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Up, O ye lovers, and away! 'Tis time to leave the world for aye.
Hark, loud and clear from heaven the from of parting calls-let none delay!
The cameleer hat risen amain, made ready all the camel-train,
And quittance now desires to gain: why sleep ye, travellers, I pray?
Behind us and before there swells the din of parting and of bells;
To shoreless space each moment sails a disembodied spirit away.
From yonder starry lights, and through those curtain-awnings darkly blue,
Mysterious figures float in view, all strange and secret things display.
From this orb, wheeling round its pole, a wondrous slumber o'er thee stole:
O weary life that weighest naught, O sleep that on my soul dost weigh!
O heart, toward they heart's love wend, and O friend, fly toward the Friend,
Be wakeful, watchman, to the end: drowse seemingly no watchman may.
THE PROLOGUE.

THE Cook of London, while the Reeve thus spake,
For joy he laugh'd and clapp'd him on the back:
"Aha!" quoth he, "for Christes passion,
This Miller had a sharp conclusion,
Upon this argument of herbergage.                              lodging
Well saide Solomon in his language,
Bring thou not every man into thine house,
For harbouring by night is perilous.
Well ought a man avised for to be        a man should take good heed
Whom that he brought into his privity.
I pray to God to give me sorrow and care
If ever, since I highte* Hodge of Ware,                      was called
Heard I a miller better *set a-work
;                           handled
He had a jape
of malice in the derk.                             trick
But God forbid that we should stinte
here,                        stop
And therefore if ye will vouchsafe to hear
A tale of me, that am a poore man,
I will you tell as well as e'er I can
A little jape that fell in our city."

Our Host answer'd and said; "I grant it thee.
Roger, tell on; and look that it be good,
For many a pasty hast thou letten blood,
And many a Jack of Dover hast thou sold,
That had been twice hot and twice cold.
Of many a pilgrim hast thou Christe's curse,
For of thy parsley yet fare they the worse.
That they have eaten in thy stubble goose:
For in thy shop doth many a fly go loose.
Now tell on, gentle Roger, by thy name,
But yet I pray thee be not *wroth for game
;     angry with my jesting
A man may say full sooth in game and play."
"Thou sayst full sooth," quoth Roger, "by my fay;
But sooth play quad play, as the Fleming saith,
And therefore, Harry Bailly, by thy faith,
Be thou not wroth, else we departe* here,                  part company
Though that my tale be of an hostelere.
                      innkeeper
But natheless, I will not tell it yet,
But ere we part, y-wis
thou shalt be quit."               assuredly
And therewithal he laugh'd and made cheer,
And told his tale, as ye shall after hear.

Notes to the Prologue to the Cook's Tale

1. Jack of Dover:  an article of cookery. (Transcriber's note:
suggested by some commentators to be a kind of pie, and by
others to be a fish)

2. Sooth play quad play: true jest is no jest.

3. It may be remembered that each pilgrim was bound to tell
two stories; one on the way to Canterbury, the other returning.

4. Made cheer: French, "fit bonne mine;" put on a pleasant
countenance.


THE TALE.

A prentice whilom dwelt in our city,
And of a craft of victuallers was he:
Galliard
he was, as goldfinch in the shaw*,            lively *grove
Brown as a berry, a proper short fellaw:
With lockes black, combed full fetisly.
                       daintily
And dance he could so well and jollily,
That he was called Perkin Revellour.
He was as full of love and paramour,
As is the honeycomb of honey sweet;
Well was the wenche that with him might meet.
At every bridal would he sing and hop;
He better lov'd the tavern than the shop.
For when there any riding was in Cheap,
Out of the shoppe thither would he leap,
And, till that he had all the sight y-seen,
And danced well, he would not come again;
And gather'd him a meinie
of his sort,              company of fellows
To hop and sing, and make such disport:
And there they *sette steven
for to meet             made appointment
To playen at the dice in such a street.
For in the towne was there no prentice
That fairer coulde cast a pair of dice
Than Perkin could; and thereto he was free    he spent money liberally
Of his dispence, in place of privity.       where he would not be seen
That found his master well in his chaffare,                merchandise
For oftentime he found his box full bare.
For, soothely, a prentice revellour,
That haunteth dice, riot, and paramour,
His master shall it in his shop abie,                       *suffer for
All
have he no part of the minstrelsy.                        although
For theft and riot they be convertible,
All can they play on *gitern or ribible.
             guitar or rebeck
Revel and truth, as in a low degree,
They be full wroth* all day, as men may see.                at variance

