What do you think?
Rate this book
Lark in the Morning: The Verses of the Troubadours, a Bilingual Edition
Although the troubadours flourished at the height of the Middle Ages in southern France, their songs of romantic love, with pleasing melodies and intricate stanzaic patterns, have inspired poets and song writers ever since, from Dante to Chaucer, from Renaissance sonneteers to the Romantics, and from Verlaine and Rimbaud to modern rock lyricists. Yet despite the incontrovertible influence of the troubadours on the development of both poetry and music in the West, there existed no comprehensive anthology of troubadour lyrics that respected the verse form of the originals until now.
Lark in the Morning honors the meter, word play, punning, and sound effects in the troubadours' works while celebrating the often playful, bawdy, and biting nature of the material. Here, Robert Kehew augments his own verse translations with those of two seminal twentieth-century poets—Ezra Pound and W. D. Snodgrass—to provide a collection that captures both the poetic pyrotechnics of the original verse and the astonishing variety of troubadour voices. This bilingual edition contains an introduction to the three major periods of the troubadours—their beginning, rise, and decline—as well as headnotes that briefly put each poet in context. Lark in the Morning will become an essential collection for those interested in learning about and teaching the origins of Western vernacular poetry.
Lark in the Morning honors the meter, word play, punning, and sound effects in the troubadours' works while celebrating the often playful, bawdy, and biting nature of the material. Here, Robert Kehew augments his own verse translations with those of two seminal twentieth-century poets—Ezra Pound and W. D. Snodgrass—to provide a collection that captures both the poetic pyrotechnics of the original verse and the astonishing variety of troubadour voices. This bilingual edition contains an introduction to the three major periods of the troubadours—their beginning, rise, and decline—as well as headnotes that briefly put each poet in context. Lark in the Morning will become an essential collection for those interested in learning about and teaching the origins of Western vernacular poetry.
343 pages, Paperback
First published September 15, 2005
4 people are currently reading
166 people want to read
Ratings & Reviews
Friends & Following
Create a free account to discover what your friends think of this book!
Community Reviews
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews
June 26, 2016
This is a good anthology of troubadour poetry with a full and wide range of poets and styles represented. Kehew gives a brief introduction to the collection, and then supplements translations from Ezra Pound and W.D. Snodgrass with his own. This is a bilingual edition so we have the Old Occitan facing the modern English which is immensely useful – and the English translations are in verse in an attempt to convey the lyric quality of the poems/songs, not just their meaning.
It’s a little disappointing that there isn’t a greater representation of trobairitz (female troubadours) here and I would especially have liked more from Comtessa de Dia.
So this sits somewhere between a scholarly work and a ‘popular’ one: the contextualisation of the collection, the troubadour moment, and the individual poets doesn’t probe or problematise the texts in any way, but there is a fuller bibliography attached. This is especially good as a supplement to the standard works and other translations from Occitan.
It’s a little disappointing that there isn’t a greater representation of trobairitz (female troubadours) here and I would especially have liked more from Comtessa de Dia.
So this sits somewhere between a scholarly work and a ‘popular’ one: the contextualisation of the collection, the troubadour moment, and the individual poets doesn’t probe or problematise the texts in any way, but there is a fuller bibliography attached. This is especially good as a supplement to the standard works and other translations from Occitan.
Read
December 5, 2023>1000 pages of reading this week?
September 25, 2021
A wide ranging collection of troubadour poetry translated from Occitan, Lark in the Morning benefits from a solid introduction and brief prefaces for each poet, the original Occitan verse facing each page of translation, a very helpful but brief set of endnotes, and a bibliography for further reading. The real joy is in seeing nearly a millennium ago all the recognizable elements of pop music today - combative, plaintive, obsessively amorous, funny and clever, often deeply sexist, experimental, and much else you could find on the Top 100. Once the shock of recognizing the present so clearly in the past is over, the poems can be enjoyed on their own, and with a wide selection of poets to choose from, it's easy to appreciate the ones that stand out by comparing them to the ones that just don't do it for you.
