Sonnet 14

Je vey tes yeux dessous telle planete,
Qu’autre plaisir ne me peut contenter,
Sinon tout seul en souspirant chanter,
Allege moy ma plaisante brunette.
O liberté combien je te regrette !
Combien le jour que je vey t’absenter,
pour me laisser sans espoir tourmenter
En l’esperance où si mal on me traite !
L’an est passé le vintuniesme jour
Du mois d’Avril, que je vins au sejour
De la prison où les Amours me pleurent :
Et si ne voy (tant les liens sont forts)
Un seul moyen pour me tirer dehors,
Si par la mort toutes mes morts ne meurent.
                                                                       I see your eyes beneath such a star
                                                                       That no other pleasure can content me,
                                                                       Unless to sing all alone while sighing
                                                                       “Relieve me, my charming brunette.”
                                                                       O freedom, how much I regret losing you !
                                                                       How much [I regret] the day when I saw you absent yourself,
                                                                       Thus leaving me tortured hopelessly
                                                                       In that hope in which I’m wounded so badly !
                                                                       The year had passed the twenty-first day
                                                                       Of April when I came to stay
                                                                       In that prison where Love grieves for me :
                                                                       And I do not see – so strong are its bonds –
                                                                       A single means of dragging myself outside it
                                                                       Unless by death all my deaths shall die.
Ronsard gets a little further into a rut – several poems in a row which are technically good but don’t really come to life.  Ronsard’s opening gesture here is borrowed from Petrarch. On the other hand, line 4 is a reference to a particularly ribald little song (guess what sort of relief he means…)  Perhaps lack of inspiration prevented him making more than minor changes – line 3 in another version is
Sinon le jour, sinon la nuit chanter
                                                                       Unless to sing both day and night

About fattoxxon

Who am I? Lover of all sorts of music - classical, medieval, world (anything from Africa), world-classical (Uzbek & Iraqi magam for instance), and virtually anything that won't be on the music charts... Lover of Ronsard's poetry (obviously) and of sonnets in general. Reader of English, French, Latin & other literature. And who is Fattoxxon? An allusion to an Uzbek singer - pronounce it Patahan, with a very plosive 'P' and a throaty 'h', as in 'khan')

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s