz,
En Peitau ni en Lemozi. Translation:
As the desire to sing takes hold of me,
I will make a song about my sorrow;
I will no longer be a servant of love
In Poitou nor in Limousin.
Qu'era m'en irai en eisil:
En gran paor, en grand peril,
En guerra laissarai mon fil,
E faran li mal siei vezi.
For now I will go into exile:
In great fear, in great peril,
In war, I will leave my son
And his people will harm him.
Lo departirs m'es aitan grieus
Del senhoratge de Peitieus!
En garda lais Folcon d'Angieus
Tota la terra e son cozi.
The departure from the realm
Of Poitiers is so difficult for me!
I leave Foucon of Angers in charge
Of all the land and of his cousin.
Si Folcos d'Angieus no.l socor,
E.l reis de cui ieu tenc m'onor,
Faran li mal tuit li pluzor,
Felon Gascon et Angevi.
If Foucon of Angers does not help him
And the king from whom I hold my realm,
Many people will bring him harm,
Treacherous Gascons and Angevins.
Si ben non es savis ni pros,
Cant ieu serai partiz de vos,
Vias l'auran tornat en jos,
Car lo veiran jov' e mesqui.
If he is neither wise nor mighty
When I will have left you,
They will soon overthrow him
For they will see him young and weak.
Merce quier a mon compaignon
S'anc li fi tort qu'il m'o perdon;
Et ieu prec en Jesu del tron
Et en romans et en lati.
I seek mercy on my companion
If I have ever wronged him, may he pardon me,
And I pray to Jesus on the throne,
In French and in Latin.
De proeza e de joi fui,
Mais ara partem ambedui,
Et eu irai m'en a scellui
On tut peccador troban fi.
I have might and joy,
But now we all part,
And I go to the One
With whom all sinners find peace.
Mout ai estat cuendes e gais,
Mas Nostre Seigner no.l vol mais;
Ar non puesc plus soffrir lo fais,
Tant soi aprochatz de la fi.
I have been most jovial and joyful,
But our Lord wants that no more;
Now I can suffer this burden no longer
Since the end draws so near.
Tot ai guerpit quant amar sueill,
Cavalaria et orgueill;
E pos Dieu platz, tot o acueill,
E prec li que.m reteng' am si.
I have left behind all that I once loved
Chivalry and pride;
And since it pleases God, I accept all that
And pray Him to retain me in His presence.
Toz mos amics prec a la mort
Que vengan tut e m onren fort,
Qu'eu ai avut joi e deport
Loing e pres et e mon aizi.
I pray all my friends, at my death
That they all come and give me great honor,
For I have known joy and pleasure
Far and near and in my realm.
Aissi guerpisc joi e deport
E vair e gris e sembeli.
Thus I renounce joy and pleasure
The brown, grey, and sable furs.
poem by Duke of Aquintane Guilluame IX
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Quan l'herba fresqu'el.h folha
Can l'erba fresch'e.lh folha par
e la flors boton'el verjan
e.l rossinhols autet e clar
leva sa vots e mou so chan,
joi ai de lui, e joi ai de la flor
e joi de me e de midons major;
daus totas partz sui de joi claus e sens,
mas sel es jois que totz autres jois vens.
Tan am midons e la tenh car,
e tan la dopt' e la reblan
c'anc de me no.lh auzi parlar,
ni re no.lh quer ni re no.lh man.
Pero elh sap mo mal e ma dolor,
e can li plai, mi fai be e onor,
e can li plai, eu m'en sofert ab mens,
per so c'a leis no.n avenha blastens.
S'eu saubés la gen enchantar,
mei enemic foran efan,
que ja us no saubra triar
ni dir re que.ns tornes a dan.
Adoncs sai eu que vira la gensor
e sos bels olhs e sa frescha color,
e baizera.lh la bocha en totz sens,
si que d'un mes i paregra lo sens.
Be la volgra sola trobar,
que dormis, o.n fezés semblan,
per qu'e.lh emblès un doutz baizar,
pus no valh tan qu'eu lo.lh deman.
Per Deu, domna, pauc esplecham d'amor;
vai s'en lo tems, e perdem lo melhor!
Parlar degram ab cubertz entresens,
e, pus no.ns val arditz, valgués nos gens!
Ai las! com mor de cossirar!
que manhtas vetz en cossir tan:
lairó m'en poirian portar
que re no sabria que.s fan.
Per Deu, Amors! be.m tròbas vensedor:
ab pauc d'amics e ses autre senhor.