This jolly prentice with his master bode,
Till he was nigh out of his prenticehood,
All were he snubbed
both early and late,                       rebuked
And sometimes led with revel to Newgate.
But at the last his master him bethought,
Upon a day when he his paper sought,
Of a proverb, that saith this same word;
Better is rotten apple out of hoard,
Than that it should rot all the remenant:
So fares it by a riotous servant;
It is well lesse harm to let him pace
,                        pass, go
Than he shend
all the servants in the place.                   corrupt
Therefore his master gave him a quittance,
And bade him go, with sorrow and mischance.
And thus this jolly prentice had his leve
:                      desire
Now let him riot all the night, or leave
.                      refrain
And, for there is no thief without a louke,
That helpeth him to wasten and to souk
                           spend
Of that he bribe
can, or borrow may,                             steal
Anon he sent his bed and his array
Unto a compere
of his owen sort,                               comrade
That loved dice, and riot, and disport;
And had a wife, that held *for countenance
            for appearances
A shop, and swived* for her sustenance.             *prostituted herself
       .       .       .       .       .       .       .

Notes to the Cook's Tale

1. Cheapside, where jousts were sometimes held, and which
was the great scene of city revels and processions.

2. His paper: his certificate of completion of his apprenticeship.

3. Louke:  The precise meaning of the word is unknown, but it
is doubtless included in the cant term "pal".

4. The Cook's Tale is unfinished in all the manuscripts; but in
some, of minor authority, the Cook is made to break off his
tale, because "it is so foul," and to tell the story of Gamelyn, on
which Shakespeare's "As You Like It" is founded. The story is
not Chaucer's, and is different in metre, and inferior in
composition to the Tales. It is supposed that Chaucer expunged
the Cook's Tale for the same reason that made him on his death-
bed lament that he had written so much "ribaldry."
When the Present has latched its postern behind my tremulous stay,
     And the May month ***** its glad green leaves like wings,
Delicate-filmed as new-spun silk, will the neighbours say,
     “He was a man who used to notice such things”?

If it be in the dusk when, like an eyelid’s soundless blink,
     The dewfall-hawk comes crossing the shades to alight
Upon the wind-warped upland thorn, a gazer may think,
     “To him this must have been a familiar sight.”

If I pass during some nocturnal blackness, mothy and warm,
     When the hedgehog travels furtively over the lawn,
One may say, “He strove that such innocent creatures should
        come to no harm,
     But he could do little for them; and now he is gone.”

If, when hearing that I have been stilled at last, they stand at
        the door,
     Watching the full-starred heavens that winter sees,
Will this thought rise on those who will meet my face no more,
     “He was one who had an eye for such mysteries”?

And will any say when my bell of quittance is heard in the gloom,
     And a crossing breeze cuts a pause in its outrollings,
Till they rise again, as they were a new bell’s boom,
     “He hears it not now, but used to notice such things?”
MARIA PANOUTSOU Jan 2017
You and I/beging / flying above the rocks /
away from the salty / above the  bodkin glance /
invisible / and naked / with a white handkerchief/
between our  fingers /as bare knives /
hidden on the frozen sand / night / and day /  
breath  of yours / smell of my heart /
lightning in  every touch  cream my body
to wire power /or go away lover  /
before it s too late   / or stay and  light  the fire /
to extinguish  stars /as  you re /  the first move /
brackish water / to my breast   /glimpse into a single thought /
lowering sky /to  your feet /what  else can I squawk/
how more am I straining my lips/
quittance  to us/ to appear/

Maria Panoutsou
Translated in English  by  the poet Maria  Panoutsou, from her  mother language, Greek.
(Sur un reliquaire qu'on lui avait dérobé)

Seul bijou de ma pauvreté.

Ton mince argent, ta perle fausse

(En tout quatre francs), ont tenté

Quelqu'un dont l'esprit ne se hausse,


Parmi ces paysans cafards

À vous dégoûter d'être au monde,

- Tas d'Onans et de Putiphars ! -

Que juste au niveau de l'immonde,


Et le Témoin, et le Gardien,

Le Grain d'une poussière illustre,

Un ami du mien et du tien

Crispe sur lui sa main de rustre !


