Sonnet 222

Standard
Que dites-vous, que faites-vous mignonne ?
Que songez-vous? pensez-vous point en moy ?
Avez-vous point soucy de mon esmoy,
Comme de vous le soucy m’espoiçonne ?
 
De vostre amour tout le cueur me bouillonne,
Devant mes yeux sans cesse je vous voy,
Je vous entens absente, je vous oy,
Et mon penser d’autre amour ne resonne.
 
J’ay vos beautez vos graces et vos yeux
Gravez en moy, les places et les lieux,
Où je vous vy danser, parler et rire.
 
Je vous tiens mienne, et si ne suis pas mien,
Vous estes seule en qui mon cueur respire,
Mon œil, mon sang, mon malheur et mon bien.
 
 
 
                                                                                             What are you saying? What are you doing, my darling?
                                                                                             What are you dreaming? Are you thinking of me at all?
                                                                                             Have you any care for my heartache,
                                                                                             As care for you pierces me?
 
                                                                                             My whole heart is seething with love for you,
                                                                                             I see you before my eyes all the time,
                                                                                             I listen to you when you’re not here, I hear you,
                                                                                             And my thoughts reverberate with love for you and none other.
 
                                                                                             I have your beauty, grace, eyes
                                                                                             Engraved in my heart; the places and scenes
                                                                                             Where I saw you dance, speak, laugh;
 
                                                                                             I consider you mine, and yet am not my own:
                                                                                             You alone are the one in whom my heart breathes,
                                                                                             My eye, my blood, my bad fortune and my good.
 
 
 
I love that word “bouillonne” in line 5 – seething and bubbling like a pan of soup! – and the daring of using so commonplace an image in so high flown a context.  Fortunately this is one word Ronsard didn’t play with in later life:  though Blanchemain shows that he did re-think the last couple of lines. Indeed he re-thought them several times, even though the poem only dates from 1572 (and so technically post-dates the edition Blanchemain is working from)!
 
Here is Blanchemain’s version of those 2 lines:
 
Je me perds tant en vous, que je desire,
Que tout sans vous, maistresse, ne m’est rien
 
                                                                                             I lose myself so in you whom I desire,
                                                                                             That everything without you, mistress, is nothing to me.
 
And here is another version, not in either Marty-Laveaux or Blanchemain:
 
En vous je vis, je m’anime et respire,
Mon tout, mon coeur, mon sang et tout mon bien.
                                                                                             In you I live, move, breathe,
                                                                                             My all, my heart, my blood and all my good.
 
 
 
 
 
 
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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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