#slay
You could've left, honestly I wouldn't have blamed you.
You could've left, but you didn't.
Instead you drew your sword, fully armoured.
Alongside with me you fought.
Slayed my demons one by one.
When my strenght ran out you held the frontline.
I see you rise and fall, only to rise again.
You fight and you bleed, for me.
My best friend, know that I'm always ready.
Ready to fight for you, I'll slay 'till my last breath.
For you.
I love you my swordsman.
Jun 17, 2020
Jun 17, 2020 at 4:58 AM UTC
These are modern English translations of poems written in Middle English by the medieval poet Geoffrey Chaucer. A Chaucer bio follows the translated poems.
THREE RONDELS BY GEOFFREY CHAUCER: MERCILESS BEAUTY, ESCAPE, REJECTION,
Merciles Beaute ("Merciless Beauty")
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain,
they wound me so, through my heart keen.
Unless your words heal me hastily,
my heart's wound will remain green;
for your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain.
By all truth, I tell you faithfully
that you are of life and death my queen;
for at my death this truth shall be seen:
your eyes slay me suddenly;
their beauty I cannot sustain,
they wound me so, through my heart keen.
***
Original Middle English text:
Your yën two wol sle me sodenly,
I may the beaute of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.
And but your word wol helen hastily
My hertes wounde, whyl that hit is grene,
Your yën two wol sle me sodenly;
may the beaute of hem not sustene.
Upon my trouthe I sey yow feithfully,
That ye ben of my lyf and deth the quene;
For with my deth the trouthe shal be sene.
Your yën two wol sle me sodenly,
I may the beaute of hem not sustene,
So woundeth hit through-out my herte kene.
Escape
a rondel by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count it not a bean.
He may question me and counter this and that;
I care not: I will answer just as I mean.
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean.
Love strikes me from his roster, short and flat,
And he is struck from my books, just as clean,
Forevermore; there is no other mean.
Since I’m escaped from Love and yet still fat,
I never plan to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count it not a bean.
***
Original Middle English text:
Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am fre, I counte him not a bene.
He may answere, and seye this or that;
I do no fors, I speke right as I mene.
Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene.
Love hath my name y-strike out of his sclat,
And he is strike out of my bokes clene
For ever-mo; ther is non other mene.
Sin I fro love escaped am so fat,
I never thenk to ben in his prison lene;
Sin I am fre, I counte him not a bene.
Explicit.
Rejection
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain;
For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain.
I'm guiltless, yet my sentence has been cast.
I tell you truly, needless now to feign,—
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain.
Alas, that Nature in your face compassed
Such beauty, that no man may hope attain
To mercy, though he perish from the pain;
Your beauty from your heart has so erased
Pity, that it’s useless to complain;
For Pride now holds your mercy by a chain.
***
Original Middle English text:
So hath your beaute fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
For Daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
Giltles my deth thus han ye me purchaced;
I sey yow soth, me nedeth not to feyne;
So hath your beaute fro your herle chaced
Pilee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne
Allas! that nature hath in yow compassed
So gret beaute, that no man may atteyne
To mercy, though he sterve for the peyne.
So hath your beaute fro your herte chaced
Pitee, that me ne availeth not to pleyne;
For daunger halt your mercy in his cheyne.
The Canterbury Tales: General Prologue
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
When April with her sweet showers
has pierced the drought of March to the root,
bathing the vines’ veins in such nectar
that even sweeter flowers are engendered;
and when the West Wind with his fragrant breath
has inspired life in every grove’s and glade’s
greenling leaves; and when the young Sun
has run half his course in Aries the Ram;
and while small birds make melodies
after sleeping all night with open eyes
because Nature pierces them so, to their hearts―
then people long to go on pilgrimages
and palmers to seek strange lands ...
Welcome, Summer
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.
Saint Valentine, in the heavens aloft,
the songbirds sing your praises together!
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather.
We have good cause to rejoice, not scoff,
since love’s in the air, and also in the heather,
whenever we find such blissful warmth, together.
Now welcome, Summer, with your sun so soft,
since you’ve banished Winter with her icy weather
and driven away her long nights’ frosts.
To Rosemounde: A Ballade
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Madame, you’re a shrine to loveliness
And as world-encircling as trade’s duties.
