Tenson

Esoteric, I know. Meaning both a Provençal lyric poem, taking the form of a debate or dialogue, and the event at which troubadours would declaim such poetry,  Tenson  derives from the Old Occitan for a dispute or struggle, (and somewhere in there is the obvious connection to tension). As a poetic form it first emerged in the 10th century and was widely popular in southern France, Italy and Spain for several hundred years, wherever troubadours grouped to entertain the (mostly illiterate) masses.

a lovely bunch of troubadours

As an example of the form, trust me to have picked what, by consensus, is quite the bawdiest of Old Occitan troubadour tensons. This one is credited to a poet who simply went by the soubriquet of Montan (the Mounter). Note the alternating female and male personae in the stanzas - I've italicised the latter's septets - also the abababa rhyme scheme and the fact that it's written in iambic pentameters (I think, though my Old Occitan leaves something to be desired...lol!). It also strikes me that Occitan seems to bear as much relation to modern Spanish as it does to French:

Eu veing vas vos, Seingner, fauda levada,
c'auzitz ai dir c'avetz nom En Montan,
c'anc de fotre non fui asassonada,
et ai tengut dos anz un capellan,
e sos clergues e tota sa masnada;
et ai gros cul espes e trameian
e maior con que d'autra femna nada.

Et eu vas vos, dompn', ab braga bassada,
ab maior viet de nuill az'en despan,
e fotrai vos de tal arandonada
que los linzols storzerez l'endeman
-- e pos diretz c'ops i es la bugada;
ni mais no·m leu ni mais mei coillon gran
se tan no·us fot que vos zaires pasmada.

Pois tan m'aves de fotre menazada,
saber volria, Seingner, vostre van,
car eu ai gen la mia port'armada
per ben soffrir los colps del coillon gran;
apres comensarai tal repenada
que no·us poiretz tener als crins denan,
anz de darier vos er ops far tornada.

Sapchatz, Midons, que tot aizo m'agrada
-- sol que siam ensems a l'endeman,
mon viet darai en vostra port'armada;
adoncs conoisseretz s'eu sui truan
qu'eu vos farai lanzar per la culada
tals peitz que son de corn vos senblaran
-- et ab tal son fairetz aital balada.

                                              Montan, circa 1250 AD

You'll want to read it in translation (as I suspect Chaucer might have done). It comes with an advisory sticker. It's earthy and graphic stuff, as likely to shock as to amuse, and some of you may need to lie down afterwards:

I come to you, Sir, with my skirt lifted,
since I have heard your name is the Mounting Lord,
and I was never sated with fucking:
I kept a chaplain for two years,
and his clerics and all his following;
and I have a large, firm and sprightly butt
and a larger cunt than any woman ever.

And I come towards you, Lady, with my trousers lowered,
with a larger cock than any randy donkey,
and will fuck you with such an outburst
that you'll have to wring your bed-sheets the day after
---and say thereafter that they need to be washed;
Neither I, nor my huge nuts will leave
unless I fuck you until you pass out.

Since you anticipate so much fucking,
I would like to know, Sir, your pride,
since I have armoured my entrance quite well
in order to resist the attack of large testicles;
then I'll start kicking so much
that you won't be able to hold to the front hair
and you'll have to begin again from behind.

Know, my lady, that I agree to all this:
as long as we are together until tomorrow,
I shall ram into your armoured entrance;
then you'll know whether mine is just boasting,
since I'll make you cast through your arse
such farts as will sound like they come from a horn
--and your dance shall suit the music.

I don't know. Those troubadours, what a bunch! 😏

Being of a more cultured disposition myself, I offer you this modern take on the tenson, also a bit of a twist on Edward Lear, proposing that life isn't all dining on mince and quince, even for owls and their pussycats. (Can you tell I got a bit bored with it?)

owl and pussy (from British Council animated film)

Owl & Pussycat Redux

It was fun when we first got together

we were both young and so madly in love

but of late I've been wondering whether

we're not the proverbial hand and glove

I feel an urge to fly off the tether

join with fellow owls and heavens above

sing and play my guitar hell for leather.

I knew you'd end up being a flighty bird

can't say I wasn't warned but there you go

an owl and cat together seemed absurd

but Edward Lear would not have had it so

and after all you pledged your faithful word

to play for me when I was feeling low

your music is the prettiest I've heard.

Don't flatter me with this false extolling

I've seen the bored look on your furry face

at best you're nothing short of controlling

our diet of mince and quince is a disgrace

instinctively I'd rather be voling

or turning mouser to snatch us a brace

refinement! who'd you think we're fooling?

I don't like how you eat bones fur and all

your lack of manners makes my stomach turn

and then you drop this most disgusting ball

right in the bedroom will you never learn

that cats like cleanliness? you've got some gall!

but I'll forgive your mess because I yearn

to live harmonious without a wall.

There's fat chance of that you jumped up hussy

I've seen that tom come slinking round at night

one mewl from him and you're not so fussy

so tell me who it was gave you the right

to moralise and come on all bossy?

By the way I'm not trying to pick a fight

just cut me some slack vexatious pussy.

If you could give me kittens owl perhaps

of course I never thought that far ahead

how can a poet set so many traps?

