SET READINGS - ujaen.eslugarcia/litingre/set _readings_sonnets.doc · Web viewel ancho campo me...

READING PETRARCH AND PETRARCHIST SONNETS

INDEXReprobación moralAdiós al amor

Petrarch 1, 32 Sidney 5 & 18Wyatt “Farewell Love…”

Garcilaso 1, 17

Ronsard 74

Sufrimiento, melancolía del amante

Petrarch 15 Garcilaso 17 Ronsard 71

Melancolía, vagar Petrarch 35 Spenser 34 Garcilaso 17 Ronsard 49Mar, estrella Petrarch 189 Spenser 34 Ronsard 6Su poética Petrarch 20 Sydney 1 Garcilaso 5Paso del tiempo Petrarch 12 Garcilaso 23

Góngora 149

Ronsard 42

Love as a warrior Petrarch 140 Wyatt “The Long Love…·Surrey “Love that Doth Reign…”

A- or anti-Petrarchist mode

Shakespeare 116 & 130.

SET READINGSAbrams et alii. (eds.). 1973, etc. The Norton Anthology of English Literature. New

York: W. W. Norton & Company. Vol. I. (Any available edition: 3rd, 4th, 5th, or 6th) [library]:

— Thomas Wyatt: "The Long Love That in My Thought Doth Reign", "Farewell Love", "They Flee from Me".

— Sir Philip Sidney, from Astrophil and Stella: Sonnets 5, 18.— Edmund Spenser, from Amoretti: Sonnet 34.— William Shakespeare, from his Sonnets: Sonnets 116 and 130.

Góngora, Luis de. 1969. Sonetos completos. Edición de Biruté Ciplijauskaité. Madrid: Castalia.

— Sonnet 149.Petrarca, Francesco. 1989. Cancionero. Madrid: Cátedra (Col. Letras Universales), 2

vols. Bilingual edition:— Sonnets 1, 12, 15, 20, 23, 35, 189.

Ronsard, Pierre de. 1982. Sonetos para Helena (Sonnets pour Hélene). Edición bilingüe de Carlos Pujol. Barcelona: Bruguera. Sonnets 6, 42, 49, 71 and 74.

Vega, Garcilaso de la. [any edition]:— Sonnets 1, 5, 17, 23

ANOTHER SONNETS BY RONSARD TO BE CONSIDERED IN TEXT COMMENTARYSonnets 18, p. 93 Sonnet 42, p. 109 Sonnet 78, p. 134Sonnet 20, p. 94 Sonnet 49, p.114 Sonnet 121, p. 163Sonnet 23, p. 97 (Good!) Sonnet 76, p. 132 (Canonization) Sonnet 36, p. 245

SET 1: Petrarch 1, 32; Garcilaso 1, 17; Ronsard 74; Sydney 5, 18; Wyat “Farewell Love…

PETRARCH, SONNET 1

ITALIAN SPANISHVoi ch'ascoltate in rime sparse il suonodi quei sospiri ond'io nudriva 'l corein sul mio primo giovenile errorequand'era in parte altr'uom da quel ch'i' sono,

del vario stile in ch'io piango et ragionofra le vane speranze e 'l van dolore,ove sia chi per prova intenda amore,spero trovar pietà, nonché perdono.

Ma ben veggio or sí come al popol tuttofavola fui gran tempo, onde soventedi me mesdesmo meco mi vergogno;

et del mio vaneggiar vergogna è 'l frutto,e 'l pentersi, e 'l conoscer chiaramenteche quanto piace al mondo è breve sogno.

Vosotros que escucháis en sueltas rimas el quejumbroso son que me nutría en aquel juvenil error primero cuando en parte era otro del que soy,

del vario estilo en que razono y lloroentre esperanzas vanas y dolores, en quien sepa de amor por experiencia, además de perdón, piedad espero.

Pero ahora bien sé que tiempo anduveen boca de la gente, y a menudo entre mí de mí mismo me avergüenzo;

de mi delirio la vergüenza es fruto,y el que yo me arrepienta y claro veaque cuanto agrada al mundo es breve sueño.

PETRARCH, SONNET 1

ITALIAN ENGLISHVoi ch'ascoltate in rime sparse il suonodi quei sospiri ond'io nudriva 'l corein sul mio primo giovenile errorequand'era in parte altr'uom da quel ch'i' sono,

del vario stile in ch'io piango et ragionofra le vane speranze e 'l van dolore,ove sia chi per prova intenda amore,spero trovar pietà, nonché perdono.

Ma ben veggio or sí come al popol tuttofavola fui gran tempo, onde soventedi me mesdesmo meco mi vergogno;

et del mio vaneggiar vergogna è 'l frutto,e 'l pentersi, e 'l conoscer chiaramenteche quanto piace al mondo è breve sogno.

You who hear the sound, in scattered rhymes, of those sighs on which I fed my heart,in my first vagrant youthfulness,when I was partly other than I am,

I hope to find pity, and forgiveness,for all the modes in which I talk and weep,between vain hope and vain sadness,in those who understand love through its trials.

Yet I see clearly now I have becomean old tale amongst all these people, so thatit often makes me ashamed of myself;

and shame is the fruit of my vanities,and remorse, and the clearest knowledgeof how the world's delight is a brief dream.


PETRARCH, SONNET 32

ITALIAN SPANISHQuanto piú m'avicino al giorno extremoche l'umana miseria suol far breve,piú veggio il tempo andar veloce et leve,e 'l mio di lui sperar fallace et scemo.

I' dico a' miei pensier': Non molto andremod'amor parlando omai, ché 'l duro et greveterreno incarco come frescha nevesi va struggendo; onde noi pace avremo:

perché co llui cadrà quella speranzache ne fe' vaneggiar sí lungamente,e 'l riso e 'l pianto, et la paura et l'ira;

sí vedrem chiaro poi come soventeper le cose dubbiose altri s'avanza,et come spesso indarno si sospira.

Cuanto más me aproximo al día extremoque la humana miseria abreviar suele,más veo cómo el tiempo leve vuela,y que esperar en él es falso y necio.