Car una vetz tan midons no destrens
abans qu'eu fos del dezirer estens?
Messatger, vai, e no m'en prezes mens,
s'eu del anar vas midons sui temens.
(When the new vegetation and the leaves appear, when the flowers bloom on the branch, and when the nightingale clear and loud raises its voice and begins to sing, I rejoice in the nightingale, and in the flowers, and in myself, and most of all in my lady. I am surrounded by joy on all sides, but she is the joy from which all other joys come.
So much do I love my lady, and hold her dear, and so much do I fear and honor her, that I dare not talk to her of myself. I ask her nothing and I send her nothing. But still she knows of my pain and sorrow, and when it pleases her she bestows on me grace and honor, and when it pleases her I submit to even less so that no blame may come to her.
If I knew how to cast spells on people, my enemies would become babes, so that none of them could discover anything that could be turned against us. I know now that I will see my lady, and her fair eyes and fresh color, and I will kiss her on the mouth every which way, so that for a month the marks will be visible.
I would like to find her alone, sleeping, or pretending to sleep, so that I could steal a sweet kiss from her, since I am not worth so much that I could ask it of her. By God, lady, little do we profit from our love; time passes, and we are losing the best moments. We should speak in a coded language, and since audacity is worth little, may ingenuity be the thing.
Alas! I die from desire. For often, I am so full of yearning that theives could carry me off, and I wouldn't even realize what was happening. By God, Love! you find me Defeated (vensedor=Ventadorn), with few friends and without another master. Why don't you, once, ensnare my lady, before I am consumed with passion?)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Bel m'es can eu vei la brolha
Bel m'es can eu vei la bròlha
reverdir per mei lo brolh
e.lh ram son cubert de folha
e.l rossinhols sotz de folh
chanta d'amor, don me dolh;
e platz me qued eu m'en dolha,
ab sol qued amar me volha
cela qu'eu desir e volh.
Eu la volh can plus s'orgolha
vas me, mas oncas orgolh
n'ac va lei. Per so m'acolha
ma domna, pois tan l'acolh
c'a tota autras me tolh
per lei, cui Deus no me tolha.
Ans li do cor qu'en grat colha
so que totz jorns s'amor colh.
S'amor colh, qui m'empreizona,
per lei que mala preizo
me fai, c'ades m'ochaizona
d'aisso don ai ochaizo.
Tort n'a, mas eu lo.lh perdo,
e mos cors li reperdona,
car tan la sai bel'e bona
que tuih li mal m'en son bo.
Bo son tuih li mal que.m dona;
mas per Deu li quer un do:
que ma bocha, que jeona,
d'un douz baizar dejeo.
Mas trop quer gran guizerdo
celei que tan guizardona;
e can eu l'en arazona,
ilh me chamja ma razo.
Ma razo chamja e vira;
mas eu ges de lei no.m vir
mo fi cor, que la dezira
aitan que tuih mei dezir
son de lei per cui sospir.
E car ela no sospira,
sai qu'en lei ma mortz se mira,
can sa gran beutat remir.
Ma mort remir, que jauzir
no.n posc ni no.n sui jauzire;
mas eu sui tan bos sofrire
c'atendre cuit per sofrir.
(It pleases me to see the trees turning green in the middle of the forest, when the branches are covered with leaves and the nightingale under the leaves sings of love, that from which I suffer. And it pleases me to suffer from love, if only she whom I desire wants to love me.
I want her, though she is haughty towards me, but I have never been haughty towards her. May thus my lady welcome me, since I welcome her so well that I abandon all the others for her, provided that God does not abandon me. May it inspire in her rather the desire to acknowledge the fact that I acknowledge each day her love in me.
I acknowledge her love that imprisons me, for her who casts me into a bad prison. Now she reproaches me things for which I bear her reproach.Wrong she is, but I pardon her, and my heart pardons her, for I know the season to be fair and good, and that all wrongs to me are good.
Good are all the wrongs she does me, but I ask God one gift: that my mouth, which is fasting, receive from her a sweet kiss as break-fast. I demand too great a reward of she who rewards so generously; and when I reason to her, she changes my reasons.
My reason changes and shifts, but I hardly change at all my faithful heart, which desires her so much that all my desires are for her for whom I sigh. And since she does not sigh [for me], I know that in her my death is contemplated, when I contemplate her great beauty.
