Monday, January 18, 2010

Translating Degare

So, I meant to work on Sir Degare as one of the three romances that I'll talk about in a book chapter (which I'm adding to the thesis in lieu of my Malory chapter). But I got caught up with the possibility of teaching the poem in the future and not being able to find a modernized version of it. So, I've set out to modernize the romance, with a lot of help from the glosses in the TEAMS text edition, the MED, and with inspiration from Nevill Coghill.
Lysteneth, lordinges, gente and fre,
Ich wille you telle of Sire Degarre:
Knightes that were sometyme in londe
Ferli fele wolde fonde
And sechen aventures bi night and dai,
Hou thai mighte here strengthe asai;
So dede a knyght, Sire Degarree:
Ich wille you telle wat man was he.
In Litel Bretaygne was a kyng
Of gret poer in all thing,
Stif in armes under sscheld,
And mochel idouted in the feld.
Ther nas no man, verraiment,
That mighte in werre ne in tornament,
Ne in justes for no thing,
Him out of his sadel bring,
Ne out of his stirop bringe his fot,
So strong he was of bon and blod.
This Kyng he hadde none hair
But a maidenchild, fre and fair;
Here gentiresse and here beauté
Was moche renound in ich countré.
This maiden he loved als his lif,
Of hire was ded the Quene his wif:
In travailing here lif she les.
And tho the maiden of age wes
Kynges sones to him speke,
Emperours and Dukes eke,
To haven his doughter in mariage,
For love of here heritage;
Ac the Kyng answered ever
That no man sschal here halden ever
But yif he mai in turneying
Him out of his sadel bring,
And maken him lesen hise stiropes bayne.
Many assayed and myght not gayne.
Listen, Lords, noble and free,
As I tell of Sir Degare:
Once there were knights in the land
Great numbers were on hand
Who sought adventure by day and night,
In order that they should prove their might;
And this too was Sir Degare's cause:
I now will tell what man he was.
In Brittany there was a king
Who wielded power over everything
Staunchly he carried sword and shield
And many feared him in the field.
Truly, in battle, or tournament,
In jousts arranged for amusement
There was no one, who had the mettle,
To move him an inch in his saddle,
Or fling him down from mount to mud,
So strong he was of bone and blood.
This King, he was without heir
Except for a maid, noble and fair:
Her gentleness and great beauty
Were famed throughout each country.
This daughter he loved as his own life:
In bearing her, the Queen his wife
Had, in birth pangs, her life lost.
And when the maid her childhood crossed
Royal sons let him know,
Emperors too and Dukes also,
That they desired her to wed:
For her inheritance they were mad.
To these suits the King would reply
That no man should with his daughter lie
Unless he might in a joust
Himself from his saddle oust,
And from the stirrups loosen his feet:
Many tried and left in defeat.
More if I make progress this term!

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