No More Learning

I'm hers from my feet to my hair,

And even if the cold winds blow

Love reigns in my heart, and it acquires

Heat that the deepest winters hide.

A thousand masses I hear and offer,

Burn oil, wax candles in my hand,

So that success God might ensure,

For striving alone won't climb her stair.

When I gaze on her hair's golden glow

And her body's fresh delicate fires,

I love her more than all else beside.

I love her deeply and long for her,

Fear desire may lose her, if one can

Prove loving too well a fatal flaw!

For her heart floods mine everywhere,

It never subsides, that tidal flow;

Usury gains her the man she hires:

Worker, workshop, and all inside.

I'd not wish to be Rome's Emperor,

Nor Pope, nor Luserna's castellan,

If I can't return and haunt her door,

For whom my heart must crackle and flare;

And if she soothes not pain and sorrow

With a kiss, before the year expires,

She'll have damned herself, and I'll have died.

Despite all the torment that I suffer

To renounce true love is not my plan,

Though I'm exiled to a desert shore,

These words shall rhyme the whole affair:

More than ploughmen, lovers toil so;

In the tale, Monclis no more admires

Audierna, than I for my love have sighed.

'I net the breeze, I am Arnaut,

Who with an ox the swift hare tires,

And swims against the rising tide. '

Notes: I have altered the position of the reference to Luserna in the poem for clarity. Its location is unknown but might have been Lucena, northwest of Castellon in Valencia.

Moncli (Monclis, Monclin, Mondis) and his lady, Audierna, are presumed to be characters in a lost romance.

I offer here an alternative translation of the tercet to fulfil Arnaut's rhyming scheme according to my choice of end-rhymes. The original is far more musical, as you can gather from the text at the start of this selection of his verse.

Peire Vidal (1175 - 1205)

Reputedly the son of a furrier, he started his career as a troubadour in the court of Raimon V of Toulouse and was also associated with Raimon Barral the Viscount of Marseille, King Alfonso II of Aragon, Boniface of Montferrat, and Manfred I Lancia. He may have taken part in the Third Crusade.
Legend has it that he fled the court of Barral after stealing a kiss from his wife Alazais de Rocamartina, that is Roquemartine near Aix, and that he dressed in wolf-skins to woo Loba, the 'she-wolf', Loba de Penautier of Carcassonne, and was savaged by her dogs, and that he subsequently married the daughter of the Byzantine Emperor in Cyprus.

Ab l'alen tir vas me l'aire

I breathe deeply, draw in the air,

That blows here from Provence!

It pleases me, all I countenance

From there: if good report I hear,

I listen smiling to all that's said,

And for one word ask a hundred:

So good it is to hear good things.

There's no place so sweet as there

From the Rhone as far as Vence,

Between the sea and the Durance,

There's no such sweet joy anywhere.

So that with that true race I find,

I've left my joyful heart behind,

With her who leaves men smiling.

Let no man say the day's not fair

That leaves of her a memory,

Of her joy's born, by her set free.

And whatever man praises her,

Speaks well of her, he tells no lie!

For she's the best, all men say ay,

And the noblest of all existing.

And if I can speak and do my share,

I've her to thank, who every learning

Granted me, and all understanding,

And made me a singer debonair,

And anything I make that's fine,

From her sweet lovely body's mine,

True-hearted thought including.

Ges quar estius

Though spring's glorious

Lovely and sweet,

I'm not complete,

Painful defeat

Is mine today,

Through her who holds my heart in play;

So I prize not April or May,

For she blithely turns away

One I honour and love always.

And if I've lost my songs so sweet

Those fair words and fine melodies,

I used to make when love was there,

Happiness is I know not where.

Not once have I thus

Broken accord,

Order ignored,

Unless I'm floored,

Too low to grace

Her lovely body's dwelling place;

So I fear slanderers have their say,

Who cause ladies and lovers dismay,

Lower us, and drive all joy away,

And each and every way harm me.

Yet, as I hide my love cleverly,

My worth shall seem more than it is;

Still, opportunity I miss.

No Greek among us

Has dealt such pain

Cruelty plain,

I would maintain,

As that I've seen:

In such misery and fear I've been,

My eyes scarcely move it seems

When I see her, fear so extreme,

Sweet, gracious words lacking I mean.

Since with pleasure I'm out of tune,

And nothing can I force her to,

For I know that I'll win nothing,

Except by praising, and by loving.

People and rivers

I've sung their praise

Five hundred ways,

All of my days,

To those who treat me

Worse than they could, though you'd agree

They'll hear nothing but good from me.