«No iremos ya —le digo al pensamiento— hablando más de amor, que el duro y grave peso terreno como fresca nievederritiéndose va, y paz tendremos;

porque con él caerá aquella esperanza que tanto tiempo delirar me hiciera, y las iras, los miedos, llanto y risa;

después veremos claro que a menudose afanan otros por dudosas cosas, y que en vano, frecuente, se suspira.»

PETRARCH, SONNET 32

ITALIAN ENGLISHQuanto piú m'avicino al giorno extremoche l'umana miseria suol far breve,piú veggio il tempo andar veloce et leve,e 'l mio di lui sperar fallace et scemo.

I' dico a' miei pensier': Non molto andremod'amor parlando omai, ché 'l duro et greveterreno incarco come frescha nevesi va struggendo; onde noi pace avremo:

perché co llui cadrà quella speranzache ne fe' vaneggiar sí lungamente,e 'l riso e 'l pianto, et la paura et l'ira;

sí vedrem chiaro poi come soventeper le cose dubbiose altri s'avanza,et come spesso indarno si sospira.

The closer I come to that last daythat puts an end to human miserythe more swiftly and lightly I see time go by,and my hopes of it deceive and fade.

I say in thought: 'No time is left nowto speak of love, for this hard and heavyearthly burden has begun to meltlike fresh snow: so we'll find peace:

since with the body hope too will vanish,that made us rave for so many years,with laughter and tears, fear and anger:

for so we see how it often happensthat through uncertain things we advance,and often we sigh to no real purpose.'


GARCILASO, SONNET 1

SPANISH ENGLISHCuando me paro a contemplar mi estado When I pause to contemplate my circumstance,y a ver los pasos por dó me han traído, and look back on the road I have traversed,hallo, según por do anduve perdido, I find, to judge by where I have been lost,que a mayor mal pudiera haber llegado; that I might well have ended up far worse;

mas cuando del camino estó olvidado, but then if I forget about the road,a tanto mal no sé por dó he venido; I don't know how I've reached such misery;sé que me acabo, y más he yo sentido I know I die, and all the more regretver acabar comigo mi cuidado. the knowledge that my love will die with me.

Yo acabaré, que me entregué sin arte And die I shall, for yielding artlesslya quien sabrá perderme y acabarme to one who easily could end my lifesi quisiere, y aún sabrá querello; if that's what she desires, which may prove true;

que pues mi voluntad puede matarme, for since my will can bring about my death,la suya, que no es tanto de mi parte, her will, which is not so much on my side,pudiendo, ¿qué hará sino hacello? since it can, what else would it likely do?

(©Alix Ingber, 1995)

GARCILASO, SONNET 1

SPANISH ENGLISHCuando me paro a contemplar mi estadoy a ver los pasos por dó me han traído,hallo, según por do anduve perdido,que a mayor mal pudiera haber llegado;

mas cuando del camino estó olvidado,a tanto mal no sé por dó he venido;sé que me acabo, y más he yo sentidover acabar comigo mi cuidado.

Yo acabaré, que me entregué sin artea quien sabrá perderme y acabarmesi quisiere, y aún sabrá querello;

que pues mi voluntad puede matarme,la suya, que no es tanto de mi parte,pudiendo, ¿qué hará sino hacello?

When I now pause to ponder my conditionand see the route by which I have been led, I find, to judge by how I went astray,I might have come to grief that's even worse.

But then oblivious of the road I took,I know no longer how I reached such ills.I know that I am spent and it's my great hurtto see my cares expended also with me.

I'll spend myself, who without guile gave up myselfto one well skilled to cause my loss and endif she should wish, and she can even wish it.

For as my will can put an end to me,hers, which scarcely wants to aid me, what will it do but act as it's empowered? (Michael Smith)1

1 http://www.shearsman.com/pages/gallery/smith/4garcilaso_sonnets.html


GARCILASO, SONNET 17

SPANISH ENGLISHPensando que el camino iba derecho,vine a parar en tanta desventuraque imaginar no puedo, aun con locura,algo de que ’sté un rato satisfecho:

el ancho campo me parece estrecho,la noche clara para mí es escura,la dulce compañía amarga y dura,y duro campo de batalla el lecho.

Del sueño, si hay alguno, aquella partesola que es ser imagen de la muertese aviene con el alma fatigada.

En fin que, como quiera, estoy de arteque juzgo ya por hora menos fuerte,aunque en ella me vi, la que es pasada.

Believing my way to go straightI came to so much misfortunethat I cannot imagine, even in madness,something to be satisfied with for a while,

the wide field to me seems narrow,the clear night for me is dark,the sweet company bitter and hardand hard battlefield my bed.

Of sleep, if there is any, that partalone which is an image of deathaccords with my weary soul.

In sad conclusion I am, at all events, in such a statethat I deem to be a less hard hour,though I went through it, the one that is past.


RONSARD, SONNET 74FRENCH SPANISH

Adieu, cruelle, adieu, je te suis ennuyeux:C'est trop chanté d'Amour sans nulle récompense.Te serve qui voudra, je m'en vais, et je penseQu'un autre serviteur te servira mieux.

Amour en quinze jours m'a fait ingénieux,Me jetant au cerveau de ces vers la semence:La raison maintenant me rappelle et me tance:Je ne veux si longtemps devenir furieux.

Il ne faut plus nourrir cet Enfant qui me ronge,Qui les crédules prend comme un poisson à l'hain,Une plaisante farce, une belle mensonge,

Un plaisir pour cent maux qui s'envole soudain:Mais il se faut résoudre, et tenir pour certainQue l'homme est malheureux, qui se repaît d'un songe.

Adiós, cruel, me despido pues te soy enfadoso.Demasiado he cantado a Amor sin recompensa,que te sirva quien quiera, yo me voy y te digoque otro siervo no habrá que te sirva mejor.

Quince meses después Amor me ha hecho elocuenteal echar de estos versos la semilla en mi alma;la Razón me reclama reprendiéndome ahora,hace ya demasiado que Locura me habita.