Music alone can't save this marriage bed

you're right when true natures reveal such gaps

and if you believe our romance is dead

then take your guitar fuck off and play taps!

Thanks for reading, S ;-)

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Tenson - Troubabours

I usually know roughly which direction I’m going in when I write my blog. This is an exception. I’ve really had to dig deep and I’ve spent lots of time getting carried away with Dante and his contemporaries, and had to drag myself back to the theme of ‘tenson’. After a couple of false starts, an almost abandonment and a rewrite, this is where the challenge, and it became very challenging took me. Forgive me if I’ve fallen off topic too much.

From Encylopaedia Britannica:

“tenson. (Old Provencal: ‘dispute’ or ‘quarrel’) also called tenso or tenzon, a lyric poem of dispute or personal abuse composed by Provencal troubadours in which two opponents speak alternate stanzas, lines, or groups of lines usually identical in structure. In some cases these debates were imaginary, and both sides of the issue were composed by the same person. The tenson was a specific form of debate, a kind of medieval poetic contest. The form later spread to Italy, where it became popular among the poets of the dolce stil nuovo, including Dante. Compare partimen.”

Searching into this sent me on a fascinating journey back to The Classics and to people I’d never heard of or forgotten about. I chose the following as an example, Cercamon and Guilhalmi from the 12^th century.

Cercamon

« Car vei finir a tot dia [L'amor], lo joy e·l deport, E no·m socor la clerzia, Non puesc mudar no·m cofort Co fay, can conois sa mort, Lo signes, que bray e cria E·n mou son sonet per fort, Que·l cove fenir sa via, E plus no·i a de conort. » – « Maïstre, si Dieus me valha, Ben dizetz so que cove; Mas ja d'aisso no vos calha Car li clerc no vos fan be; Car lo bos temps ve, so cre, Que auretz aital guazalha Que vos dara palafre O renda que mais vos valha, Car lo coms de Peitieus ve. » – « Guilhalmi, non pretz mealha So que·m dizes, per ma fe; Mais volria una calha Estreg tener en mon se No faria un polhe Qu'estes en autrui sarralha, C'atendes la lor merce: Car soven, so cug, badalha Qui s'aten a l'autrui be. » – « Maïstre, gran benanansa Podetz aver si softretz. » – « Guilhalmi, vostra vanansa Non crei, si com vos dizetz. » – « Maistre, car no·m crezetz? Gran be vos venra de Fransa Si atendre lo voletz. » – « Guilhalmi, tal esperansa Vos don Dieus com vos m'ufretz. » – « Maïstre, n'ajatz coratge D'efan ni d'ome leugier. » – « Guilhalmi, sobre bon guatge Vos creyria volontier. » – « Maïstre, man bon destrier An li ome de paratge Per sufertar al derrier. » – « Guilhalmi, fort e salvatge ............................... » – « Maïstre, josca la brosta Vos pareisa·l teit novel. » – « Guilhalmi, ben pauc vos costa Lo mieus ostals del castel. » – « Maïstre, conte novel Aurem nos a Pantacosta Que·us pagara ben e bel. » – « Guilhalmi, fols qui·eus escota: Vos pagatz d'autrui borcel. «

– Since I see, every day, love, joy and pleasure end, and the clergy doesn't help me, I don't know where to turn, aside from comforting myself as does, when it knows of its death, the swan, who laments and cries and forcefully emits sounds when it's time for its life to end and it doesn't have hope anymore. – Mentor, may god help me, you certainly say fitting things; still, let it not bother you that the clergy doesn't do you any good; for a favourable time comes, I believe, in which you'll have an associate such as will give you a steed or an income worth even more to you, for the count of Poitiers is coming. – Guilhalmi, I don't care a thread for what you say, by my troth; I'd rather have a quail held tightly in my breast than an entire aviary which someone else keeps locked while I wait for mercy: for often, I find, one yawns while waiting for someone else's goods. – Mentor, you can have a great good, if you are patient. – Guilhalmi, I don't believe the vain words you say. – Mentor, why don't you believe me? A great good will come to you from France, if you care to wait for it. – Guilhalmi, may god give you a hope such as the one you offer me. – Mentor, don't have the heart of a child or of a fickle man. – Guilhalmi, with a good pawn I would gladly believe you. – Mentor, prominent men have many a good steed for being patient to the end – Guilhalmi, strong and wild ............................... – Mentor, near the foliage may your new roof appear – Guilhalmi, hosting me in the castle costs you very little. – Mentor, at Lent we'll have a new count who will pay you nice and good. – Guilhalmi, he's fool who listens to you: you pay out of other people's purse.

 

Looking for something modern, I found this short quarrelsome poem by D/H. Lawrence. I like his wit. It made me laugh.

Intimates

Don’t you care for my love? She said bitterly.
I handed her the mirror, and said:
Please address these questions to the proper person!
Please make all requests to head-quarters!
In all matters of emotional importance
Please approach the supreme authority direct!-
So I handed her the mirror.
And she would have broken it over my head,
But she caught sight of her own reflection
And that held her spellbound for two seconds
While I fled.

                          D.H.Lawrence (1885-1930)

Now then, shall I return to Dante et al, or is my brain scrambled enough for now? I think I’ve found another world that I’ve previously encountered very briefly.

Thanks for reading, Pam x

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