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Oft in My Thought by Charles D'Orleans translation by Michael R. Burch So often in my busy mind I sought, Around the advent of the fledgling year, For something pretty that I really ought To give my lady dear; But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear, Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay And robbed the world of all that's precious here? God keep her soul, I can no better say. For me to keep my manner and my thought Acceptable, as suits my age's hour? While proving that I never once forgot Her worth? It tests my power! I serve her now with masses and with prayer; For it would be a shame for me to stray Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near? God keep her soul, I can no better say. Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost and the cost of everything became so dear; Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host, Take my good deeds, as many as there are, And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere, As heaven's truest maid! And may I say: Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer? God keep her soul, I can no better say. When I praise her, or hear her praises raised, I recall how recently she brought me pleasure; Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay And makes me wish to dress for my own bier? God keep her soul, I can no better say. Le Primtemps (“Spring” or “Springtime”) by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch Young lovers, greeting the spring fling themselves downhill, making cobblestones ring with their wild leaps and arcs, like ecstatic sparks drawn from coal. What is their brazen goal? They grab at whatever passes, so we can only hazard guesses. But they rear like prancing steeds raked by brilliant spurs of need, Young lovers. Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains, Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain, Your little feet—please, what more can I say? It is my fetish when you’re far away To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain— Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains. So would I beg you, if I only may, To see such sights as I before have seen, Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene? I’ll be obsessed until my dying day By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains! The original Middle English text: Rondel: The Smiling Mouth The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray The breastes round and long small armes twain, The handes smooth, the sides straight and plain, Your feetes lit —what should I further say? It is my craft when ye are far away To muse thereon in stinting of my pain— (stinting=soothing) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. So would I pray you, if I durst or may, The sight to see as I have seen, For why that craft me is most fain, (For why=because/fain=pleasing) And will be to the hour in which I day—(day=die) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. Confession of a Stolen Kiss by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you, That at a window (you know how) I stole a kiss of great sweetness, Which was done out of avidness— But it is done, not undone, now. My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you. But I shall restore it, doubtless, Again, if it may be that I know how; And thus to God I make a vow, And always I ask forgiveness. My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you. Translator note: By "ghostly father" I take Charles d’Orleans to be confessing to a priest. If so, it's ironic that the kiss was "stolen" at a window and the confession is being made at the window of a confession booth. But it also seems possible that Charles could be confessing to his human father, murdered in his youth and now a ghost. There is wicked humor in the poem, as Charles is apparently vowing to keep asking for forgiveness because he intends to keep stealing kisses at every opportunity! Original Middle English text: 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. My Very Gentle Valentine by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My very gentle Valentine, Alas, for me you were born too soon, As I was born too late for you! May God forgive my jailer Who has kept me from you this entire year. I am sick without your love, my dear, My very gentle Valentine. In My Imagined Book by Charles d’Orleans loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In my imagined Book my heart endeavored to explain its history of grief, and pain, illuminated by the tears that welled to blur those well-loved years of former happiness's gains, in my imagined Book. Alas, where should the reader look beyond these drops of sweat, their stains, all the effort & pain it took & which I recorded night and day in my imagined Book? Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom, Valentine

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Oft In My Thought: Charles D'Orleans Translation

Oft in My Thought by Charles D'Orleans translation by Michael R. Burch So often in my busy mind I sought, Around the advent of the fledgling year, For something pretty that I really ought To give my lady dear; But that sweet thought's been wrested from me, clear, Since death, alas, has sealed her under clay And robbed the world of all that's precious here? God keep her soul, I can no better say. For me to keep my manner and my thought Acceptable, as suits my age's hour? While proving that I never once forgot Her worth? It tests my power! I serve her now with masses and with prayer; For it would be a shame for me to stray Far from my faith, when my time's drawing near? God keep her soul, I can no better say. Now earthly profits fail, since all is lost and the cost of everything became so dear; Therefore, O Lord, who rules the higher host, Take my good deeds, as many as there are, And crown her, Lord, above in your bright sphere, As heaven's truest maid! And may I say: Most good, most fair, most likely to bring cheer? God keep her soul, I can no better say. When I praise her, or hear her praises raised, I recall how recently she brought me pleasure; Then my heart floods like an overflowing bay And makes me wish to dress for my own bier? God keep her soul, I can no better say. Le Primtemps (“Spring” or “Springtime”) by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch Young lovers, greeting the spring fling themselves downhill, making cobblestones ring with their wild leaps and arcs, like ecstatic sparks drawn from coal. What is their brazen goal? They grab at whatever passes, so we can only hazard guesses. But they rear like prancing steeds raked by brilliant spurs of need, Young lovers. Rondel: Your Smiling Mouth by Charles d'Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation/modernization by Michael R. Burch Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains, Your hands so smooth, each finger straight and plain, Your little feet—please, what more can I say? It is my fetish when you’re far away To muse on these and thus to soothe my pain— Your smiling mouth and laughing eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains. So would I beg you, if I only may, To see such sights as I before have seen, Because my fetish pleases me. Obscene? I’ll be obsessed until my dying day By your sweet smiling mouth and eyes, bright gray, Your ample breasts and slender arms’ twin chains! The original Middle English text: Rondel: The Smiling Mouth The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray The breastes round and long small armes twain, The handes smooth, the sides straight and plain, Your feetes lit —what should I further say? It is my craft when ye are far away To muse thereon in stinting of my pain— (stinting=soothing) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. So would I pray you, if I durst or may, The sight to see as I have seen, For why that craft me is most fain, (For why=because/fain=pleasing) And will be to the hour in which I day—(day=die) The smiling mouth and laughing eyen gray, The breastes round and long small armes twain. Confession of a Stolen Kiss by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you, That at a window (you know how) I stole a kiss of great sweetness, Which was done out of avidness— But it is done, not undone, now. My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you. But I shall restore it, doubtless, Again, if it may be that I know how; And thus to God I make a vow, And always I ask forgiveness. My ghostly father, I confess, First to God and then to you. Translator note: By "ghostly father" I take Charles d’Orleans to be confessing to a priest. If so, it's ironic that the kiss was "stolen" at a window and the confession is being made at the window of a confession booth. But it also seems possible that Charles could be confessing to his human father, murdered in his youth and now a ghost. There is wicked humor in the poem, as Charles is apparently vowing to keep asking for forgiveness because he intends to keep stealing kisses at every opportunity! Original Middle English text: 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. My Very Gentle Valentine by Charles d’Orleans (c. 1394-1465) loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch My very gentle Valentine, Alas, for me you were born too soon, As I was born too late for you! May God forgive my jailer Who has kept me from you this entire year. I am sick without your love, my dear, My very gentle Valentine. In My Imagined Book by Charles d’Orleans loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch In my imagined Book my heart endeavored to explain its history of grief, and pain, illuminated by the tears that welled to blur those well-loved years of former happiness's gains, in my imagined Book. Alas, where should the reader look beyond these drops of sweat, their stains, all the effort & pain it took & which I recorded night and day in my imagined Book? Keywords/Tags: France, French, translation, Charles, Orleans, Duke, first Valentine, rondeau, chanson, rondel, roundel, ballade, ballad, lyric, Middle English, Medieval English, rondeaus, rondeaux, rondels, roundels, ballades, ballads, chansons, royal, noble, prisoner, hostage, ransom, Valentine