Arnaut Daniel ; fl. 1180–1200) was an Occitan troubadour of the 12th century, praised by Dante as a "the best smith" (miglior fabbro) and called a "grand master of love" (gran maestro d'amore) by Petrarch. In the 20th century he was lauded as the greatest poet to have ever lived by Ezra Pound in the The Spirit of Romance (1910). According to one biography, Daniel was born of a noble family at the castle of Ribérac in Périgord; however, the scant contemporary sources point to him being a jester with pernicious economic troubles. Raimon de Durfort calls him "a student, ruined by dice and shut-the-box". He was the inventor of the sestina, a song of six stanzas of six lines each, with the same end words repeated in every stanza, though arranged in a different and intricate order. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow claims he was also the author of the metrical romance of Lancillotto, or Launcelot of the Lake, but this claim is completely unsubstantiated; Dante's reference to Daniel as the author of prose di romanzi ("proses of romance") remains, therefore, a mystery. ; In Dante's The DivineComedy, Arnaut Daniel appears as a character doing penance in Purgatory for lust. He responds in Old Occitan to the narrator's question about who he is:
«Tan m'abellis vostre cortes deman,
qu'ieu no me puesc ni voill a vos cobrire.
Ieu sui Arnaut, que plor e vau cantan;
consiros vei la passada folor,
e vei jausen lo joi qu'esper, denan.
Ara vos prec, per aquella valor
que vos guida al som de l'escalina,
sovenha vos a temps de ma dolor»
(Purg., XXVI, 140-147)
Translation:
"Your courteous question pleases me so, that I cannot and will not hide from you.
I am Arnaut, who weeping and singing go; Contrite I see the folly of the past. And, joyous, I foresee the joy I hope for one day. Therefore do I implore you, by that power, which guides you to the summit of the stairs, Remember my suffering, in the right time."
In homage to these lines which Dante gave to Daniel, the European edition of T. S. Eliot's second volume of poetry was titled Ara Vos Prec. In addition, Eliot's poem The Waste Land opens and closes with references to Dante and Daniel. The Waste Land is dedicated to Pound as "il miglior fabbro" which is what Dante had called Daniel. The poem also contains a reference to Canto XXVI in its line "Poi s'ascose nel foco che gli affina" ("Then hid him in the fire that purifies them") which appears in Eliot's closing section of The Waste Land as it does to end Dante's canto.
Arnaut's 4th canto contains the lines that Pound claimed were "the three lines by which Daniel is most commonly known" (The Spirit of Romance, p. 36):
"leu sui Arnaut qu'amas l'aura
E chatz le lebre ab lo bou
E nadi contra suberna"
Translation:
"I am Arnaut who gathers up the wind, And chases the hare with the ox, And swims against the torrent."
There are sixteen extant lyrics of Arnaut Daniel; there is music for at least one of them, but it was composed at least a century after the poet's death by an anonymous author. No original melody has survived.
29,? Ab gai so cundet e leri (En cest sonet coind'e lèri) ?
So far as I understand no music is surviving for this song, so don't know how Gerard Zuchetto comes to the melody etc.Gerard Zuchetto ; Troubadours XII et XIII siecle; volume 1 track 3
| Ab gai so cundet e leri fas motz e capus e doli, que seran verai e sert quan n'aurai passat la lima, qu'Amor marves plan e daura mon chantar que de lieis mueu cui Pretz manten e governa. Tot jorn melhur e esmeri quar la gensor am e coli del mon, so'us dic en apert: sieu so del pe tro qu'al cima e si tot venta'ill freg'aura, l'amor qu'ins el cor mi pleu mi ten caut on plus iverna. Mil messas n'aug en proferi e'n art lum de cer'e d'oli que Dieu m'en don bon acert de lieis on no'm val escrima; e quan remir sa crin saura e'l cors qu'a graile e nueu mais l'am que qui'm des Luzerna. Tan l'am de cor e la queri qu'ab trop voler cug l'am toli, s'om ren per trop amar pert, que'l sieu cors sobretrasima lo mieu tot e non s'aisaura: tan n'a de ver fag renueu q'obrador n'ai'e taverna. No vuelh de Roma l'emperi ni qu'om m'en fassa postoli qu'en lieis non aia revert per cui m'art lo cors e'm rima; e si'l maltrait no'm restaura ab un baizar anz d'annueu, mi auci e si enferna. Ges