The downside of the collection is the range of translations: the editor, Robert Kehew, made a selection of Ezra Pound and W. D. Snodgrass translations and filled in the remainder with his own. Kehew's translations skew closer to Snodgrass's, which leaves Ezra Pound's more creative translations to stand out. I don't need uniformity in a collection of translations, but everything I learned on how to read the Troubadour's poems in Kehew and Snodgrass's translations went out the window as soon as Pound shows up.
I'm not a poet or (god help us) a poetry critic. Marcabru's an old dirty bastard, Bernart de Ventadorn's "Now the Birds Are Leaving" is achingly mournful and filled with longing, and Guillem de Peiteus tells a tale of two thirsty ladies and a pissed off cat that goes places. It's good shit, and if you like to explore the present while getting away from the contemporary, the verses of the Troubadours are pretty wild.
The downside of the collection is the range of translations: the editor, Robert Kehew, made a selection of Ezra Pound and W. D. Snodgrass translations and filled in the remainder with his own. Kehew's translations skew closer to Snodgrass's, which leaves Ezra Pound's more creative translations to stand out. I don't need uniformity in a collection of translations, but everything I learned on how to read the Troubadour's poems in Kehew and Snodgrass's translations went out the window as soon as Pound shows up.
I'm not a poet or (god help us) a poetry critic. Marcabru's an old dirty bastard, Bernart de Ventadorn's "Now the Birds Are Leaving" is achingly mournful and filled with longing, and Guillem de Peiteus tells a tale of two thirsty ladies and a pissed off cat that goes places. It's good shit, and if you like to explore the present while getting away from the contemporary, the verses of the Troubadours are pretty wild.
January 25, 2024
A book which, although I wish it were much longer and quoted more extensively from the corpus of Arnaut Daniel & Peire Cardenal, does an excellent job of positioning every identified troubadour in beginning, apogee, and nadir of the troubadour tradition. Do bear in mind that, although this bilingual edition is an excellent way to learn (and practice) Occitanian, it only presents a handful of sirventes from each troubadour; likewise, the introductory information is at best 4 pages long, leading to a warped and incomplete view of the complexities with which each troubadour approached their craft—an enigmatic movement such as the troubadours benefits more from clarity of personalities, and not mystical vapors of "how courtly love beguiled Roman triumphalism." Nevertheless, the translations are good and Ezra Pound's are unrivaled in his ability to use Early Modern pronunciation as a way to convey the depth of the Occitan language.
It was remarkably uncanny to see Figueira's lampooning of Roman Catholicism have such striking resemblances with present-day practices:
> D’un sirventes far en est son que m’agenssa
No-m vuolh plus tarzar ni far longa bistenssa,
E sai ses doptar qu’ieu n’aurai malvolenssa.
Si far sirventes
Dels fais, d’enjans pies,
De Roma, que es caps de la dechasenssa,
On dechai totz bes.
No-m meravilh ges, Roma, si la gens erra,
Que-l segle avetz mes en trebalh et en guerra,
E pretz e merces mor per vos e sosterra,
Roma trichairitz
E de totz mais guitz
E cima e razitz, que-l bons reis d’Englaterra
Fon per vos trahitz.
Roma, als homes pecs rozetz la earn e l’ossa,
E guidatz los secs ab vos inz en la fossa;
Trop passatz los decs de Dieu, car trop es grossa
Vostra cobeitatz,
Car vos perdonatz
Per deniers pechatz. Roma, de gran trasdossa
De mal vos cargatz.
Roma, ben sapchatz que vostra avols barata
E vostra foudatz fetz perdre Damiata.
Malamens renhatz, Roma. Dieus vos abata
En dechazemen,
Car tan falsamen
Renhatz per argen, Roma de mal’ escata
Es ab fais coven.
Roma, veramen sabem sen es doptanssa
C'ab galiamen de falsa perdonanssa
Liuretz a türmen lo barnatge de Franssa,
Lonh de paradis,
E-l bon rei Lois,
Roma, avetz aucis, c’ab falsa predicanssa
•l traissetz de Paris.
Roma, als Sarrazis faitz petit de dampnatge,
Mas Grecs e Latis gitatz a carnalatge.
Inz ei potz d’abis, Roma, faitz vostre estatge
En perdicion.
Ja Dieus part no-m don,
Roma, del perdon ni del pelegrinatge
Que fetz d’Avinhon.