Basta ya de ser pasto de ese Niño vorazque a los crédulos coge como a un pez el anzuelo,un donaire gracioso, una bella mentira,

un placer por cien males que de pronto se esfuma.Pero habrá que admitir y tener por seguroque infeliz es el hombre que se nutre de un sueño.

RONSARD, SONNET 74FRENCH ENGLISH

Adieu, cruelle, adieu, je te suis ennuyeux:C'est trop chanté d'Amour sans nulle récompense.Te serve qui voudra, je m'en vais, et je penseQu'un autre serviteur te servira mieux.

Amour en quinze jours m'a fait ingénieux,Me jetant au cerveau de ces vers la semence:La raison maintenant me rappelle et me tance:Je ne veux si longtemps devenir furieux.

Il ne faut plus nourrir cet Enfant qui me ronge,Qui les crédules prend comme un poisson à l'hain,Une plaisante farce, une belle mensonge,

Un plaisir pour cent maux qui s'envole soudain:Mais il se faut résoudre, et tenir pour certainQue l'homme est malheureux, qui se repaît d'un songe.

Farewell, you cruel, farewell, I am annoying to you:too much have I sung of Love without rewardlet them that wish it, to serve you, I quit and I saythat another servarnt will serve you the better.

Love, in fiteen days, has made me witty by casting on my brain the seeds of these lines,reason claims and rebukes me now:I don’t want for so long to become a mad man.

No more to nourish this child who eats me away,let the credulous ones take, like a fish take the bait, a charming visage, a beautiful gaze,

A pleasure for one hundred evils, which vanishes in a trice:But it must be admitted, and held for certainThat he is a wretched man who feeds on a dream.


SYDNEY, SONNET 5

It is most true that eyes are form'd to serue The inward light, and that the heauenly part Ought to be King, from whose rules who do swerue, Rebels to nature, striue for their owne smart. It is most true, what we call Cupids dart An image is, which for ourselues we carue, And, foolse, adore in temple of our hart, Till that good god make church and churchmen starue.True, that true beautie virtue is indeed, Whereof this beautie can be but a shade, Which, elements with mortal mixture breed. True, that on earth we are but pilgrims made, And should in soule up to our countrey moue: True, and yet true that I must Stella loue.

SYDNEY, SONNET 18

Astrophil and Stella: 18

With what sharp checks I in myself am shentWhen into Reason's audit I do go,And by just counts myself a bankrupt knowOf all those goods which heaven to me hath lent,Unable quite to pay even Nature's rent,Which unto it by birthright I do owe:And which is worse, no good excuse can show,But that my wealth I have most idly spent.My youth doth waste, my knowledge brings forth toys,My wit doth strive those passions to defendWhich for reward spoil it with vain annoys.I see my course to lose myself doth bend:I see, and yet no greater sorrow takeThan that I lose no more for Stella's sake.


WYATT, “FAREWELL LOVE AND ALL THY LAWS FOR EVER”

Farewell, Love, and all thy laws forever,-- Thy baited hooks shall tangle me no more; Senec and Plato call me from thy lore, To perfect wealth my wit for to endeavour.In blind error when I did persever, Thy sharp repulse, that pricketh aye so sore, Hath taught me to set in trifles no store And scape forth since liberty is lever.Therefore farewell--go trouble younger hearts, And in me claim no more authority; With idle youth go use thy property,And thereon spend thy many brittle darts. For hitherto though I have lost all my time, Me lusteth no longer rotten boughs to climb.

SET 2: Petrarch 15; Garcilaso 17; Ronsard 71

PETRARCH, SONNET 15

ITALIAN SPANISHIo mi rivolgo indietro a ciascun passocol corpo stancho ch'a gran pena porto,et prendo allor del vostr'aere confortoche 'l fa gir oltra dicendo: Oimè lasso!

Poi ripensando al dolce ben ch'io lasso,al camin lungo et al mio viver corto,fermo le piante sbigottito et smorto,et gli occhi in terra lagrimando abasso.

Talor m'assale in mezzo a'tristi piantiun dubbio: come posson queste membrada lo spirito lor viver lontane?

Ma rispondemi Amor: Non ti rimembrache questo è privilegio degli amanti,sciolti da tutte qualitati humane?

Yo me vuelvo hacia atrás a cada paso con un cuerpo que apenas si soporto, y tomo el aire vuestro que me alivia y me hace andar diciendo: «¡Ay de mí, triste»

Evocando depués el bien perdido, el largo caminar y el vivir breve,lívido y asustado me detengo, y con lágrimas miro hacia la tierra.

Me asalta en medio de mi llanto a vecesuna duda: ¿cómo estos miembros puedendel espíritu suyo vivir lejos?

Mas llega Amor al punto a responderme:«¿No recuerdas que es esto privilegiode los amantes, libres de lo humano»

PETRARCH, SONNET 15

ITALIAN ENGLISHIo mi rivolgo indietro a ciascun passocol corpo stancho ch'a gran pena porto,et prendo allor del vostr'aere confortoche 'l fa gir oltra dicendo: Oimè lasso!

Poi ripensando al dolce ben ch'io lasso,al camin lungo et al mio viver corto,fermo le piante sbigottito et smorto,et gli occhi in terra lagrimando abasso.

Talor m'assale in mezzo a'tristi piantiun dubbio: come posson queste membrada lo spirito lor viver lontane?

Ma rispondemi Amor: Non ti rimembrache questo è privilegio degli amanti,sciolti da tutte qualitati humane?

I turn back at every step I takewith weary body that has borne great pain,and take comfort then from your aspectthat make me go on, saying: Ah me!

Then thinking of the sweet good I leave,of the long road, and of my brief life,I halt my steps, dismayed and pale,and lower my eyes weeping to the ground.

Sometimes a doubt assails me in the midstof sad tears: how can these limbslive separated from their spirit?

But Love replies: Do you not rememberthat this is the privilege of lovers,freed from every other human tie?