pel maltrag que'n soferi de ben amar no'm destoli; si tot mi ten en dezert per lieis fas lo son e'l rima: piegz tratz, aman, qu'om que laura, qu'anc non amet plus d'un hueu sel de Moncli Audierna. Ieu sui Arnautz qu'amas l'aura e cas la lebre ab lo bueu | On a nice, gleeful and happy melody I write, and polish and plane words that will be true and certain when I have filed them smooth, since Love soon levigates and gilds my song, which moves from her upon whom Worth wakes and rules. Every day I improve and polish, because I love and crave for the kindest one in the world: here I tell you openly I'm hers from head to heel, and even if the cold wind blows, the love that rains in my heart keeps me the warmer the colder it is. I attend and offer a thousand masses, and burn candles of wax and of tallow for God to gift me with success with her with whom fencing is useless; and when I see her blond hair, her body lean and fresh, I love her more than [I would] one who'd give me Luzerne. So much I love her and want her in my heart that I fear to lose her out of excessive desire, (if one can lose something out of excessive love) because her heart overcomes mine and doesn't part from it: so, indeed, she holds me like the inn holds the worker. I don't want the throne of Rome nor to be made Pope if I can't find refuge near her for whom my heart burns and flares; and if she doesn't correct the wrong with a kiss within a year, she kills me and damns herself. In spite of the pain I endure, I don't sway from loving well; even if she deserts me, I write melody and rhyme for her: I suffer more loving than one who labours because, compared to me, the one from Moncli didn't love Audierna more than an egg. I am Arnaut who hoard the air and hunt the hare with the ox and swim against the flow. |
29,6 Canso do'ill mot son plan e primer
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Vol 2; cd 6 track 10 (Gerard Zuchetto) ***
| Canso do'ill mot son plan e prim fas pus era botono'ill vim, e l'aussor sim son de color de maintha flor, e verdeia fuelha, e'ill chan e'ill bralh sono a l'ombralh dels auzels per la bruelha. Pels bruelhs aug lo chan e'l refrim e per qu'om no m'en fassa crim obri e lim motz de valor ab art d'Amor don non ai cor que'm tuelha; ans, si be'm falh, la sec a tralh, on plus vas me s'orguelha. Re no val orguelh d'amador qu'ades trabuca son senhor del luec aussor bas el terralh per tal trebalh que de joi lo despuelha: dreitz es lacrim e ard'e rim se quel d'amor janguelha. Bona dona vas cui azor, ges per erguelh no vau allor, mas per paor del devinalh don jois trassalh fauc semblan que no'us vuelha, qu'anc no'ns jauzim de lur noirim: mal m'es que lor o cuelha. Si ben vauc per tot ab esdalh, mos pessamens lai vos assalh, qu'ieu chan e valh pel joi que'ns fim lai o'ns partim, don soven l'uelh me muelha d'ir e de plor e de dussour, car pro ai d'Amor que'm duelha. Ar ai fam d'amor don badalh e non sec mezura ni talh; sols m'o engualh qu'anc non auzim del temps Caim amador mens acuelha cor trichador ni bauzador; per que mos jois capduelha. Dona qui qu'es destuelha, Arnautz dreg cor lai o'es honor | Songs whose words are sweet and easy I write, now that the willows bud, and the highest peaks wear the colours of many flowers, and the leaf is green, and songs, and cries of birds echo in the shadow of the loom. Through the loom I hear the song and refrain and, so that none can blame me, I work and file smooth, skilled lines with the art of Love, from which I have not such a heart to depart; instead, when it spurns me more, I follow its trail, even if it avoids me. Lover's pride is worth nothing; instead, it throws its lord from the highest place down to the ground with such a torment that it strips any joy from him: it is right that he weeps and flares and burns, who Love does mock. Good lady, whom I adore, it's not out of pride I turn elsewhere, but for fear of the curious ones by whom joy is shaken;I pretend I don't want you, since we never enjoyed their delicacies: I don't like to gather for them. Whersoever I go wandering, my thought assails you, because I sing, and have any worth out of the joy we gave each other where we parted, because of that my eye oftens gets wet out of sadness and longing and of sweetness, since I have enough to complain with Love. Now I'm hungry for love, and sigh and I don't follow measure nor rule; it only rewards me that never was heard, from the time of Cain a lover who less than me hosts a false or deceitful heart; for that my joy's at its highest peak. Lady, no matter who sways, Arnaut runs straight where honour is, since your worth keeps it at its highest peak. |