Roma, be-s decem lo mais c’om vos deu dire,
Quar faitz per esquem dels crestians martire.
Mas en cal cazern trobatz c’om deia aucire
Roma-ls crestians?
Dieus, qu’es verais pans
E cotidians, me don so qu’eu desire
Vezer dels Romans.
...
Roma, del malcor, que portatz en la gola.
Nais lo sucx, don mor lo mais e s’estrangola Ab doussor del cor; per que l savis tremola,
Quar conois e ve
Lo mortal vere
E de lai on ve (Roma, del cor vos cola),
Don li pieitz son pie.
Rom', ab fais sembel tendetz vostra tezura,
E man mal morsel manjatz, qui que l’endura.
Car’ avetz d’anhel ab simpla gardadura,
Dedins lops rabatz,
Serpens coronatz
De vibr’ engenratz, per que-1 diable-us cura
Coma-Is sieus privatz.
[TRANSLATION:]
I don’t want to delay or hesitate too long
Before I set this tune to a satiric song
I know without a doubt that some will take it wrong
If I write scornful lines
About the treacherous kind
That one is sure to find in decadences home—
Rome, where goodness declines.
Rome, it’s not to wonder at if people err:
Think how you’ve plunged the world into torment and war;
Merit and mercy die and by you are interred;
Your treachery abides
Of evil you’re the guide,
Both base and summit high; by you the good king, lord
Of England was betrayed.
You gnaw the flesh of foolish folk, you chew their bones;
Leading the blind, you usher them to the gravestone;
Your avaricious nature you have clearly shown.
You flout the Lord s commands;
For pardon, you demand
That money changes hands.
It’s quite a load, O Rome,
Of sins your back must stand.
It was, you know, O Rome, this evil traffic that,
Along with folly caused the fall of Damiette.
Your rule is wicked, Rome; may it please God to let
You fall into decay—
For silver you behave
Most falsely and betray. You don’t keep covenant,
O Rome of evil race.
Truly we know, O Rome, it’s well within our ken,
The way that you to France’s barons did extend
False pardon; thus to torment you delivered them,
Far from heavens way;
And Louis that good rei,
You lured him away from Paris—dead by your hand—
Your preaching made him stray.
Rome, to the Saracens you do little damage.
But Greeks and Latins you deliver up to carnage.
In the abyss of hell, Rome, you dwell in a stage
Of perdition;
Of portion give me none,
O Rome, of your pardon, or the pilgrimage
You made to Avignon.
Rome, the evil I point out is easy to see:
You martyr Christians and you do it scornfully.
But tell me where it’s written, in what book do you read,
That man should kill those who Believe in Christ?
Unto Him who is the true and daily bread, I plead:
Give the Romans their due.
...
From the maliciousness that in your throat gurgles
Issues the bile that kills the poor wretch—it strangles
All sweetness in the heart, O Rome. The wise man trembles.
For he sees and knows
The wellspring from whence flows
This deadly poison, Rome: from your heart it dribbles;
Mens bosoms bear the load.
It's a false bait, O Rome, with which you set your trap.
While others starve to death, there’s many a nasty snack
That you’ve snapped. You’re vicious like a wolf in a pack,
Though outside you’re a lamb.
You’re a crowned serpent, and
A viper was your dam. The devil will protect
You, as he does his friends.
------------------------------------------------
The Papacy has never been a bastion of perfection, nor ought anyone to expect such institutions of vast proportions and even vaster claims to elude the imperfections of being embodied in this fallen world; but for anyone who feels as though they are liturgically being maligned for holding to that which was given by Christ (and the Fathers) as their due to the Romans, the Protestant / Cathar depictions of Romanism seem less and less the shrill cries of an aggrieved party. Rome and Roman Catholicism outwardly represent a grand edifice of marbled tradition, although inside they appear to be nothing but ossified impotency oozing forth all the noxious puss of a diseased worldview and even more diseased representatives. The troubadours are a refreshing relief from the sustained hollowing out of the Christian religion. Over my shoulder while reading this particular sirventes, I couldn't help but think of Savonarola, St. Peter Damian, St. Catherine of Siena, and Jan Hus making these same criticisms much later in Christian history. They are in a certain sense, worthy participants in a higher, more spiritual "church" than either the concubinage Catholicism of their day, or the liturgically bankrupt modernism of today. Which is precisely the kind of spiritual authenticity, or "aristocracy" if one will, which has run all throughout the theurgists, Hesychasts, Rheinland mystics, and other Western representatives for nearly 2,000+ years.
