- – Translated from Beatritz de Dia’s Occitan poem "[A chanter m’er de so qu’ieu non volria]"
I sing of lies better left unsaid
and cage the rage I feel for him
who I’ve wanted more than anything.
All my pity and good girl deeds died,
and so my body, soul, and my brain,
since I’ve been played the total fool
like I was some old, useless tool.
Here’s truth that makes good return:
not even once did I try to burn
him who was Romeo to my Juliet.
So I guess in this I’ll win,
since I love better than any men.
Here you are, so cold to me,
and to others, so warm and free.
I knew how I’d live on dead,
the day you grew blind to me.
You let her get inside your head,
and gave to her what was mine instead.
Remember how we loved at the start!
Don’t make me be the one
who breaks us, as you broke my heart.
I know there is something secret in you
better than your money, better than sex;
there are always whores, few and many,
who smell money in their grip on you.
But, honey, you above all have the sense,
to see that I am worth more than all the rest;
who makes poems better than we do?
My place in your life should carry some weight,
just so my look, and above all, my thoughts;
so I send you, there in your faraway state
this song as messenger and delegate.
I need to know, you cruelly fine friend,
why I deserve such a brutal fate.
It is either pride or spite that I offend.
But above all, bring these words as the sound
of excess pride knocking him down.
- – Original Occitan
A chantar m’er de so qu’ieu non volria,
tant me rancur de luis cui sui amia,
car l’am mais que nuilla ren que sia;
vas lui no. m val merces ni cortesia,
ni ma beltatz ni mos pretz ni mos sens,
c’atressi. m sui enganad’ e trahia
com degr’ esser, s’ieu fos desavinens.
D’aisso. m. connort car anc non fi faillenssa,
amics, vas vos per nuilla captenenssa,
anz vos am mais non fetz Seguis Valenssa;
e platz me mout quez eu d’amar vos venssa,
lo mieus amics, car etz lo plus valens;
mi faitz orguoill en ditz et en parvenssa,
e si etz francs vas totas autras gens.
Be. m meravill com vostre cors s’orguoilla,
amics, vas me, per qu’ai razon qu’ieu m duoilla;
non es ges dreitz c’autr’ amors vos mi tuoilla
per nuilla ren que. us diga ni acuoilla;
e membre vos cals fo. l comenssamens
de nostr’ amor! ja Dompnaedieuz non vuoilla
qu’en ma colpa sia. l’ departimens.
Proesa grans qu’el vostre cors s’aizina
e lo rics pretz qu’avetz m’en ataina,
c’una non sai, loindana ni vezina,
si vol amar, vas vos no si’aclina;
mas vos, amics, etz ben tant conoissens
que ben devetz conoisser la plis fina;
e membre vos de nostres partimens.
Valer mi deu mos pretz e mos paratges,
e ma beltatz e plus mos fis cortages,
per qu’ieu vos mand lai on es vostr’ estatges
esta chansson que me sia messatges;
ieu vuoill saber, lo mieus bel amics gens,
per que vos m’etz tant fers ni tant salvatges;
non said si s’es orguoills o mal talens.
Mas aitan plus vuoill li digas, messatges,
qu’en trop d’orguoill ant gran dan maintas gens.