Believing my way to go straightI come to so much misfortunethat I cannot imagine, even in madness,something to be satisfied with for a while,





RONSARD, SONNET 71

ITALIAN SPANISHMaistresse quand je pense aux traverses d’amourQu’ore chaude ores froides en aimant tu me donnes,Comme sans passion mon coeurrtu pasiones,Que n’a contre son mal ny tréve ny sejour:

Je souspire la nuict, je me conplains le tourContre toy, ma Raison, qui mon fort abandonnes,Et pleines de discourse, confuse, tu t’estonnesDés la premier assaut, sans defendre ma Tour.

Non: si forts ennemis n’assaillent nostre place,Qu’ils ne fussent vaincus si tu tournois la face,Encores que mon Coeur trahitst ce que est mien.

Une oeillade, une main, un petit ris me tue:De trois foibles soudars ta force est combatue:Qui te dira divine, il ne dira pas bien.

¡Cuando pienso, señora, en las penas de amorque, ya ardiente, ya fria, al amarte me das,cómo mi corazón sin pasión apasionasy no tiene su mal ni descanso ni tregua,

por la noche suspiro y de día me quejo, oh razón, contra ti, que el.castillo abandonasy confusa, asordada de palabras, escapasal embate primero, y así rindes mi torre.

Nuestra plaza no asedian enemigos tan fuertesque no fuesen vencidos si volvieras la cara, por más que el corazón lo que es mío traiciona.

Su mirada, su mano, su sonrisa me matan.Tres guerreros bien débiles a tu fuerza se oponen.Quien te llame divina te habrá dado un mal [nombre.

RONSARD, SONNET 71

ITALIAN ENGLISHMaistresse quand je pense aux traverses d’amourQu’ore chaude ores froides en aimant tu me donnes,Comme sans passion mon coeurr tu pasiones,Que n’a contre son mal ny tréve ny sejour:

Je souspire la nuict, je me conplains le tourContre toy, ma Raison, qui mon fort abandonnes,Et pleines de discourse, confuse, tu t’estonnesDés la premier assaut, sans defendre ma Tour.

Non: si forts ennemis n’assaillent nostre place,Qu’ils ne fussent vaincus si tu tournois la face,Encores que mon Coeur trahitst ce que est mien.

Une oeillade, une main, un petit ris me tue:De trois foibles soudars ta force est combatue:Qui te dira divine, il ne dira pas bien.

Mistress, when I think of the pains of lovewhich either hot or cold by my loving you give me,how, passionless, you impassion my heart,which, against its ills, finds nor respite nor rest,

I sigh during the night, during the day I complainagainst you, my Reason, that forsakes my fortress,and deafened with words, confused you fleeat the first assault, without defending your Tower.

No, so strong an enemy our enclave besiegethat might not be defeated if you turned your face to them,no matter how much the heart my own interests betrays

Her glance, her hand, her smile kill me:by three weak warriors against your force strive:Those who call you divine, they misname you.

SET 3: Petrarch 35; Garcilaso 17, Ronsard 49, Spenser 34

PETRARCH, SONNET 35

ITALIAN ENGLISHSolo et pensoso i piú deserti campivo mesurando a passi tardi et lenti,et gli occhi porto per fuggire intentiove vestigio human l'arena stampi.

Altro schermo non trovo che mi scampidal manifesto accorger de le genti,perché negli atti d'alegrezza spentidi fuor si legge com'io dentro avampi:

sí ch'io mi credo omai che monti et piaggeet fiumi et selve sappian di che tempresia la mia vita, ch'è celata altrui.

Ma pur sí aspre vie né sí selvaggecercar non so ch'Amor non venga sempreragionando con meco, et io co llui.

Alone and thoughtful, through the most desolate fields,I go measuring out slow, hesitant paces,and keep my eyes intent on fleeingany place where human footsteps mark the sand.

I find no other defence to protect mefrom other people's open notice,since in my aspect, whose joy is quenched,they see from outside how I flame within.

So now I believe that mountains and river-banksand rivers and forests know the qualityof my life, hidden from others.

Yet I find there is no path so wild or harshthat love will not always come therespeaking with me, and I with him.






Believing my way to go straightI come to so much misfortunethat I cannot imagine, even in madness,something to be satisfied with for a while,





RONSARD, SONNET 49

FRENCH SPANISHD’un solitaire pas je ne marche en nul lieu,Qu’Amour bon artisan ne m’imprime l’imageAu profond du penser de ton gentil visage,Et des mots gracieux de ton dernier Adieu.

Plus fermes qu’un rocher, engravez au milieuDe mon cœur je les porte: et s’il n’y a rivage,Fleur, antre ny rocher, ny forests ny bocage,A qui je ne le conte, à Nymphe, ny à Dieu.

D’une si rare et douce ambrosine viandeMon esperance vit, qui n’a voulu depuisSe paistre d’autre apast, tant elle en est friande.

Ce jour de mille jours m’effaça les ennuis:Car tant opiniastre en ce plaisir je suis,Que mon ame pour vivre autre bien ne demande..

Con andar solitario no hay lugar al que vayadonde Amor, buen artífice, no me imprima la imagen, en el fondo de mí de tu rostro gentil, y la incierta palabra de tu último adiós.

Y más firmes que peñas yo las llevo grabadas en mitad de mi pecho; y no hay flor ni ribera,ni peñasco m gruta, ni floresta ni sotoa quien no las repita siempre a ninfas y a dioses.

De un manjar ambrosiaco singular y tan dulce mi esperanza se nutre, y jamás ha querido admitir otra vianda, tanto le es placentera.

Aquel día en mil días me borró las congojas,pues soy tan obstinado en gozar tal placerque no pide mi alma otro bien de la vida.

RONSARD, SONNET 49

FRENCH ENGLISHD’un solitaire pas je ne marche en nul lieu,Qu’Amour bon artisan ne m’imprime l’imageAu profond du penser de ton gentil visage,Et des mots gracieux de ton dernier Adieu.

Plus fermes qu’un rocher, engravez au milieuDe mon cœur je les porte: et s’il n’y a rivage,Fleur, antre ny rocher, ny forests ny bocage,A qui je ne le conte, à Nymphe, ny à Dieu.

D’une si rare et douce ambrosine viandeMon esperance vit, qui n’a voulu depuisSe paistre d’autre apast, tant elle en est friande.