I contemplate my death, since I cannot pleasure in her and am not pleasured. But I am such a good patient that I can await in patience.)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Lo gens temps de pascor
Lo gens temps de pascor
ab la frescha verdor
nos adui folh'e flor
de diversa color,
per que tuih amador
son gai e chantador
mas eu, que planh e plor
c'us jois no m'a sabor
a totz me clam, senhor
de midons e d'Amor,
c'aicist dui traïdor,
car me fiav' en lor
me fan viur'a dolor
per ben e per onor
c'ai faih a la gensor,
que no.m val ni.m acor.
Pois fom amdui efan
l'am ades e la blan;
e.s vai m'amors doblan
a chascu jorn del an.
E si no.m fai enan
amor e bel semblan,
cant er velha,.m deman
que l'aya bo talan.
Las! e viure que.m val,
s'eu no vei a jornal
mo fi joi natural
en leih, sotz fenestral,
cors blanc tot atretal
com la neus a nadal,
si c'amdui comunal
mesuram s'em egal?
Be fór'oimais sazos,
bela domna e pros,
que. m fos datz a rescos
en baizan guizardos,
si ja per als no fos,
mas car sui enveyos,
c'us bes val d'autres dos,
can per fors'es faihz dos.
Bel Vezer, si no fos
mos enans totz en vos
laissat agra chansos
per mal dels enoyos.
(The fair season of Easter, with new green, brings us leaves and flowers of various colors, so that all lovers are gay, and sing, except for me, weeping and lamenting, for I taste of no joy. I make my case to you all, gentlefolk, against my lady and Love; for these two traitors, in whom I had trusted, make me live in sorrow, for all the good and honor I have done for the fair one, who neither values nor succors me.
Since the time when we were both children I love and court her. And my love doubles evey day of the year. And if we don't make love now and aren't friendly, she can just try asking later on, when we are old, if I feel like it.
Alas! What is life worth to me, if I cannot see every day my true, natural joy in bed, under the window, her body all white like the Christmas snow, so that in common we can take measure to see if we are equal?
It's the season henceforth, fair and precious lady, that in secret you give me a kiss as recompense, for no other reason than that I desire it. For such a kiss is worth two of the other kind, those that are given by constraint.
Fair-to-See, if my welfare were not entirely dependent on you, I would have left off singing because of the meanness of the bluestockings.
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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Lancan vei per mei la landa
Lancan vei per mei la landa
dels arbres chazer la fòlha,
ans que.lh frejura s'espanda
ni.l gens termini s'esconda,
m'es bel que si' auzitz mos chans,
qu'estat n' aurai mais de dos ans,
e cové que.n fass' esmenda.
Mout m'es greu que ja reblanda
celeis que vas me s'orgòlha
car si mos cors re.lh demanda,
no.lh platz que mot m'i responda.
Be m'auci mos nescis talans,
car sec d' amor los bels semblans
e no ve c' amors lh' atenda.
Deus, que tot lo mon garanda,
li met' en cor que m'acòlha,
c' a me no te pro vianda
ni negus bes no.m aonda.
Tan sui vas la bela doptans,
per qu' e.m ren a leis merceyans:
si.lh platz, que.m don o que.m venda!
Mal o fara, si no.m manda
venir lai on se despòlha,
qu'eu sia per sa comanda
pres del leih, josta l'esponda,
e.lh traya.ls sotlars be chaussans,
a genolhs e umilians,
si.lh platz que sos pes me tenda.
Faihz es lo vers tot a randa,
si que motz no.i deschapdòlha,
outra la terra normanda,
part la fera mar prionda;
e si.m sui de midons lonhans,
vas se.m tira com azimans
la bela cui Deus defenda.
Si.l reis engles e.l ducs normans
o vol, eu la veira abans
que l'iverns nos sobreprenda.
(parlé)Pel rei sui engles e normans,
e si no fos Mos Azimans,
restera tro part calenda.
(When I see the leaves of the trees fall off in the middle of the fields, before the cold spreads and the good season disappears, it seems good to me that my song be heard, for I have not done so in over two years, and I should atone for that.
It is painful for me to serve still the one who is so haughty towards me, for if my heart demands something of her she doesn't wish to speak even a word. My foolish desire kills me, because it pursues the fair appearance of love, and does not see that love awaits.
May God, who guards the universe, place in her heart a welcome for me, for no food is of benefit to me, and no bounty consoles me. I am so uncertain concerning the fair one that I deliver myself, pleading for mercy, to her. So if she wishes, she can give me away, or sell me.
She would do a wrong if she did not invite me to come to the place where she undresses, so that I may be at her command, next to her, at the edge of the bed, and I would take off her graceful slippers, on my knees and humble, if it pleased her to extend to me her feet.
