And the shrill neighs of
destriers
in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing/
39
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
39
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
Ezra-Pound-Provenca-English
SESTINA: ALTAFORTE
LOQUITUR : En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up of strife.
Eccovi !
Judge ye !
Have I dug him up again ?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte.
The " Leopard," the device of Richard (Coeur de Lion).
DAYMouN it all ! all this our South stinks peace.
whoreson come dog, Papiols,
music!
I have no life save when the swords clash. Butah! whenIseethestandardsgold,vair,purple,
opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, And the lightnings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, op-
posing,
And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
m
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing/
39
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
!
Let's to
? Sestina: Altaforte
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace with fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! Bah ! there 's no wine like the blood's crimson !
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. And I watch his spears through the dark clash And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson, But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth 's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music !
There 's no sound like to swords swords opposing, No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush
clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace! "
vn
And let the music of the swords make them crimson ! Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash ! Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace! "
40
?
LOQUITUR : En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a stirrer-up of strife.
Eccovi !
Judge ye !
Have I dug him up again ?
The scene is at his castle, Altaforte.
The " Leopard," the device of Richard (Coeur de Lion).
DAYMouN it all ! all this our South stinks peace.
whoreson come dog, Papiols,
music!
I have no life save when the swords clash. Butah! whenIseethestandardsgold,vair,purple,
opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson, Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace, And the lightnings from black heav'n flash crimson, And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, op-
posing,
And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
m
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash !
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing, Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing/
39
""
Papiols is his jongleur.
!
Let's to
? Sestina: Altaforte
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace with fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music! Bah ! there 's no wine like the blood's crimson !
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson. And I watch his spears through the dark clash And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson, But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth 's won and the swords clash For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music !
There 's no sound like to swords swords opposing, No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush
clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace! "
vn
And let the music of the swords make them crimson ! Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash ! Hell blot black for alway the thought "Peace! "
40
?
