Sonnet 6

Standard
Ha Mort, en quel estat maintenant tu me changes !
Pour enrichir le ciel tu m’as seul apauvry,
Me desrobant les yeux desquels j’estois nourry,
Qui nourrissent là hault les astres et les anges.
 
Entre pleurs et souspirs, entre pensers estranges,
Entre le desespoir tout confus et marry,
Du monde et de moy-mesme et d’Amour je me ry,
N’ayant autre plaisir qu’à chanter tes louanges.
 
Helas ! tu n’es pas morte, hé ! c’est moy qui le suis.
L’homme est bien trespassé, qui ne vit que d’ennuis,
Et des maux qui me font une eternelle guerre.
 
Le partage est mal fait, tu possedes les cieux,
Et je n’ay, mal-heureux, pour ma part que la terre,
Les soupirs en la bouche, et les larmes aux yeus.

 

 
 
 
                                                                                            Oh Death, to what a condition you convert me now !
                                                                                            To enrich heaven you have impoverished me only,
                                                                                            Robbing me of the eyes with which I was sustained,
                                                                                            Which now sustain the stars and angels above.
 
                                                                                            Among tears and sighs, among uncanny thoughts,
                                                                                            Among despair confused and sad,
                                                                                            I mock the world, myself, Love,
                                                                                            Having no other pleasure than singing your praises.
 
                                                                                            Alas, you are not dead, oh it is I who am.
                                                                                            That man might as well be dead who lives only on the worries
                                                                                            And ills which make eternal war on me.
 
                                                                                            The sharing-out has been badly done: you possess the heavens
                                                                                            And, wretched, I for my part have only the earth,
                                                                                            Sighs in my mouth and tears in my eyes.
 
 
Blanchemain retains the same text, but alters just one word in line 3, “Me ravissant les yeux…“. It doesn’t really need a different translation but perhaps ‘Stealing from me the eyes…‘ gives a sense of the slight shade of meaning?!
 
 
 
 
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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')

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