Est-ce simplement un voleur,

Ou s'il se guinde au sacrilège ?

Bah ! ces rustiques-là ! Mais leur

Gros laid vice que rien n'allège,


Ne connaît rien que de brutal

Et ne s'est jamais douté d'une

Âme immortelle. Du métal,

C'est tout ce qu'il voit dans la lune ;


Tout ce qu'il voit dans le soleil,

C'est foin épais et fumier dense,

Et quand éclot le jour vermeil,

Il suppute timbre et quittance,


Hypothèque, gens mis dedans,

Placements, la dot de la fille,

Crédits ouverts à deux battants

Et l'usure au bout qui mordille !


Donc, vol, oui, sacrilège, non.

Mais le fait monstrueux existe

Et pour cet ouvrage sans nom,

Mon âme est immensément triste.


Ô pour lui ramener la paix.

Daignez, vous, grand saint Benoît Labre,

Écouter les vœux que je fais,

Peur que ma foi ne se délabre


En voyant ce crime impuni

Rester inutile. Ô la Grâce,

Implorez-la sur l'homme, et ni

L'homme ni moi n'oublierons. Grâce !


Grâce pour le pauvre larron

Inconscient du péché pire !

Intercédez, ô bon patron,

Et qu'enfin le bon Dieu l'inspire,


Que de ce débris de ce corps

Exalté par la pénitence

Sorte une vertu de remords,

Et que l'exquis conseil le tance


Et lui montre toute l'horreur

Du vol et de ce vol impie

Avec la torpeur et l'erreur

D'un passé qu'il faut qu'il expie.


Qu'il s'émeuve à ce double objet

Et tremblant au son du tonnerre

Respecte ce qu'il outrageait

En attendant qu'il le vénère.


Et que cette conversion

L'amène à la foi de ses pères

D'avant la Révolution.

Ma Foi, dis-le-moi, tu l'espères ?


Ma foi, celle du charbonnier !

Ainsi la veux-je, et la souhaite

Au possesseur, croyons dernier,

De la sainte petite boîte !
Nain qui me railles,
Gnome aperçu
Dans les broussailles,
Ailé, bossu ;

Face moisie,
Sur toi, boudeur,
La poésie
Tourne en laideur.

Magot de l'Inde,
Dieu d'Abydos,
Ce mont, le Pinde,
Est sur ton dos.

Ton nom est Fable.
Ton boniment
Quelquefois hâble
Et toujours ment.

Ta verve est faite
De ton limon,
Et le poète
Sort du démon.

Monstre apocryphe,
Trouble-raisons,
On sent ta griffe
Dans ces buissons.

Tu me dénonces
Un rendez-vous,
Ô fils des ronces,
Frère des houx,

Et ta voix grêle
Vient accuser
D'un sourire, elle,
Lui, d'un baiser.

Quel vilain rôle !
Je n'en crois rien,
Vieux petit drôle
Aérien.

Reprends ta danse,
Spectre badin ;
Reçois quittance
De mon dédain.

Où j'enveloppe
Tous tes aïeux
Depuis Ésope
Jusqu'à Mayeux.
Matilda Mar 2020
Tonight I lay to sleep
This girl ne’er fully seen before,
Sleepy submerged in echo of youths wonder
Chiming bells from island shore.
A time— Well...
Perhaps not too long ago.

Now in this time of returning
Her breath is soft and sweet
Even easing through lips parted
Beside fluttered kids of bliss

Here! You’ve come home little one
As I knew you could
(Would, and should)
Therefore a welcome stranger in my soul.

You’re arrival I long awaited
Perhaps too impatiently
For once I nearly delivered quittance

Only I knew the gracious goodness
For which I stood cemented.
My former lover teasing my truth
Fleeting amidst my vulnerable venerations
Though I’d not yet met result.

So God Bless forbearance,
Our strength and fortitude
Working towards, we often knew not what

But I staid my feet in
(Sometimes sinking) sand
Holding your hand
As you fought with emotive sin,
(Sometimes my own) wave, and
Wind.

Now allow me to be selfish,
And to perfect a certain clarity
Sharing my own status for completion
Since you slept through my silent revelation
I watched this miracle, submerged
Infectious reflection:

Your bliss, though in finality
Not produced of my flesh,
Surprised my sandy self with
Surpassing value supremacy

This serenity, in
Serendipitously naive show and tell
You carried to my shores.
September 2018

— The End —