For your eyes shine like glorious crystals
And your round cheeks like rubies.
Therefore you’re so merry and so jocund
That at a revel, when that I see you dance,
You become an ointment to my wound,
Though you offer me no dalliance.
For though I weep huge buckets of warm tears,
Still woe cannot confound my heart.
For your seemly voice, so delicately pronounced,
Make my thoughts abound with bliss, even apart.
So courteously I go, by your love bound,
So that I say to myself, in true penance,
"Suffer me to love you Rosemounde;
Though you offer me no dalliance.”
Never was a pike so sauce-immersed
As I, in love, am now enmeshed and wounded.
For which I often, of myself, divine
That I am truly Tristam the Second.
My love may not grow cold, nor numb,
I burn in an amorous pleasance.
Do as you will, and I will be your thrall,
Though you offer me no dalliance.
***
Original Middle English text:
Madame, ye ben of al beaute shryne
As fer as cercled is the mapamounde,
For as the cristal glorious ye shyne,
And lyke ruby ben your chekes rounde.
Therwith ye ben so mery and so jocounde
That at a revel whan that I see you daunce,
It is an oynement unto my wounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
For thogh I wepe of teres ful a tyne,
Yet may that wo myn herte nat confounde;
Your semy voys that ye so smal out twyne
Maketh my thoght in joy and blis habounde.
So curtaysly I go with love bounde
That to myself I sey in my penaunce,
"Suffyseth me to love you, Rosemounde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce."
Nas neuer pyk walwed in galauntyne
As I in love am walwed and ywounde,
For which ful ofte I of myself devyne
That I am trew Tristam the secounde.
My love may not refreyde nor affounde,
I brenne ay in an amorous plesaunce.
Do what you lyst, I wyl your thral be founde,
Thogh ye to me ne do no daliaunce.
A Lady without Paragon
by Geoffrey Chaucer
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Hide, Absalom, your shining tresses;
Esther, veil your meekness;
Retract, Jonathan, your friendly caresses;
Penelope and Marcia Catoun?
Other wives hold no comparison;
Hide your beauties, Isolde and Helen;
My lady comes, all stars to outshine.
Thy body fair? Let it not appear,
Lavinia and Lucretia of Rome;
Nor Polyxena, who found love’s cost so dear;
Nor Cleopatra, with all her passion.
Hide the truth of love and your renown;
And thou, Thisbe, who felt such pain;
My lady comes, all stars to outshine.
Hero, Dido, Laodamia, all fair,
And Phyllis, hanging for Demophon;
And Canace, dead by love’s cruel spear;
And Hypsipyle, betrayed along with Jason;
Make of your truth neither boast nor swoon,
Nor Hypermnestra nor Adriane, ye twain;
My lady comes, all stars to outshine.
“Cantus Troili” from Troilus and Criseide
by Petrarch
“If no love is, O God, what fele I so?” translation by Geoffrey Chaucer
modernization by Michael R. Burch
If there’s no love, O God, why then, so low?
And if love is, what thing, and which, is he?
If love is good, whence comes my dismal woe?
If wicked, love’s a wonder unto me,
When every torment and adversity
That comes from him, persuades me not to think,
For the more I thirst, the more I itch to drink!
And if in my own lust I choose to burn,
From whence comes all my wailing and complaint?
If harm agrees with me, where can I turn?
I know not, all I do is feint and faint!
O quick death and sweet harm so pale and quaint,
How may there be in me such quantity
Of you, ’cept I consent to make us three?
And if I so consent, I wrongfully
Complain, I know. Thus pummeled to and fro,
All starless, lost and compassless, am I
Amidst the sea, between two rending winds,
That in diverse directions bid me, “Go!”
Alas! What is this wondrous malady?
For heat of cold, for cold of heat, I die.
GEOFFREY CHAUCER BIO
Geoffrey Chaucer (circa 1340-1400) is generally considered to be the first major English poet, the greatest English poet of the Medieval Period, and the greatest English poet before Shakespeare. Chaucer is best known for The Canterbury Tales but was also a master of lyric forms such as the rondel and balade. Chaucer has been called the "Father of English literature" as well as the "Father of English poetry" and has been credited with helping to legitimize the English vernacular for literary purposes at a time when French and Latin were preferred by England's "upper crust." In fact, for more than three centuries after the Norman Conquest of England in 1066, no English king had spoken English! Chaucer helped change that, and he was also the first writer to have been buried in the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey.
