[Original Spanish text]
UNA BRUJULA
TJB: This Italian sonnet, Neoplatonistic to the core, sees the fallenness of things, larger truth hiding beyond; & a compass as the metaphor to point us there.
Source of the text – Galway Kinnell, Strong Is Your Hold. Boston: Houghton Mifflin Company, 2006, pages 24-29.
TJB: Unhammering. The poet’s step-by-step struggle to pull a nail that was driven into place long ago by his father becomes a sort of time-travel.
Verde embeleso de la vida humana,
loca esperanza, frenesí dorado,
sueño de los despiertos intrincado,
como de sueños, de tesoros vana;
alma del mundo, senectud lozana,
decrépito verdor imaginado,
el hoy de los dichosos esperado
y de los desdichados el mañana:
sigan tu sombra en busca de tu día
los que, con verdes vidrios por anteojos,
todo lo ven pintado a su deseo:
que yo, más cuerda en la fortuna mía,
tengo en entrambas manos ambos ojos
y solamente lo que toco veo.
Ankle Bells
The Wife’s Complaint
[Text of the poem in the
original Anglo-Saxon]
Ic þis giedd wrece bi me ful geomorre
minre sylfre
sið ic þæt secgan mæg
hwæt ic yrmþa gebad
siþþan ic up [a]weox
niwes oþþe ealdes nó
má þonne nú
a ic wite wonn
minra wræcsiþa
ærest min hlaford gewat
heonan of leodum
ofer yþa gelac hæfde
ic uhtceare
hwær min leodfruma londes
wære ·
ða ic me feran gewat folgað
secan
wineleas wrecca
for minre weaþearfe ·
ongunnon þæt
þæs monnes magas
hycgan
þurh dyrne geþoht þæt hy todælden unc
þæt wit gewidost in
woruldrice
lifdon laðlicost ond mec longade
·
het mec hlaford min
her heard niman
ahte ic leofra lyt
on þissum londstede
holdra freonda
forþon is min hyge geomor ·
ða ic me ful gemæcne monnan
funde
heardsæligne hygegeomorne
mod miþendne morþor
hycgend[n]e
bliþe
gebæro ful oft wit beotedan
þæt unc ne gedælde
nemne deað ana ·
owiht elles
eft is þæt onhworfen
is nu swa
hit no wære
freondscipe uncer
s[c]eal ic feor ge neah
mines fela leofan fæhðu
dreogan
heht mec mon wunian
on wuda bearwe
under actreo
in þam eorðscræfe ·
eald is þes eorðsele eal
ic eom oflongad ·
sindon dena dimme duna
uphéa
bitre burgtunas brerum
beweaxne
wic wynna leas ful
oft mec her wraþe begeat
fromsiþ frean
frynd sind on eorþan
leofe lifgende leger
weardiað
þonne ic on uhtan
ana gonge
under actreo
geond þas eorðscrafu
þær ic sittan mot
sumorlangne · dæg
þær ic wepan mæg
mine wræcsiþas
earfoþa fela
forþon ic æfre ne mæg
þære modceare minre
gerestan ·
ne ealles
þæs longaþes þe
mec on þissum
life begeat
a scyle geong mon wesan
geomormod
heard heortan
geþoht swylce habban
sceal
bliþe gebæro
eac þon breostceare
sinsorgna gedreag
sy æt him sylfum gelong
eal his worulde wyn
sy ful wide fah
feorres folclondes þæt
min freond siteð
under stanhliþe storme
behrimed
wine werigmod wætre
beflowen
on dreorsele dreogeð
se min wine
micle modceare he
gemon to oft
wynlicran wic
wa bið þam þe sceal
of langoþe
leofes abidan :
[English translation by W.S.
Mackie]
I compose this lay about my own wretched self,
about my own experience. I can tell
what miseries new or old I have endured
since I grew up, and never more than now.
I have always been struggling against my cruel sorrows.
First of all my lord went away from his people here
over the tossing waves; I was sleepless with anxiety,
not knowing in what land my prince might be.
Then, on account of my woeful need, I went forth,
a friendless wretch, to seek service.
The kinsmen of my husband began in secret counsel
to devise how they might estrange us,
so that we two lived in the world far apart
and alienated, and I was weary with longing.
My stern lord bade me be taken here—
I had few dear and loyal friends
in this country. And so my heart is sad,
since I found the man who was my true mate
to be unhappy, sorrowful of heart,
concealing his purpose, meditating crime.
Blithe in demeanour we two had very often vowed
that nothing else should part us
but death alone. That has changed since;
our love is now
as if it never had been. Far and near I must endure
the enmity of my dearly beloved.
I was bidden dwell in the cave in the earth
under the oak-tree in the forest grove.
This hall in the earth is old, and I am wearied with longing.
There are dark dells, hills precipitous,
ugly fortress-like thickets overgrown with briars—
a joyless dwelling. Very often did the absence of my lord
afflict me here with bitter sorrow. On the earth there are lovers
who live dear to each other, sharing one bed,
while I at dawn walk alone
under the oak-tree through these caves in the earth.
There must I sit during the long summer day,
there can I weep my miseries,
my many hardships. For I can never
find rest from my anxiety of mind
or from all the longing that has afflicted me in this life.
Ever may the young man be sad of mind,
bitter the thought of his heart; whatever blithe demeanour
he shall have, may he also have anxiety
and a throng of constant sorrows. May all his worldly joy
be dependent on himself alone, may he be far banished
in a distant land, since my lover,
my disconsolate lord, sits under a rocky cliff,
covered with sleet by the storm, encompassed by water
in a hall of sorrow. My lord suffers
great anxiety of mind; he remembers too often
a more joyful dwelling. Woe befalls him who must
wait with sad longing for his beloved.
Source of the text in Anglo-Saxon and in translation – The
Exeter Book, Part II: Poems IX-XXXII, edited by W.S. Mackie. London: The
Early English Text Society by the Oxford University Press, 1934 (reprinted
1958), pages 152-155.