Ce jour de mille jours m’effaça les ennuis:Car tant opiniastre en ce plaisir je suis,Que mon ame pour vivre autre bien ne demande..

With solitary pace there is no place I goWhere Love, a good craftsman, do not print out the image,Of your fair face in the deepest of my thought,And the uncertain words of your last farewell.

Firmer than rocks, engraved in the middle of my heart, I carry them: and there is no riverflower, cave, rock, wood, nor copse,to which I do not tell, neither Nymph, nor God.

On such a rare and sweet ambrosial foodMy hope lives, that it has not wanted ever afterto admit other food, so pleasant it is for it.

That day effaced one thousand days’ grief,for I am so stubborn in this pleasure,that my soul does not demand another good to live


SPENSER, SONNET 34

Lyke as a ship that through the Ocean wyde,by conduct of some star doth make her way, whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty guyde, out of her course doth wander far astray. So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray me to direct, with cloudes is ouercast, doe wander now in darknesse and dismay, through hidden perils round about me plast. Yet hope I well, that when this storme is past my Helice the lodestar of my lyfe wll shine again, and looke on me at last, with louely light to cleare my cloudy grief. Till then I wander carefull comfortlesse, in secret sorrow and sad pensiuenesse.

SET 4: Petrarch 189; Wyatt “My galley…”; Ronsard 6, Spenser 34

PETRARCH, SONNET 189

ITALIAN SPANISHPassa la nave mia colma d'oblioper aspro mare, a mezza notte il verno,enfra Scilla et Caribdi; et al governosiede 'l signore, anzi 'l nimico mio.

A ciascun remo un penser pronto et rioche la tempesta e 'l fin par ch'abbi a scherno;la vela rompe un vento humido eternodi sospir', di speranze, et di desio.

Pioggia di lagrimar, nebbia di sdegnibagna et rallenta le già stanche sarte,che son d'error con ignorantia attorto.

Celansi i duo mei dolci usati segni;morta fra l'onde è la ragion et l'arte,tal ch'incomincio a desperar del porto.

Pasa la nave mía con olvidopor encrespado mar a media noche,entre Escila y Caribdis, y la gobiernami señor que más bien es mi enemigo.

En cada remo un pensamiento impíoque se burla del fin y la tormenta;la vela rompe un viento húmedo, eterno,de suspiros, deseos y esperanzas.

Lluvia de llanto, nieblas de desdenesmojan y aflojan las cansadas jarciascon error e ignorancia antes trenzadas.

Ocúltanse mis dos dulces señales;el arte y la razón van por las. a,guas,y empiezo a no creer que llegue a puerto.

PETRARCH, SONNET 189

ITALIAN ENGLISHPassa la nave mia colma d'oblioper aspro mare, a mezza notte il verno,enfra Scilla et Caribdi; et al governosiede 'l signore, anzi 'l nimico mio.




My ship, full of oblivion, sailson a bitter sea, at winter's midnight,between Scylla and Charybdis: at the helmsits that Lord, or rather my enemy.

At each oar there's a cruel eager thought,that scorns the tempest and its end:the sail's torn by an eternal moist windof sighs, of hopes, and of desire.

A rain of tears, a mist of disdaindrench and slacken the already tired shrouds,woven from error and ignorance.

My two usual guiding lights are so hidden:reason and art so drowned by the waves,that I begin to despair of finding harbour.


RONSARD, SONNET 6

FRENCH ENGLISHPoussé des flos, d'Amour je n'ay point de supportJe ne voy point de' Phare, & si fe ne desire(O desir trop hardi!) sinon que ma Navire,Apres tant de peri1s puisse gaigner le port.

Las! devant que payer mes vreux des sus le bort,Naufrage je mourray: car je ne voy reluireQu'une flame sur moy, qu'une Helene qui tireEntre mille rochers ma Navire à la mort.

Je suis seul me noyant de ma vie homicid.e Choisissant un enfant un aveugle pour guide,Dont il me faut de honté & pleurer & rougir.

J e ne sçay si mes Sens, ou si ma Raison tascheDe conduire ma nef, mais je sçay qu'il me fascheDe voir un si beau port & n'y pouvoir surgir.

Among love’s pounding seas, for me there’s no support,And I can see no light, and yet have no desires(O desire too bold!) except, as my vessel tires,That after such dangers I may still reach port.

Alas! Before I can offer my prayers ashore,Shipwrecked, I die: for I only see one fireBurning above me, one Helen who inspiresMy vessel to seek its death on reefs so dire.

Drowning I am alone, my own self-murderer,Choosing a child, a blind boy, as my leader,So, I ought to shed tears, and blush for shame.

I don’t know if my reason or senses guide me,Steering my boat, but I still know it grieves meTo see so fair a harbour yet not attain. (A. S. Kline © 2004)


PETRARCH, SONNET 189WYATT’S VERSION, “My galley chargèd…”

ITALIAN WYATT´S VERSIONPassa la nave mia colma d'oblioper aspro mare, a mezza notte il verno,enfra Scilla et Caribdi; et al governosiede 'l signore, anzi 'l nimico mio.




My galley chargèd with forgetfulnessThrough sharp seas, in winter night doth passTween rock and rock; and eke mine enemy, alas,

That is my lord steereth with cruelness.And every oar a thought in readiness,As though that death were light in such a case.An endless wind doth tear the sail apace

Of forcèd sighs and trusty fearfulness.A rain of tears, a cloud of dark disdain,Hath done the wearied cords great hinderance,Wreathed with error and eke with ignorance.The stars be hid that led me to this pain

Drownèd is reason that should me consort,And I remain despairing of the port.

SPENSER, SONNET 34

Lyke as a ship that through the Ocean wyde,by conduct of some star doth make her way, whenas a storme hath dimd her trusty guyde, out of her course doth wander far astray.

So I whose star, that wont with her bright ray me to direct, with cloudes is ouercast, doe wander now in darknesse and dismay, through hidden perils round about me plast.

Yet hope I well, that when this storme is past my Helice the lodestar of my lyfe wll shine again, and looke on me at last, with louely light to cleare my cloudy grief.