Translator's note: There has been considerable confusion between the terms rondeau, rondel and roundel. Rather than dwelling on technicalities, I prefer the "a rose by any other name" approach. I believe "rondel" was the term being used for the English variety in Chaucer's day, although spellings were haphazard back then.
THE CONTINUING INFLUENCE OF GEOFFREY CHAUCER
by Michael R. Burch
This is my answer to a question posed on Quora ...
How did the literature of the Middle Ages affect the poetry of the ages to come?
It was like a chain reaction!
Take just one writer, Geoffrey Chaucer. He influenced English poets, poetry and literature in profound and important ways.
Chaucer was the first major poet to write primarily in English. Before Chaucer the majority of poetry produced in England had been written in other languages: Anglo-Saxon (heavily Germanic), French, Greek and Latin. At the time Chaucer wrote, English kings were still speaking French, the language of the crown, and the courts of law were still being conducted in Latin. Obviously, the choice of a major poet to write his masterpieces in ****** English had a profound influence on writers to come. And not only on poetry, but on all English literature and even the language itself.
But for all his English-ness, Chaucer was a cosmopolitan poet. His influences included French poets, Ovid, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio. Through his continental influences, Chaucer helped broaden and deepen English poetry and literature. For example, Chaucer wrote English rondels patterned after the French.
Chaucer’s characters such as the Wife of Bath seem alive and fully-fleshed, and no doubt influenced how Shakespeare drew characters of his like Falstaff. Thus Chaucer had tremendous influence on English playwrights, through his own and Shakespeare’s continuing influence.
Chaucer has also been credited with introducing iambic pentameter and rhyme royal to the English language. With his early version of iambic pentameter, Chaucer was able to write longer poems that seemed natural and conversational while maintaining an enjoyable rhythm. The more musical English poets would follow his lead. For instance, the mellifluous Edmund Spenser claimed to be the reincarnation of Chaucer. That is some influence!
We can see the influences of Chaucer — iambic pentameter, fully-fleshed characters, etc. — in the highly popular plays of playwrights like Christopher Marlowe and William Shakespeare. So Chaucer helped make English poetry popular. He was like Elvis inspiring the Beatles. John Lennon once said, “Before Elvis there was nothing.” Modern English language poets might opine, “Before Chaucer there was nothing, or very little.”
Keywords/Tags: Geoffrey Chaucer, roundel, rondel, translation, escape, escaped, love, fat, prison, break, lean, bean, free, plan, roster, list, book, books, clean, count
Feb 24, 2020
Feb 24, 2020 at 4:50 AM UTC
No!
what?
No!
I say again,
No!
You will not catch me,
You will not stop me,
You won't control me.
**** the Blue Man!
I own this fight,
I own this night,
I own my rights.
Never again will He slay me!
Though I am tired now,
In screaming pain out loud,
I will go home now.
For I will take my stand!
Gone is your meek gain,
Now you get dark pain,
Your blue hair erased.
And fight until I'm free!
I rule the fight,
King of the night,
This is my right.
Even though it burns my hands!
I'm so sick and tired now,
Of hurting behind shrouds,
Can we go home now?
My sword will slay him swiftly!
Dec 18, 2019
Dec 18, 2019 at 1:56 AM UTC
Only if they knew the pain I've gone through. I could be me without all the lies, no more worries not a tear in my eyes.
Ear to ear my smile appears... The unseen stitches that have held together my smile and all my tears. Wishing away all those painful dreams; I slay them.
