No More Learning

The lover can't complain

Nor confess to his harm,

Nor speak about his pain,

Nor praise the good, his balm,

If he seeks to change,

And is ever altering:

Many choose to talk

Knowing nothing of what

Brings joy or suffering.

None knows enough of love

To speak without trembling,

Yet I've seen laughter move,

Though not from joy arising,

And many the sighs that prove

No more than clever feigning;

Yet Love is leading me,

Towards the best I see,

Without shame or cheating.

Lady, the truest lovers

And the long-suffering too

And those that most flatter

Their lady and her truth,

Without orders, their ruler,

Through your courtliness

Will do what pleases you

And nothing I do rue,

Nothing but fears repress.

You so weigh on my mind

That when I pray I often

Think you are at hand,

Then your fresh complexion

Your body nobly planned,

So fill my memory

I think of nothing else,

And from this sweet thought well

Goodwill and courtesy.

Bertran de Born (c1140-d. before1215)

Bertran de Born, a minor nobleman from the Limousin, shared with his brother the lordship of Autafort, or Altaforte, French: Hautefort, in the Perigord. One of the major troubadours of the twelfth century, his warlike nature and love of political intrigue, particularly his espousing the divisive cause of Henry, the Young English King, caused Dante to place him in the Inferno, Canto XXVIII, as a stirrer-up of strife. He ended his life as a monk in the abbey of Dalon, where his presence is recorded from 1197 to 1202.

"All this to make 'Una dompna soiseubuda', a borrowed lady,

or as the Italians translated it 'Una donna ideale'"

Ezra Pound
Dompna, puois de mi no? us cal

Lady, since you care not at all

For me, but keep me far from you,

And for no good reason too,

The task it seems immense

Of seeking some other,

Who might bring me new joy ever,

And if I have not the making

Of a lady as much to my liking,

Of the worth of she that's gone,

I shall love no other one.

Since I'll not find your equal,

Lovely as you, made as nobly,

Nor so joyous, sweet in body,

Lovely to every sense,

Nor so happy

Nor, by all repute, so worthy

I'll go seeking everywhere

A feature from each woman fair,

To make a borrowed lady

Till you look again toward me.

Colour fresh and natural

I'll take, fair Cembelins, from you

And your sweet love-glances too!

And risk the impertinence

Of forgoing there

All else in which you lack no share.

Then of Aelis I'll demand

Her adroit and charming tongue

Which must surely aid my suit,

That it be not dull or mute.

On Chalais' Vicomtess I call;

I'd have her give instantly

Her throat and hands to me.
Then take the journey thence,

Without straying,

To Rochechouart speeding

That Agnes her hair might grant me

Since Isolde, Tristan's lady,

Who was praised in every way

Was less fair than she today.

Audiart, though you wish me ill, in all,

I would that you dress her in your fashion,

That she might be well-adorned

And, as you are perfection, hence

Naught shall tear,

Nor love find aught improper.

Of my Lady Better-than-Best, my plea

Is her true fresh noble body

That shows her at first sight

Sweet to see naked if one might.

On the 'Exile', too I call

Wishing her white teeth, also

The welcome and conversation, so

Sweet in her presence

And her dwelling.

My 'Fair-Mirror' in your giving

Is your gaiety and stature

And what your fine manner

Displays, well-known as ever,

Never to change or waver.

My Lady, all I'd wish befall

Is that I might feel love, in truth,

For her as much as I do for you!

That a passionate intense

Love be sired,

One by my body well-desired,

Yet I'd rather of you demand

A kiss than any other woman,

So why does my love refuse me

When she knows I need her truly?

Papiol, straight to my Lover,

Go, for me now, sing to her,

That love's all disregarded, gone

From the heights, fallen headlong.

Be? m platz lo gais temps de pascor

'And so that you may carry news of me, know that I am Bertrand de Born,

he who gave evil counsel to the Young King.

I made the father and the son rebel against each other''

Dante Inferno XXVIII, 134-136
The joyful springtime pleases me

That makes the leaves and flowers appear,

I'm pleased to hear the gaiety

Of birds, those echoes in the ear,

Of song through greenery;

I'm pleased when I see the field

With tents and pavilions free,

And joy then comes to me

All through the meadowlands to see

The heavy-armoured cavalry.

It pleases me when outriders

Make labourers and cattle flee,

It pleases me when follow after

Crowds of well-armed soldiery,

And I am pleased at heart,

To see great castles forced by art

Their walls taken, rent apart,

To see a host at war,

Enclosed by moats in every part,

With close-knit palisades and more.

I'm also pleased to view some lord

Who leads the vanguard in attack,

On armoured horse, a fearless sword,

Who can inspire his men to hack

Away and bravely fight,

And when the conflict's joined aright,

Each must in readiness delight,

And follow where he might,

For none attains to honour's height

Till blows have landed left and right.

Clubs and blades and painted helms

Shields that swords and lances batter

We'll see when fighting first begins,

And many vassals strike together,

Their steeds will wander

Mounts of dead or wounded warrior;

And when he enters in the lather

Let each noble brother,

Think only arms and heads to shatter,

Better to die than let them conquer.

It's not to my taste, I tell you,

Eating, drinking, sleeping, when

I hear voices cry: 'Set to! '

From either side, hearing then

Horses neighing in the gloom,

And cries of 'Help me!