15th Century Poems

Ballad I

We present this work in honor of the poet’s 570th birthday.

Angelo Poliziano
Italian
1454 – 1494

 

Maidens, I found myself one morn serene
Of middle May within a garden green.
Violets bloomed round about and lilies too
In verdant grass and buds of every hue,
Azure and gold and purest white and red,
Whereat to gather them my fingers sped,
That I might deck therewith my flaxen hair
And weave a garland for my forehead fair

But when I’d well-night culled a lapful, lo,
I saw the roses multi-coloured, so
I ran to fill my skirts with them and they
Breathed such rare fragrancy that straight away
I felt awaken in this heart of mine
Tender desire and happiness divine.

To savour the sweet roses I was fain,
But to describe their loveliness were vain;
Some I beheld just bursting into flower,
Some still in bud, some who had spent their dower:
Then Love said unto me: “Go, gather them
Thou seest most sweetly blooming on the stem!”

When the rose every petal doth unfold,
When she is tenderest, fairest to behold,
Before her loveliness hath passed its prime,
To set her in a garland it is time.
So, maidens, let us go and pull the rose
When she most sweetly in the garden blows.

Translation by Lorna de’Lucchi

Dark Night of the Heart

We present this work in honor of the 565th anniversary of the poet’s death.

Ausiàs March
Spanish
1400 – 1459

 

Day’s terrified to lose her last bright features,
Seeing the night spread darkness overhead.
Small creatures dare not close their eyes for slumber.
The sick and weak ail even more in bed.
Then evil men can freely do their worst
Who’d have the cover of darkness last all year.
Not I who am tormented as no other
Yet do no harm. I long for daylight clear.

I do no harm, and yet do worse than murder
A thousand guiltless men for ruthless fun:
I summon all my powers for self-betrayal
And do not count on clemency from dawn.
No, every night I blast my brain concocting
Treasonous plots planned out for all day long.
No fear of death or dungeon life deter me
From visiting against myself such wrong.

Beauty of Prudence: I know it’s my doing
That love’s tight noose has twisted around me.
Straight is the path I take without delay
To end, unless your mercy set me free.

Translation by A.Z. Foreman

My Heart is But a Moth on Your Candle-Like Face

Ahli Shirazi
Persian
1454 – 1535

 

My heart is but a moth on your candle like face, for it
bears prints of faithfulness. Issue the edict of union, for it
is besmeared with blood of grief.

Insignia of prosperity and edict of authority will be decora¬
ted in the name of Mir Ali Sher.

O God, I pray thee that enemy’s hand of power, should
always stand turned down as has been in the past.

Serranilla

We present this work in honor of the 565th anniversary of the poet’s death.

Íñigo López de Mendoza y de la Vega
Spanish
1398 – 1458

 

From Calatrava as I took my way
At holy Mary’s shrine to kneel and pray,
And sleep upon my eyelids heavy lay,
There where the ground was very rough and wild,
I lost my path and met a peasant child:
From Finojosa, with the herds around her,
There in the fields I found her.

Upon a meadow green with tender grass,
With other rustic cowherds, lad and lass,
So sweet a thing to see I watched her pass:
My eyes could scarce believe her what they found her,
There with the herds around her.

I do not think that roses in the Spring
Are half so lovely in their fashioning:
My heart must needs avow this secret thing,
That had I known her first as then I found her,
From Finojosa, with the herds around her,
I had not strayed so far her face to see
That it might rob me of my liberty.

I questioned her, to know what she might say:
“Has she of Finojosa passed this way?”
She smiled and answered me: “In vain you sue,
Full well my heart discerns the hope in you:
But she of whom you speak, and have not found her.
Her heart is free, no thought of love has bound her,
Here with the herds around her.”

Translation by John Pierrepont Rice

Canción

Juan de Mena
Spanish
1411 – 1456

 

As I upon my pallet lie,
The greatest grief I know
Is thinking when I said “Good-bye”
To the breast I’m loving so.

In spite of all the woes I feel
Upon that parting thought,
At times my memories reveal
The mighty joys you brought.
So let the world a-whispering go
To tell why here I lie;
Because they know I’ve said “Good-bye”
To the breast I’m loving so.

I languish but I let none hear
How deep my sorrows are,
Although my griefs are quite as near
As your sweet balm is far.
And if it be the end they show
And death is coming nigh,
While living, let me say “Good-bye”
To the breast I’m loving so.

Translation by Thomas Walsh

The Value of a Man

We present this work in honor of the 530th anniversary of the poet’s death.

Jami
Persian
1414 – 1492

 

The price of a man consists not in silver and gold;
The value of a man is his power and virtue.
Many a slave has by acquiring virtue
Attained much greater power than a gentleman
And many a gentleman has for want of virtue,
Become inferior to his own slave.

Sonetto I

Matteo Maria Boiardo
Italian
1441 – 1494

 

The song of little birds from spray to spray,
The fragrant breeze that wafts among the flowers,
The lights that in transparent liquors play,
Awaking laughter in these eyes of ours,

Are here since nature and the heavens agree
With him who willeth that the whole world fall
Under love’s spell; hence sweetest melody
And fragrance thrill earth, wind, and waters all.

Wherever foot doth tread and eye doth rove
A passionate spirit kindleth, fraught with love,
Which giveth warmth before the summer days;
At his caressing smile and soft, sweet gaze

The flowers don brilliant hues, the grass grows green,
The waves are quieted, the skies serene.

Translation by Lorna de’ Lucchi

Jiviche jivlage majhe Krishnai Kanhai

We present this work in honor of Janmashtami.

Kanhopatra
Indian
15th century

 

O Krsna
mother
heart of my heart,

O dark one,
with beautiful eyes,
have mercy on me,
my birth is low,
my reputation black as night.

O dark one,
with beautiful eyes, please,
have mercy on me.
The Vedas proclaim you
champion of the low
savior of the downtrodden
like me.
Kanhopatra surrenders
again and again,
O dark one,
have mercy on me.

Translation by Sarah Sellergren

You, Azure Bird

We present this work in honor of the 550th anniversary of the poet’s death.

06-04 Nezahualcoyotl
Nezahualcoyotl
Mexican
1402 – 1472

 

You, azure bird, shining parrot, you walk flying. Oh Highest Arbiter, Life Giver: trembling, You extend Yourself here, filling my house, filling my dwelling, here.

With Your piety and grace one can live, oh Author of Life, on earth: trembling, You extend Yourself here, filling my house, filling my dwelling, here.

 

Translation by John Curl