It was remarkably uncanny to see Figueira's lampooning of Roman Catholicism have such striking resemblances with present-day practices:
> D’un sirventes far en est son que m’agenssa
No-m vuolh plus tarzar ni far longa bistenssa,
E sai ses doptar qu’ieu n’aurai malvolenssa.
Si far sirventes
Dels fais, d’enjans pies,
De Roma, que es caps de la dechasenssa,
On dechai totz bes.
No-m meravilh ges, Roma, si la gens erra,
Que-l segle avetz mes en trebalh et en guerra,
E pretz e merces mor per vos e sosterra,
Roma trichairitz
E de totz mais guitz
E cima e razitz, que-l bons reis d’Englaterra
Fon per vos trahitz.
Roma, als homes pecs rozetz la earn e l’ossa,
E guidatz los secs ab vos inz en la fossa;
Trop passatz los decs de Dieu, car trop es grossa
Vostra cobeitatz,
Car vos perdonatz
Per deniers pechatz. Roma, de gran trasdossa
De mal vos cargatz.
Roma, ben sapchatz que vostra avols barata
E vostra foudatz fetz perdre Damiata.
Malamens renhatz, Roma. Dieus vos abata
En dechazemen,
Car tan falsamen
Renhatz per argen, Roma de mal’ escata
Es ab fais coven.
Roma, veramen sabem sen es doptanssa
C'ab galiamen de falsa perdonanssa
Liuretz a türmen lo barnatge de Franssa,
Lonh de paradis,
E-l bon rei Lois,
Roma, avetz aucis, c’ab falsa predicanssa
•l traissetz de Paris.
Roma, als Sarrazis faitz petit de dampnatge,
Mas Grecs e Latis gitatz a carnalatge.
Inz ei potz d’abis, Roma, faitz vostre estatge
En perdicion.
Ja Dieus part no-m don,
Roma, del perdon ni del pelegrinatge
Que fetz d’Avinhon.
Roma, be-s decem lo mais c’om vos deu dire,
Quar faitz per esquem dels crestians martire.
Mas en cal cazern trobatz c’om deia aucire
Roma-ls crestians?
Dieus, qu’es verais pans
E cotidians, me don so qu’eu desire
Vezer dels Romans.
...
Roma, del malcor, que portatz en la gola.
Nais lo sucx, don mor lo mais e s’estrangola Ab doussor del cor; per que l savis tremola,
Quar conois e ve
Lo mortal vere
E de lai on ve (Roma, del cor vos cola),
Don li pieitz son pie.
Rom', ab fais sembel tendetz vostra tezura,
E man mal morsel manjatz, qui que l’endura.
Car’ avetz d’anhel ab simpla gardadura,
Dedins lops rabatz,
Serpens coronatz
De vibr’ engenratz, per que-1 diable-us cura
Coma-Is sieus privatz.
[TRANSLATION:]
I don’t want to delay or hesitate too long
Before I set this tune to a satiric song
I know without a doubt that some will take it wrong
If I write scornful lines
About the treacherous kind
That one is sure to find in decadences home—
Rome, where goodness declines.
Rome, it’s not to wonder at if people err:
Think how you’ve plunged the world into torment and war;
Merit and mercy die and by you are interred;
Your treachery abides
Of evil you’re the guide,
Both base and summit high; by you the good king, lord
Of England was betrayed.
You gnaw the flesh of foolish folk, you chew their bones;
Leading the blind, you usher them to the gravestone;
Your avaricious nature you have clearly shown.
You flout the Lord s commands;
For pardon, you demand
That money changes hands.
It’s quite a load, O Rome,
Of sins your back must stand.
It was, you know, O Rome, this evil traffic that,
Along with folly caused the fall of Damiette.
Your rule is wicked, Rome; may it please God to let
You fall into decay—
For silver you behave
Most falsely and betray. You don’t keep covenant,
O Rome of evil race.