Till then I wander carefull comfortlesse, in secret sorrow and sad pensiuenesse.

SET 5: Petrarch 20; Garcilaso 5; Sidney 1

PETRARCH, SONNET 20

ITALIAN SPANISHVergognando talor ch'ancor si taccia,donna, per me vostra bellezza in rima,ricorro al tempo ch'i' vi vidi prima,tal che null'altra fia mai che mi piaccia.

Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia,né ovra da polir colla mia lima:però l'ingegno che sua forza extimane l'operatïon tutto s'agghiaccia.

Piú volte già per dir le labbra apersi,poi rimase la voce in mezzo 'l pecto:ma qual sòn poria mai salir tant'alto?

Piú volte incominciai di scriver versi:ma la penna et la mano et l'intellectorimaser vinti nel primier assalto.

Ashamed sometimes that your beauty,lady, is still silent in my verses,I recall that time when I first saw it,such that nothing else could ever please me.

But I find the weight too great for my shoulder,a work not to be polished by my skill:the more my wit exercises its forcethe more its whole action grows cold.

Many times my lips have opened to speak,but my voice is stilled in my chest:who is he who could climb so high?

Many times I've begun to scribble verses:but the pen, the hand, and the intellectfell back defeated at their first attempt.

PETRARCH, SONNET 20ITALIAN ENGLISH

Vergognando talor ch'ancor si taccia,donna, per me vostra bellezza in rima,ricorro al tempo ch'i' vi vidi prima,tal che null'altra fia mai che mi piaccia.

Ma trovo peso non da le mie braccia,né ovra da polir colla mia lima:però l'ingegno che sua forza extimane l'operatïon tutto s'agghiaccia.

Piú volte già per dir le labbra apersi,poi rimase la voce in mezzo 'l pecto:ma qual sòn poria mai salir tant'alto?

Piú volte incominciai di scriver versi:ma la penna et la mano et l'intellectorimaser vinti nel primier assalto.

Ashamed sometimes that your beauty,lady, is still silent in my verses,I recall that time when I first saw it,such that nothing else could ever please me.

But I find the weight too great for my shoulder,a work not to be polished by my skill:the more my wit exercises its forcethe more its whole action grows cold.

Many times my lips have opened to speak,but my voice is stilled in my chest:who is he who could climb so high?

Many times I've begun to scribble verses:but the pen, the hand, and the intellectfell back defeated at their first attempt.

SET 5: Petrarch 20; Garcilaso 5; Sidney 1

GARCILASO, SONNET 5

SPANISH ENGLISHEscrito está en mi alma vuestro gestoy cuanto yo escribir de vos deseo:vos sola lo escribisteis; yo lo leotan solo que aun de vos me guardo en esto.

En esto estoy y estaré siempre puesto,que aunque no cabe en mí cuanto en vos veode tanto bien lo que no entiendo creo,tomando ya la fe por presupuesto.

Yo no nací sino para quereros;mi alma os ha cortado a su medida;por hábito del alma misma os quiero;

cuanto tengo confieso yo deberos;por vos nací, por vos tengo la vida,por vos he de morir, y por vos muero.

Your face is written in my soulAnd whenso'er I wish to chant thy praise,On that illumined manuscript I gaze,Thou the sweet scribe art, I but read the scroll.

In this dear study all my days shall roll;And though this book can ne'er the half receiveOf what in thee is charming, I believeIn that I see not, and thus see the whole.

I was born only to love you My soul has formed you to its measure;I want you as garment of my soul

all I have, I confess I do you owe for you I was born, for you I keep my living,for you I must die, and for you I die.

SIDNEY, SONNET 1

Loving in truth, and fain in verse my love to show,That She, dear She, might take some pleasure of my pain,Pleasure might cause her read, reading might make her know,Knowledge might pity win, and pity grace obtain - I sought fit words to paint the blackest face of woe,Studying inventions fine, her wits to entertain,Oft turning others' leaves, to see if thence would flowSome fresh and fruitful showers upon my sunburnt brain.But words came halting forth, wanting Invention's stay;Invention, Nature's child, fled step-dame Study's blows;And others' feet still seemed but strangers in my way.Thus, great with child to speak, and helpless in my throes,Biting my truant pen, beating myself for spite - "Fool!" said my Muse to me "look in thy heart, and write!"

SET 6: Petrarch 12; Garcilaso 23; Góngora 149; Ronsard 42

PETRARCH, SONNET 12

ITALIAN SPANISHSe la mia vita da l'aspro tormentosi può tanto schermire, et dagli affanni,ch'i' veggia per vertù de gli ultimi anni,donna, de' be' vostr'occhi il lume spento,

e i cape' d'oro fin farsi d'argento,et lassar le ghirlande e i verdi panni,e 'l viso scolorir che ne' miei dannia llamentar mi fa pauroso et lento:

pur mi darà tanta baldanza Amorech'i' vi discovrirò de' mei martiriqua' sono stati gli anni, e i giorni et l'ore;

et se 'l tempo è contrario ai be' desiri,non fia ch'almen non giunga al mio dolorealcun soccorso di tardi sospiri.

Si mi vida del áspero tormentoy de afanes pudiera defenderse,tanto que viera a causa de los añospalidecer, señora, vuestros ojos,

y volverse de plata el áureo peolo,y no usar verdes telas ni guirnaldas,y perder el color aquella caraque me lleva de miedo a lamentarme,

me dará al fin Amor tanta osadíaque yo os descubriré de mis martirioscuáles fueron los años y las horas;

y si adverso es el tiempo a los deseos,que a mi dolor al menos no le faltealgún socorro de suspiros tardos.

SONNET 12

ITALIAN ENGLISHSe la mia vita da l'aspro tormentosi può tanto schermire, et dagli affanni,ch'i' veggia per vertù de gli ultimi anni,donna, de' be' vostr'occhi il lume spento,

e i cape' d'oro fin farsi d'argento,et lassar le ghirlande e i verdi panni,e 'l viso scolorir che ne' miei dannia llamentar mi fa pauroso et lento:

pur mi darà tanta baldanza Amorech'i' vi discovrirò de' mei martiriqua' sono stati gli anni, e i giorni et l'ore;

et se 'l tempo è contrario ai be' desiri,non fia ch'almen non giunga al mio dolorealcun soccorso di tardi sospiri.