This poem is perfectly made, without a single badly-made word, beyond the land of Normandy, beyound the wild and deep sea. And although I am far from my lady, I am drawn to her like a magnet, she whom God may protect.
If the English king and the Norman duke wish it, I shall see her before the winter takes us by surprise. By grace of the king I am English, and Norman, and if it were not for My Magnet, I would remain here until after Christmas.)
poem by Bernard de Ventadorn
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What I advise you to do is, not to be unhappy before the crisis comes…some things torment us more than they ought; some torment us before they ought; and some torment us when they ought not to torment us at all. We are in the habit of exaggerating, or imagining, or anticipating, sorrow.
14 Juin 1915
On ne peut rien dire
Rien de ce qui se passe
Mais on change de Secteur
Ah ! voyageur égaré
Pas de lettres
Mais l'espoir
Mais un journal
Le glaive antique de la Marseillaise de Rude
S'est changé en constellation
Il combat pour nous au ciel
Mais cela signifie surtout
Qu'il faut être de ce temps
Pas de glaive antique
Pas de Glaive
Mais l'Espoir
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Sem Limites Pra Sonhar
Producer for bonnie : ?
Recorded in 1986 and only released in brazil. lyrics taken, with kind permission, from the official bonnie tyler web site.
Ha uma chance da gente se encontrar
Ha uma ponte pra nos dois em algum lugar
Quando homem e mulher
Se tocam num olhar
Nao ha forca que os separe
Ha uma porta que um de nos vai ter que abrir
Ha um beijo que ninguem vai impedir
Quando homem e mulher
Se deixam levar
E facil viver mais
Ha uma estacao
Onde o trem tem que parar
To na contramao
Te esperando pra voltar
Pra poder seguir
Sem limites pra sonhar
Pois e so assim
Que se pode inventar o amor
There's a story which is waiting for the heart to write
I'm going crazy here, just wanting you to close up the night
When the love in a woman
Finds the love in a man
There's nothing too precious to hold it
The door is open for the first time when your heart returns
In the silence of a kiss we will burn
When the heat in a woman
Finds the heat in a man
The flame burns forever
There'll come a time, my love, when the searching has to end
I'm on the wrong-way street, i need more than just a friend
And i'm standing here, just trying to touch the stars
Nothing else to lose when you're reaching for the infinite heart
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Loved a Lass
I loved a lass, a fair one,
As fair as e’er was seen;
She was indeed a rare one,
Another Sheba Queen:
But, fool as then I was,
I thought she loved me too:
But now, alas! she’s left me,
Falero, lero, loo!
Her hair like gold did glister,
Each eye was like a star,
She did surpass her sister,
Which pass’d all others far;
She would me ‘honey’ call,
She’d—O she’d kiss me too!
But now, alas! she’s left me,
Falero, lero, loo!
In summer time to Medley
My love and I would go;
The boatmen there stood read’ly
My love and me to row.
For cream there would we call,
For cakes and for prunes too;
But now, alas! she’s left me,
Falero, lero, loo!
Her cheeks were like the cherry,
Her skin was white as snow;
When she was blithe and merry
She angel-like did show;
Her waist exceeding small,
The fives did fit her shoe:
But now, alas! she’s left me,
Falero, lero, loo!
In summer time or winter
She had her heart’s desire;
I still did scorn to stint her
From sugar, sack, or fire;
The world went round about,
No cares we ever knew:
But now, alas! she’s left me,
Falero, lero, loo!
To maidens’ vows and swearing
Henceforth no credit give;
You may give them the hearing,
But never them believe;
They are as false as fair,
Unconstant, frail, untrue:
For mine, alas! hath left me,
Falero, lero, loo!
poem by George Wither
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Words of Mine
My words are full of love for you
Never did I ever desire to hurt you with my words
No meaning my words hold, if they ended up hurting you
Only have desired to love you
It has only been you, whom I have loved so much
Sadly, words of mine are truly painful
Since, sorrow is a lot.
How can I tell you that my feelings are truthful for you?
Wish, I just wish that you knew the real meaning of my deep love for you
Every word of mine may appear false to you
However, how can my heart be false for you?
Heart of mine has always been crazy for you
Never did pray for anything else, but you
It is you whom I forever want to wake up in the morning with
My arms will hold you tightly, so that you can be mine
In love and with love, through my words, which desire to touch your soul
Why do you think that I hate you?