Truly we know, O Rome, it’s well within our ken,
The way that you to France’s barons did extend
False pardon; thus to torment you delivered them,
Far from heavens way;
And Louis that good rei,
You lured him away from Paris—dead by your hand—
Your preaching made him stray.
Rome, to the Saracens you do little damage.
But Greeks and Latins you deliver up to carnage.
In the abyss of hell, Rome, you dwell in a stage
Of perdition;
Of portion give me none,
O Rome, of your pardon, or the pilgrimage
You made to Avignon.
Rome, the evil I point out is easy to see:
You martyr Christians and you do it scornfully.
But tell me where it’s written, in what book do you read,
That man should kill those who Believe in Christ?
Unto Him who is the true and daily bread, I plead:
Give the Romans their due.
...
From the maliciousness that in your throat gurgles
Issues the bile that kills the poor wretch—it strangles
All sweetness in the heart, O Rome. The wise man trembles.
For he sees and knows
The wellspring from whence flows
This deadly poison, Rome: from your heart it dribbles;
Mens bosoms bear the load.
It's a false bait, O Rome, with which you set your trap.
While others starve to death, there’s many a nasty snack
That you’ve snapped. You’re vicious like a wolf in a pack,
Though outside you’re a lamb.
You’re a crowned serpent, and
A viper was your dam. The devil will protect
You, as he does his friends.
------------------------------------------------
The Papacy has never been a bastion of perfection, nor ought anyone to expect such institutions of vast proportions and even vaster claims to elude the imperfections of being embodied in this fallen world; but for anyone who feels as though they are liturgically being maligned for holding to that which was given by Christ (and the Fathers) as their due to the Romans, the Protestant / Cathar depictions of Romanism seem less and less the shrill cries of an aggrieved party. Rome and Roman Catholicism outwardly represent a grand edifice of marbled tradition, although inside they appear to be nothing but ossified impotency oozing forth all the noxious puss of a diseased worldview and even more diseased representatives. The troubadours are a refreshing relief from the sustained hollowing out of the Christian religion. Over my shoulder while reading this particular sirventes, I couldn't help but think of Savonarola, St. Peter Damian, St. Catherine of Siena, and Jan Hus making these same criticisms much later in Christian history. They are in a certain sense, worthy participants in a higher, more spiritual "church" than either the concubinage Catholicism of their day, or the liturgically bankrupt modernism of today. Which is precisely the kind of spiritual authenticity, or "aristocracy" if one will, which has run all throughout the theurgists, Hesychasts, Rheinland mystics, and other Western representatives for nearly 2,000+ years.
October 27, 2012
An excellent survey of troubadour literature with evocative translations--some beautiful poetry themselves.
October 23, 2017
Lark in the Morning is a collection of 'poetry' (originally songs, some of which have scores that survived till today) which have been translated by two of the greatest poets of the 20th century, W. D. Snodgrass and Ezra Pound as well as a few by the editor, Robert Kehew. Overall, the translators have done an excellent job translating the poetic beauty of the Occitan songs. In a few cases, liberties were taken, and they are discussed in the notes. The editor also includes vidas (short, often hyperbolic, biographies of the troubadors) which where originally included in the songbooks as well.
Poetic beauty aside, these poems also give a fascinating look into medieval Provence, and into fin'amor. Whatever I thought I knew about courtly love, I now know to be false (although I still don't fully understand it). It also gives a brief glimpse into the politics of the time, which include the Crusades and the Reconquista.
Let's also discuss the elephant in the room, Ezra Pound. After (and during) WW1, Pound became disillusioned with the direction Europe was heading and basically turned to fascism. He supported Italian fascism and expressed antisemitic views. During WW2, he hosted a propaganda radio show supporting the fascist Italian government. After the war, he was arrested as a traitor but was found unfit to stand trial. He spent a month in inhumane prison conditions and suffered a mental breakdown. He eventually ended up in St Elizabeths Hospital (a mental institution) where he would spend his days until his controversial release in 1958. However, despite horrible political views, Pound is possible one of the most influential poets of the 20th century. A whole list of poets and writers have been influenced and assisted in their careers by Pound, including T. S. Eliot (Pound edited and encouraged Eliot to publish The Wasteland) and Ernest Hemingway. These men also struggled with reconciling Pounds genius and horrible political views. It's hard to imagine the man who translated Chinese philosophers and medieval French freethinkers also defended Nazisim and fascism. The best I've been able to do is separate Pound the fascist and Pound the genius and go from there.