If my life of bitter torment and of tearscould be derided more, and made more troubled,that I might see, by virtue of your later years,lady, the light quenched of your beautiful eyes,

and the golden hair spun fine as silver,and the garland laid aside and the green clothes,and the delicate face fade, that makes mefearful and slow to go weeping:

then Love might grant me such confidencethat I'd reveal to you my sufferingsthe years lived through, and the days and hours:

and if time is opposed to true desire,it does not mean no food would nourish my grief:I might draw some from slow sighs.



SPANISH ENGLISHEn tanto que de rosa y de azucenase muestra la color en vuestro gesto,y que vuestro mirar ardiente, honesto,enciende al corazón y lo refrena;

y en tanto que el cabello, que en la venadel oro se escogió, con vuelo prestopor el hermoso cuello blanco, enhiesto,el viento mueve, esparce y desordena:

coged de vuestra alegre primaverael dulce fruto antes que el tiempo airadocubra de nieve la hermosa cumbre.

Marchitará la rosa el viento helado,todo lo mudará la edad ligerapor no hacer mudanza en su costumbre.

So long as of red rose and lily whitethe proper colors of your face now show,and your impassioned, fervent, honest glanceinflames the heart and holds it close in tow;

and so long as your hair, which in a veinof gold was mined, endowed with rapid flight,around your lovely white, and haughty throatthe wind can still move, scatter, and uncomb;

go, pluck now from the spring of your delightthe sweetest fruit, before the angry yearscan wrap the lovely peak in snowy scenes.

The icy wind will cause the rose to wilt,and all things will be changed by fickle timeso as to never change its own routine. (©Alix Ingber,2 1995)

GÓNGORA, SONNET 1493

SPANISH ENGLISHMientras por competir con tu cabello,oro bruñido al sol relumbra en vano;mientras con menosprecio en medio el llanomira tu blanca frente el lilio bello;

mientras a cada labio, por cogello.siguen más ojos que al clavel temprano;y mientras triunfa con desdén lozanodel luciente cristal tu gentil cuello:

goza cuello, cabello, labio y frente,antes que lo que fue en tu edad doradaoro, lilio, clavel, cristal luciente,

no sólo en plata o vïola troncadase vuelva, mas tú y ello juntamenteen tierra, en humo, en polvo, en sombra, en nada.

While trying with your tresses to competein vain the sun's rays shine on burnished gold;while with abundant scorn across the plaindoes your white brow the lily's hue behold;

while to each of your lips, to catch and keep,are drawn more eyes than to carnations bright;and while with graceful scorn your lovely throattransparently still bests all crystal's light,

take your delight in throat, locks, lips, and brow,before what in your golden years was gold,carnation, lily, crystal luminous,

not just to silver or limp violetswill turn, but you and all of it as wellto earth, decay, dust, gloom, and nothingness. (©Alix Ingber,1995)

2 Professor Alix Ingber of Sweet Briar College. http://sonnets.spanish.sbc.edu/3 In Góngora, Luis de. 1969. Sonetos completos. Edition by Biruté Ciplijauskaité. Madrid: Castalia.


RONSARD, SONNET 42

FRENCH ENGLISHQuand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,Assise aupres du feu, devidant et filant,Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous esmerveillant Ronsard me celebroit du temps que j'estois belle.

Lors, vous n'aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle,Desja sous le labeur à demy sommeillant,Qui au bruit de mon nom ne s'aille resveillant,Benissant vostre nom de louange immortelle.

Je seray sous la terre et fantaume sans os :Par les ombres myrteux je prendray mon repos Vous serez au fouyer une vieille accroupie,

Regrettant mon amour et vostre fier desdain.Vivez, si m'en croyez, n'attendez à demain Cueillez dés aujourd'huy les roses de la vie.

Cuando seais muy vieja, a la luz de una velay al amor de la lumbre, devanando e hilando,cantarás estos versos y dirás deslumbrada:me los hizo Ronsard cuando yo era más bella.

No habrá entonces sirvienta que al oír tus palabras,aunque ya doblegada por el peso del sueño,cuando suene mi nombre la cabeza no yergay bendiga tu nombre, inmortal por la gloria.

Yo seré bajo tierra descarnado fantasmay a la sombra de mirtos tendré ya mi reposo;para entonces serás una vieja encorvada

añorando mi amor, tus desdenes llorando.Vive ahora, no aguardes a que llegue el mañana,coge hoy mismo las rosas que te ofrece la vida.

RONSARD, SONNET 42

FRENCH ENGLISHQuand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,Assise aupres du feu, devidant et filant,Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous esmerveillant Ronsard me celebroit du temps que j'estois belle.

Lors, vous n'aurez servante oyant telle nouvelle,Desja sous le labeur à demy sommeillant,Qui au bruit de mon nom ne s'aille resveillant,Benissant vostre nom de louange immortelle.

Je seray sous la terre et fantaume sans os :Par les ombres myrteux je prendray mon repos Vous serez au fouyer une vieille accroupie,

Regrettant mon amour et vostre fier desdain.Vivez, si m'en croyez, n'attendez à demain Cueillez dés aujourd'huy les roses de la vie.

When you are truly old, beside the evening candle,Sitting by the fire, winding wool and spinning,Murmuring my verses, you’ll marvel then, in saying, ‘Long ago, Ronsard sang me, when I was beautiful.’

There’ll be no serving-girl of yours, who hears it all,Even if, tired from toil, she’s already drowsing,Fails to rouse at the sound of my name’s echoing,And blesses your name, then, with praise immortal.