Aug 17, 2016
Aug 17, 2016 at 8:39 AM UTC
The hardest thing in the world
is loving someone who can't love
and who has never known of true love
I loved a girl who had a divergent mirror
And when she looked through that mirror
she saw things far from what they actually were
I was gonna slay dragons
and stop the time for you
But you rejected it
Somehow when I proclaimed my undying love for you
All you could hear is that I was gonna use your vulnerability
I am sorry you did not love yourself enough to let yourself see the truth
Jan 26, 2019
Jan 26, 2019 at 6:53 PM UTC
I’m ‘bout to work my fire *** to ice
No need to guess, baby, or roll the dice
I pray like “dolla dolla make me holla”
That’s how I build it up with every caller
Ain’t no one’s gonna motivate your ***
You’re either sweatin’ or you get no sass
I earn them dollars just to stack them good
I don’t mind grindin’ as I know I should
I works from Monday straight to Friday night
Pick up the calls, fill up the tickets right
Here I acknowledge your sincere applause
Don’t touch my money with your ghetto paws
I’m way much flyer than the God’s big curse
If you can’t handle it then call a nurse
I came to work it down, Lord is my witness
Yeah, I gon’ slay like it’s nobody’s business
Jun 29, 2018
Jun 29, 2018 at 11:45 AM UTC
Just when I taught
Why girls with curves
End up as ******
Tina is just a letter I
And she ***** like acidic pores
Notice Gina
Letter 8 is the word
That lady preaches the word
With her character and her word
She is slaying the devil’s chord
A woman with curve
Yet not a *****
Deserves applause in this ******* world
Jun 13, 2018
Jun 13, 2018 at 12:14 AM UTC
There is a monster
Inside of my head.
It’s not in the closet,
Or under the bed.
Us two locked in combat,
Soon one will be dead.
War is peace
For this monster and me.
The arrow,
The notch,
The sword in the sheath,
It stops.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Blood.
Is it blood?
Have I spilled the beast’s blood?
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Perhaps it’s water,
Please give me water.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
Tears.
They are mine.
Streaking white across my face.
Fate is truly divine.
Fate is truly divine.
No monsters in the dark to fear,
For my monster is always a mirror near.
Drip,
Drip,
Slay.
Jun 11, 2018
Jun 11, 2018 at 1:03 AM UTC
We all need to find the will
to slay the green-eyed dragon,
who is deluded by the idea
of keeping that sweet song
for his ears alone.
Selfish in not wanting
to share the flame
of love.
Jun 3, 2018
Jun 3, 2018 at 8:48 AM UTC
Be kind to me
And I'll treat you like a friend
But if you act like I'm a slay
Then I'll be the one you obay
Jan 4, 2018
Jan 4, 2018 at 11:08 AM UTC
There once was a girl
who drove a big, black bus
to the edge of a bridge
overlooking the sea.
In the occupied seats
sat her torturous demons
ready to attack her
if needed be.
The girl opened the doors
and walked out to the shore
her demons following
closely behind.
She turned her back
to the edge of the sea
and told them she needed
a moment alone.
She reached out and touched
her forehead with her index
closing her eyes
to savour the moment.
She then took out a blade
from the inside of her jeans
tore it through the air
to make the demons flee.
They hissed and they clawed
slashed their talons in the air
but the girl bit back the tears
and let out a war cry.
She gripped her demons
by their beastly throats
twisting her hands
and the demons fell down.
She gathered them all
in her big, black bus
pushed it in the water
and let her demons drown.
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 4:23 PM UTC
As time passes,
I ponder in my sleep,
Flying to Jupiter,
Slaying monsters and dragons,
Incapable of running away,
Loving forever,
Even walking around bare,
However I remain curious,
For what the next night brings.
May 1, 2017
May 1, 2017 at 5:31 PM UTC
you can't help but stare
and stare
and stare
until you hate everything about your face
how many freckles you have
pimples
it can only cover the scars for so long
the insecurities for so long
lips coated in thick red
eyes you coat with liner and eye shadow
face caked with foundation
baked with powder
contoured to the gods
eyebrows on fleek
you slay
sometimes you don't recognize yourself in the mirror
and it makes you happy because you can't imagine living the rest of your life looking you without make-up.
will you ever love you?
you, without the makeup?