While reading Lark in the Morning, I could almost feel like what it must have been like to be alive during these times. While an illusion, it shows how talented the troubadours were; I think they would be very pleased to hear me say that if they were alive today. I was going to make a short list of poems I recommended reading if you didn't want to read the entire book, but frankly its not very short. Keep in mind this book also has the original Occitan text as well so it goes very quickly.
Poetic beauty aside, these poems also give a fascinating look into medieval Provence, and into fin'amor. Whatever I thought I knew about courtly love, I now know to be false (although I still don't fully understand it). It also gives a brief glimpse into the politics of the time, which include the Crusades and the Reconquista.
Let's also discuss the elephant in the room, Ezra Pound. After (and during) WW1, Pound became disillusioned with the direction Europe was heading and basically turned to fascism. He supported Italian fascism and expressed antisemitic views. During WW2, he hosted a propaganda radio show supporting the fascist Italian government. After the war, he was arrested as a traitor but was found unfit to stand trial. He spent a month in inhumane prison conditions and suffered a mental breakdown. He eventually ended up in St Elizabeths Hospital (a mental institution) where he would spend his days until his controversial release in 1958. However, despite horrible political views, Pound is possible one of the most influential poets of the 20th century. A whole list of poets and writers have been influenced and assisted in their careers by Pound, including T. S. Eliot (Pound edited and encouraged Eliot to publish The Wasteland) and Ernest Hemingway. These men also struggled with reconciling Pounds genius and horrible political views. It's hard to imagine the man who translated Chinese philosophers and medieval French freethinkers also defended Nazisim and fascism. The best I've been able to do is separate Pound the fascist and Pound the genius and go from there.
While reading Lark in the Morning, I could almost feel like what it must have been like to be alive during these times. While an illusion, it shows how talented the troubadours were; I think they would be very pleased to hear me say that if they were alive today. I was going to make a short list of poems I recommended reading if you didn't want to read the entire book, but frankly its not very short. Keep in mind this book also has the original Occitan text as well so it goes very quickly.
September 18, 2019
Well curated collection of troubadour lyric that provides some amount of historical context while also letting the formal elements of the poem shine.
If you are unacquainted with the troubadours, I would recommend this volume. The works in this volume are expansive, and cover a wide historical and generic view of the poetic movement. The poems themselves are lovely, even as they are typically conventional. Some of the poems are rather ordinary by today's standards, but some of the poems maintain a vitality of force and image. In particular, I would point to "Er resplan la flors enversa"/Splendid Are the Flowers Reversed, and the selections from Arnaut Daniel and Bernart de Ventadorn as highlights for me. The poems work through conventional images of love and nature in beautifully wrought verse, and often the musicality of the original verse is preserved in the translation.
The work of the troubadours is essential for anyone interested in the history of poetry, or French poetry more specifically. Since this work also has some fine translations by Ezra Pound and W.D. Snodgrass, I recommend it for those interested in modernist or contemporary poetics as well. The poems are really written wonderfully, and provide such insight on how to use and bend conventions to suite your needs. Since so many of the poems are utterly conventional, it is easy to compare them and to understand some of the more obscure images that continue to pop up. Kehew's introductions to each poet are extremely helpful as well, even if the simply provide a historical framework at times rather than a more comprehensive literary one.
If you are unacquainted with the troubadours, I would recommend this volume. The works in this volume are expansive, and cover a wide historical and generic view of the poetic movement. The poems themselves are lovely, even as they are typically conventional. Some of the poems are rather ordinary by today's standards, but some of the poems maintain a vitality of force and image. In particular, I would point to "Er resplan la flors enversa"/Splendid Are the Flowers Reversed, and the selections from Arnaut Daniel and Bernart de Ventadorn as highlights for me. The poems work through conventional images of love and nature in beautifully wrought verse, and often the musicality of the original verse is preserved in the translation.