Trust me, I love you
Words of mine are full of love
Only love for you.
poem by Rohit Sapra
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The First Poem
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
The words I love you
written by this beauty's tongue
turned a heart rosy red from a somber blue
and made me burn for my heart was wrung.
The first poem I ever read
is the first poem I ever said.
On her poetic lips love words refined
and shaped a sonnet on her flesh defined
On those lips I read a poet's song
And knew it was there my lips belonged.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I love you, I love you
What does it mean?
These words said, to start anew
something pure and something serene.
The first words I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
Those first words she whispered into my ear
And in my heart, her poem stood near
Those are the most beautiful words one ever said
I love you, I love you, will live till its dead.
The first poem I ever read
is the first words I ever said.
I read her lips, I love you, I love you..
now to sleep I go in love's sweet bed.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Toda Pra Voe
Sempre assim, s ns dois, sem deixar pr depois
Esse amor, nunca igual
Cada vez, mais coisa e tal
O tempo nao perdoa e a noite vai
E nunca demais
Isso tao pr mim
Assim eu fico em paz
E que mias eu vou querer
Sou toda pra voc
Sempre assim, sem pensar
Outra vez, me entregar
Respirar, teu calor
Flutuar no teu amor
Teu corpo me estremece de prazar
Faz o mundo desabar
Me faz enlouquecer
Nao d mais eu vou querer
Sou toda pra voc
Quero te amar, pr sempre ser feliz
Sente o coraao que sepre te diz
Nao d mais pr coltar atrs, nunca mais
Sempre assim, sem pensar
Outra vez, me entregar
Respirar, teu calor
Flutuar no tue amor
Teu corpo me estremece de prazar
Faz o mundo desabar
Me faz enlouquecer
Nao d mais pr controlar
O jogo pr valer
E que mais eu vou querer
Sou toda pra voc
Oh, nao nao
Sou toda pra voc, minha vida
Nao nao
Sou toda pra voc, minha vida
Sou toda pra voc
song performed by by Gloria Estefan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Did Anyone Know The Messenger?
What in the world,
Are they doing over there?
'Well...
It's a complicated story.
You see..
The culprit giving mouth to mouth,
Resuscitation to the messenger...
Knocked him out,
Because of a message read.
And...
Before he even began to read,
The people determined...
They didn't particularly care for his attitude.'
What did his attitude have to do,
With a message delivery?
'That's the point the messenger,
Attempted to make.
Then that guy called the messenger,
A bunch of names.
Then knocked him out.'
What was the message?
'Well..
I had to read it,
Because the others refused to get involved.'
What did the message say?
'It said...
Keep your faith, stay strong.
Love one another.
Seek and attempt peace.
And please forgive the messenger,
Delivering this message.
He has been volunteering his time,
Without any pay at all.'
Did anyone know the messenger?
'They all did!
That's what's complicated.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Fool
You don't know me but I know who you are
Mind if I sit down
Do I look familiar if I don't well I should
I'm sure you've seen me around
I know you've probably heard my name
Though we've not been introduced
I'm the fool in love with the fool
Who's still in love with you
If you've got a minute I'll buy you a drink
I've got something to say
It might sound crazy but last night in his sleep
I heard him call out your name
This ain't the first time he's done it before
And it's hard to face the truth
I'm the fool in love with the fool
Who's still in love with you
I know love is a fragile thing
And I'm trying hard to make it last
But it ain't easy holding on to my dream
When he's holding on to the past
Just one more thing before I go
I'm not here to put you down
You don't love him and that's a fact
Girl I've seen you around
But you hold his heart in the palm of your hand
And it's breaking mine in two
'Cause I'm the fool in love with the fool
Who's still in love with you
I'm the fool in love with the fool
Who's still in love with you
song performed by by Lee Ann Womack from Lee Ann Womack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Read And Read Again
TO READ AND READ AGAIN
To read and to read again
And to be left empty
By the abundance of words
Whose meanings multiplication
Erases all sense
Of their coherence
And our understanding.
To read and read again
As if in this pretence of learning
Salvation will come
To read and read again
And be forever dumb.
.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Who Walked With Sorrow
There was a man who walked with Sorrow
As though Sorrow were his love,
And he seemed to court her gently;
He was very well-behaved.
So, Sorrow came to live with him
In the twilight of his youth;
In the evenings she would hold him
Till he could not breathe.
'Sorrow, Sorrow, ' said he,
'This love is worth than life.'
Then he turned on the TV,
And surfed the violet wave.
poem by Will Barber
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