Apr 17, 2017
Apr 17, 2017 at 8:59 PM UTC
I'm getting ready
for a Poetic War
all this time
been keeping Score
building a Poetic Army
is a good idea
though we are the Elite
our seat
is with
the Highest Command
in the World
comprised of Genius Ninja's
cloaked in love
sent from above
teaching Mindfulness
praying hands
prepare your Sandbags
the ones under your eyes
are nothing
compared
to the sleep
in counting sheep
you made me lose
and choose
a side
I pick me
you see
like Joan of Arc
I have a mission
to see to the end
my Unpoetic Friend
and Foe
Slay
with what I say
my words
you do not stand
a chance
regardless
of your dance
I am coming
in my anger
in this
I am ******
into Justice
my pen
unsheathed
for battle
my ink...is what I trust.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jul 13, 2016
Jul 13, 2016 at 4:44 PM UTC
So much is written
in between the pages of that book
If you're judging me by what is written, you need to take another look
You don't know that I'm a mother
I've worked hard all my life
I raised little a family
I was my husband's wife
We had a little girl
who couldn't breathe right on her own
I wasn't even with her
I could not take her home
I had a little boy who now is six foot eight
I love my children dearly don't tell me it's too late
I tried to be the daughter
My Father wished I'd be
I have the greatest people
who make up my family
Alone I carry burdens
not written anywhere
so don't you whisper I'm a coward
don't you EVER even dare
Like my daughters fight
to earn a spot here on this earth
what you're reading on those pages
shows nothing of my worth
I will not allow you
to trample
on my name
was given by my father
who'd put your *** to shame
I love my little family
dysfunctional and all
Your hurtful foolish words
well they really take some Gaul
I am quite intelligent
I'm sure you know it's true
I put you in your place
and now you know just who
I am.
Cherie Nolan © 2016
Jun 20, 2016
Jun 20, 2016 at 8:41 PM UTC
With my pen I try to slay the demons
I am determined to chase them from my eden
With the inky darkness I will paint my picture
I will paint them with such stricture
My words will flow
And everyone I'll show
They will no longer be allowed to reside
Hidden deep inside
With the darkness of my ink
I will bring them to the brink
With the black flow, I'll shine the light
On their hideous form, no longer hiding in the night
Apr 20, 2016
Apr 20, 2016 at 2:28 PM UTC
"Slay the beast! Salty, sassy and saucy."
-Lindsay the only person who slays better than me
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 10:57 AM UTC
Do you remember the time ,
You cheated ?
With my friend ,
And my neighbor ?
I got ****** ,
But decided to forget ,
Because we did something ,
Related .
I decided ,
I'd forgive you .
Because I ****** ,
Your brother Chuck .
Good thing it rhymes ,
It makes this poem easy ,
So I'm just gonna leave ,
And go home cause I'm sleepy .
Jan 10, 2016
Jan 10, 2016 at 10:07 PM UTC
Oil paintings hung on ropes,
Like a suicidal woman.
Death wishes scratched upon,
The glossed walls.
A golden crown dressed in red,
The scent of ****** in a palace room.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 4:55 AM UTC
Make them vanish
Make them go
**** them with your
Shining silver sword
Don't you dare drown them
They will swim
Or they'll hunt you
From underneath
Just like the candles
Their fire'll be blown
Let them be smoke
Let them be gone
They're your
Insomia at 3am
Your nightmare
From dusk 'till dawn
Oh my dear Reilegh
Go down and slay your demons
Feb 12, 2015
Feb 12, 2015 at 7:36 AM UTC
please, someone, waste
my time; help me
forget my burdens and
responsibilities.
please, someone, for the holidays,
buy me a prince, and
tell him to slay my demons,
like you never would.
please, someone, make my
toes curl, and my fingers numb
with your warmth, that
i hope caresses me like
a lover.
please, someone,
just know that i don't need saving,
but i sure as hell want it.
Dec 24, 2014
Dec 24, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
A wretched demon invaded my soul,
wanted his **** and feeling quite bold
Flying above and stalking his prey,
darkening the skies with his wings of grey
Beckoning calls and thunderstorms roars,
getting much closer, looking for more.
His site is unholy, that unwieldy beast,
A fire breathing dragon ready to feast.
My sword at the ready with shield in hand,
Hell was coming fast, not by a chance.
He came for blood, but missed a mile.
Next time around, I just looked and smiled.
Two mores passes by feet did he miss
my sword struck him swiftly with
fifteen hits
He crashed in the trees, feeling beset
The dragon went down with my sword in his chest.
I respected the beast for his hard valiant fight.
Standing up tall, I felt like a knight.
His attack was for not, I do not know why.
He wanted his **** but he is the one that died
Oct 7, 2014
Oct 7, 2014 at 1:47 AM UTC