I’ll be under the earth, a boneless phantom,At rest in the myrtle groves of the dark kingdom:You’ll be an old woman hunched over the fire,

Regretting my love for you, your fierce disdain,So live, believe me: don’t wait for another day,Gather them now the roses of life, and desire. (A. S. Kline © 2004)

SET 7: Petrarch 140; Wyatt “The Long Love…”; Surrey “Love that Doth Reign…”

PETRARCH, SONNET 140SIR THOMAS WYATT, “The long love…”

ITALIAN, PETRARCH ENGLISH, WYATTAmor, che nel penser mio vive et regnae 'l suo seggio maggior nel mio cor tene,talor armato ne la fronte vène,ivi si loca, et ivi pon sua insegna.

Quella ch'amare et sofferir ne 'nsegnae vòl che 'l gran desio, l'accesa spene,ragion, vergogna et reverenza affrene,di nostro ardir fra se stessa si sdegna.

Onde Amor paventoso fugge al core,lasciando ogni sua impresa, et piange, et trema;ivi s'asconde, et non appar piú fore.

Che poss'io far, temendo il mio signore,se non star seco infin a l'ora extrema?Ché bel fin fa chi ben amando more.

The long love that in my thought doth harbour,And in my heart doth keep his residence,Into my face presseth with bold pretenceAnd there encampeth, spreading his banner.

She that me learns to love and sufferAnd wills that my trust and lust's negligenceBe reined by reason, shame and reverenceWith his hardiness takes displeasure.

Wherewithal unto the heart's forest he flieth,Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,And there him hideth, and not appeareth.What may I do, when my master feareth,

But in the field with him to live and die?For good is the life ending faithfully.

PETRARCH, SONNET 140HENRY HOWARD, THE EARL OF SURREY,

“Love that lived…”

ITALIAN, PETRARCH ENGLISH, EARL OF SURREYAmor, che nel penser mio vive et regnae 'l suo seggio maggior nel mio cor tene,talor armato ne la fronte vène,ivi si loca, et ivi pon sua insegna.

Quella ch'amare et sofferir ne 'nsegnae vòl che 'l gran desio, l'accesa spene,ragion, vergogna et reverenza affrene,di nostro ardir fra se stessa si sdegna.

Onde Amor paventoso fugge al core,lasciando ogni sua impresa, et piange, et trema;ivi s'asconde, et non appar piú fore.

Che poss'io far, temendo il mio signore,se non star seco infin a l'ora extrema?Ché bel fin fa chi ben amando more.

Love that lives and reigns in my thoughtand holds the central place in my heart,sometimes comes to my brow fully armed,takes his stand there, and sets up his banner.

She who teaches love and suffering,and wishes great desire and burning hopeto be restrained by reason, reverence, shame,is angered in herself by our ardour.

Then Love retreats in fear to the heart,relinquishing his aim, trembles, weeps:hides himself there, and no more appears.

What can I do, now my lord's afraid,but stay with him until the final hour?For he ends well, who dies loving well.

SET 7: Petrarch 140; Wyatt “The Long Love…”; Surrey “Love that Doth Reign…”

PETRARCH, SONNET 140SIR THOMAS WYATT’S VERSION “The long love…”

HENRY HOWARD, THE EARL OF SURREY’S VERSION “Love that lives…”

COMPARED

WYATT SURREYThe long love that in my thought doth harbour,And in my heart doth keep his residence,Into my face presseth with bold pretenceAnd there encampeth, spreading his banner.

She that me learns to love and sufferAnd wills that my trust and lust's negligenceBe reined by reason, shame and reverenceWith his hardiness takes displeasure.

Wherewithal unto the heart's forest he flieth,Leaving his enterprise with pain and cry,And there him hideth, and not appeareth.What may I do, when my master feareth,

But in the field with him to live and die?For good is the life ending faithfully.

Love that lives and reigns in my thoughtand holds the central place in my heart,sometimes comes to my brow fully armed,takes his stand there, and sets up his banner.

She who teaches love and suffering,and wishes great desire and burning hopeto be restrained by reason, reverence, shame,is angered in herself by our ardour.

Then Love retreats in fear to the heart,relinquishing his aim, trembles, weeps:hides himself there, and no more appears.

What can I do, now my lord's afraid,but stay with him until the final hour?For he ends well, who dies loving well.

SET 7: Petrarch 134; Wyatt’s version “I find no peace…”

PETRARCH, SONNET 134WYATT’S VERSION, “I find no peace…”

PETRARCH WYATT´S VERSIONPace non trovo, e non ho da far guerra;e temo, e spero; et ardo, e son un ghiaccio;e volo sopra 'l cielo, e ghiaccio in terra;e nulla stringo, e tutto 'l mondo abbraccio. Tal m'ha in pregion, che non m'apre né serra,né per suo mi ritèn né scioglie il laccio;e non m'ancide Amore, e non mi sferra,né mi vuol vivo né mi trae impaccio. Veggio senza occhi, e non ho lingua, e grido;e bramo di perir, e cheggio aita;et ho in odio me stesso, et amo altrui.

Pascomi di dolor, piangendo rido;egualmente mi spiace morte e vita:in questo stato son, donna, per vui.

I find no peace and all my war is done; I fear and hope, I burn and freeze like ice; I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise, And naught I have and all the world I seize on;

That looseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison, And holdeth me not yet can I scape nowise; Nor letteth me live nor die at my devise, And yet of death it giveth none occasion.

Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain; I desire to perish, and yet I ask health; I love another, and thus I hate myself;I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain. Likewise displeaseth me both death and life, And my delight is causer of this strife.

SET 8: A-Petrarchist and anti-Petrarchist modes: Shakespeare 116, 130

SHAKESPEARE, SONNET 116

Let me not to the marriage of true mindsAdmit impediments. Love is not loveWhich alters when it alteration finds,Or bends with the remover to remove:

O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,That looks on tempests and is never shaken;It is the star to every wandering bark,Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.

Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeksWithin his bending sickle's compass come;Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

If this be error and upon me proved,I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

SHAKESPEARE, SONNET 130

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;Coral is far more red, than her lips red:If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,But no such roses see I in her cheeks;And in some perfumes is there more delightThan in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I knowThat music hath a far more pleasing sound:I grant I never saw a goddess go, My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground:

And yet by heaven, I think my love as rare,As any she belied with false compare.

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