29,14 Lo ferm voler qu'el cor m'intra
Gerard Zuchetto ; Troubadours XII et XIII siecle; volume 1 track 4 ****
Troubadours Art Ensemble; La Troba Vol 2; cd 6 track 11 Gerard Zuchetto *****
| Lo ferm voler qu'el cor m'intra no'm pot ges becs escoissendre ni ongla de lauzengier qui pert per mal dir s'arma; e pus no l'aus batr'ab ram ni verja, sivals a frau, lai on non aurai oncle, jauzirai joi, en vergier o dins cambra. Quan mi sove de la cambra on a mon dan sai que nulhs om non intra -ans me son tug plus que fraire ni oncle- non ai membre no'm fremisca, neis l'ongla, aissi cum fai l'enfas devant la verja: tal paor ai no'l sia prop de l'arma. Del cor li fos, non de l'arma, e cossentis m'a celat dins sa cambra, que plus mi nafra'l cor que colp de verja qu'ar lo sieus sers lai ont ilh es non intra: de lieis serai aisi cum carn e ongla e non creirai castic d'amic ni d'oncle. Anc la seror de mon oncle non amei plus ni tan, per aquest'arma, qu'aitan vezis cum es lo detz de l'ongla, s'a lieis plagues, volgr'esser de sa cambra: de me pot far l'amors qu'ins el cor m'intra miels a son vol c'om fortz de frevol verja. Pus floric la seca verja ni de n'Adam foron nebot e oncle tan fin'amors cum selha qu'el cor m'intra non cug fos anc en cors no neis en arma: on qu'eu estei, fors en plan o dins cambra, mos cors no's part de lieis tan cum ten l'ongla. Aissi s'empren e s'enongla mos cors en lieis cum l'escors'en la verja, qu'ilh m'es de joi tors e palais e cambra; e non am tan paren, fraire ni oncle, qu'en Paradis n'aura doble joi m'arma, si ja nulhs hom per ben amar lai intra. Arnaut tramet son chantar d'ongl'e d'oncle a Grant Desiei, qui de sa verj'a l'arma, | The firm will that my heart enters can't be scraped by beak nor by nail of slanderer who damns with ill speaking his soul; since I don't dare beat them with bough or rod, at least, secretly, where I won't have any uncle, I'll enjoy pleasure, in the garden or in the room. When I remember the room,where, to my scorn, I know no man enters -instead they are all to me more than brother or uncle- I have no limb that doesn't shake, not even the fingernail,just as a child is before the rod: such is my fear of not being close to her soul. Were I close to her body, not to her soul, were she to let me hide in her room, since it hurts my heart more than strike of rod that her servant isn't there where she enters: I'll be with her what flesh is to nail and I won't follow advice of friend or of uncle. Not even the sister of my uncle did I love more or as much, by this soul, since, as the finger is close to the nail, if she pleases, I want to be to her soul: of me can do the love that my heart enters more with its will than a strong man with a frail rod. Since when flourished the withered rod and from Adam sprung nephew and uncle, a love as good as the one that my heart enters I don't think has ever been in any body or soul: wherever I am, out in the plains or in a room, my heart doesn't part from her more than a nail. So clings and is fixed, like with nail, my heart to her like the bark to the rod, she is to me tower, palace and room; and I don't love as much parent, brother or uncle, and in Paradise will have double joy my soul, if anyone there for good-loving enters. Arnaut sends forth this song of uncle and nail to Great Desire, which of his rod holds the soul, a framework-song which, learned, the room enters. Translation http://www.trobar.org/troubadours/ |
Note by http://www.trobar.org/troubadours/
This is the first sextain in the history of literature. If you aren't familiar with the importance this form has achieved since, you are welcome to read the related information in the prosody guide. Unfortunately, in order to keep the end-words in place, one is forced to use extremely awkward English. I apologise to the readers, and hope they understand.
The music is apocryphal, albeit of troubadouric origin.
No comments:
Post a Comment