The work of the troubadours is essential for anyone interested in the history of poetry, or French poetry more specifically. Since this work also has some fine translations by Ezra Pound and W.D. Snodgrass, I recommend it for those interested in modernist or contemporary poetics as well. The poems are really written wonderfully, and provide such insight on how to use and bend conventions to suite your needs. Since so many of the poems are utterly conventional, it is easy to compare them and to understand some of the more obscure images that continue to pop up. Kehew's introductions to each poet are extremely helpful as well, even if the simply provide a historical framework at times rather than a more comprehensive literary one.
January 25, 2026
This is my first exposure to poetry of this type. All the works of the same period that I have enjoyed have been epics. The historical and biographical information provided for each of the wide variety of troubadours was enough to provide context but did not get in the way of the poetry. The poetry was presented in both untranslated form as well as in English with translations from Robert Kehew, Ezra Pound, and W.D Snodgrass, who each added a distinct voice of their own. I particularly enjoyed Kehew’s translation of “When the Ice and Cold and Snow Retreat” by Guiraut de Bornelh. A well done book!
December 12, 2024
E io a lui: “Li dolci detti vostri,
che, quanto durerà l'uso moderno,
faranno cari ancora i loro incostri.”
“O frate,” disse, “questi ch'io ti cerno
col dito,” e additò un spirto innanzi,
“fu miglior fabbro del parlar materno.
Versi d'amore e prose di romanzi
soverchiò tutti; e lascia dir li stolti
che quel di Lemosì credon ch'avanzi.
A voce più ch'al ver drizzan li volti,
e così ferman sua oppinïone
prima ch'arte o ragion per lor s'ascolti.
che, quanto durerà l'uso moderno,
faranno cari ancora i loro incostri.”
“O frate,” disse, “questi ch'io ti cerno
col dito,” e additò un spirto innanzi,
“fu miglior fabbro del parlar materno.
Versi d'amore e prose di romanzi
soverchiò tutti; e lascia dir li stolti
che quel di Lemosì credon ch'avanzi.
A voce più ch'al ver drizzan li volti,
e così ferman sua oppinïone
prima ch'arte o ragion per lor s'ascolti.
December 31, 2019
4 stars simply because this was actually readable unlike god forbid medieval philosophy
December 5, 2022
so pretty
December 6, 2022
3.5/5
read excerpts for hum. pretty good, more sexual than expected at points
read excerpts for hum. pretty good, more sexual than expected at points
December 31, 2023
Beautiful poetry. Some incel behavior among the troubadours. Still. they are overlooked with gorgeous phrases and language.
January 26, 2025
ezra pound translations are wack
March 23, 2022
Was expecting it to be more simpy tbh.
January 21, 2017
What pleasure to discover the songs of the troubadours, and find that the feeling of their songs is still familiar today. And just as fun, trying out the ancient Occitan and descrying its relationship to Espanol and Italiano.
This book has given me many hours of pleasure. And after all, isn't that the joy of the songs of Bernart de Ventadorn, Daniel Arnaut and others? They would ride from castle to castle, composing sweet and sad love songs as they traveled. In other words, there is no need to get all excited and make this into a huge academic quest. Rather, enjoy the sweet music, and let its flavor and mood roll over you. Enjoy!
This book has given me many hours of pleasure. And after all, isn't that the joy of the songs of Bernart de Ventadorn, Daniel Arnaut and others? They would ride from castle to castle, composing sweet and sad love songs as they traveled. In other words, there is no need to get all excited and make this into a huge academic quest. Rather, enjoy the sweet music, and let its flavor and mood roll over you. Enjoy!
July 18, 2013
WOnderful introduction to the troubadours. THe bilinugal format provides a sense of the original form ,diction and syntax so that one can see how different translators have dealt with the task of emulating or rendering style while retaining the the meaning / ambiguity/ and spirit. THree different translators provide perspective and variety. Very inspiring breath of ancient airs...
May 23, 2010
Troubadours are very interesting! This book does a good job at explaining who they were and what they did in an interesting way.
May 7, 2012
Thus far a very approachable scholarly text on the formation of romantic poetry in the Middle Ages. Thoroughly enjoyable.
Displaying 1 - 19 of 19 reviews