silver

One of my favourite poems. It seems to be so unknown :(

http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poems/david

I read twelve of Marie de France's lays yesterday. I read the version by Burgess and Busby (published by Penguin, 1999), who translate them into (modern ¹) English prose. If you're not familiar, they're lays attributed to a twelfth-century author, who lived in England (hence the appellation of "from France"). She is quite upfront about where she has gotten these stories; I think all of them I read had an introductory few lines saying they were Breton lays, and that they were true stories at the end.

I think they are the most courtly things I've ever read. Many of them are quite short--even translated into prose, they are are two small pages. Others are longer, but they are full of knights and ladies (generally unnamed), usually suffering one way or another because of love. The first one was about a man, who, stag-hunting one day, kills the hind and it curses him (in words) to never be cured until he is loved by someone who suffers terribly for love (and he has to suffer too.) He gets on a boat that is sitting inexplicably in his harbour, and it spirits him away to a woman whose husband, being jealous, has locked her in an island keep. They are of course discovered, but before they are separated they tie complex knots into each other--the woman has a belt tied, and the man has his shirt-tails knotted. It's very Cinderella at the end; they eventually identify each other because the knots cannot be untied by anyone else.

Then there are ones like the one where the king falls in love with his seneschal's wife, and they plot to kill the seneschal by preparing two baths, one with warm water and the other with scalding. Well, they set them out in the chamber while the seneschal went out, and of course he returned while they were in bed. The king leaps out of bed hastily to conceal his purpose and lands most in the scalding one, where he dies. (Then so does the seneschal's wife.)

Lots of love, adultery, jealousies, and surprisingly lots of happily-ever-afters. There's just a lot of variety--sometimes they persevere and have a happy ending, sometimes they die horribly/tragically, and others just...culminate in revenge attained. There was also the story of the couple who sent each other messages in a swan for twenty years (the woman was married). I am not sure but I think it was just the one swan. I had to Wikipedia this but apparently swans can and do live up to twenty! Other things which appeared: werewolf husbands, men shapeshifting into hawks, and jealousy leading to killing nightingales. OK, so I exaggerate, there's only one of each. But the werewolf one took me aback.

Something I've begun to associate with medieval writing is the bald assertion, when setting up characterization, that the protagonist of this story is a worthy, humble, generous, good, athletic and skilled. I'm not retaining the words very well, but you get the gist. I like it. It gets some description out and you are free to just drop it and follow the action and see how your idea of "good" lines up with the writer's.

My edition has a few of the original Old French (in verse) in the back. My modern French is decent enough, especially in reading, but Old French has definitely changed enough that you catch some, miss most. Sounding out helps. It was interesting though, because you can see that her lines are very short, and she speaks very directly. Reading the looooong introductions and seeing the poems for yourself are two different things. And speaking of long introductions, the introduction should be short and give as little information as is possible. If there are notes on translation and context and everything it should go in the back. I waded almost fifteen pages through an excruciatingly detailed introduction on each different lay before I gave up and just went for the actual lays.

¹ It's always interesting to read translations through epubs from Project Gutenberg--you're reading two separate layers of historical writing. The first is whenever the original was written, and the second is the undeniably early-20th-century prose.

I hate applications.

I'm still in love with this poem. (I keep forgetting the name, so I'm putting it here.) Dover Beach: Matthew Arnold
( Under the cut )

I feel like I've stepped in a timewarp or something.

( TMI! )

And in my mind all day was the poem (the last lines have a tendency to stick):

THE WATCH
Frances Cornford (1886-1960)

I wakened on my hot, hard bed,
Upon the pillow lay my head;
Beneath the pillow I could hear
My little watch was ticking clear.
I thought the throbbing of it went
Like my continual discontent;
I thought it said in every tick:
I am so sick, so sick, so sick;
O death, come quick, come quick, come quick,
Come quick, come quick, come quick, come quick.