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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Oscar Wilde - Come to my Party

If I could host a gathering of people from bygone times, Oscar Wilde would be way up at the top of my guest list. I would sit him next to me for a good while so I could hang on to his every word and hope that his brilliance and wit might rub off on me. Eventually, I would have to set him free to mingle amongst my other guests and allow him to entertain, as is his nature. Sometimes, I’m quite sure I belong to Victorian times. I enjoy the written work of Oscar Wilde. I prefer his plays to his poetry and best of all, his novel, The Picture of Dorian Gray.

A decade ago, I visited Dublin with a small group of fellow writers. It was just four of us and amusing to us that we were English, Irish, Welsh and Scottish, gone to Ireland to see a play by a Russian, (The Three Sisters by Chekhov at Dublin’s Abbey Theatre) and a film about Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas, ‘The Edge of Love’, which had just released. We packed a lot of literary based interest into our three day adventure and spent as much time as possible in the fascinating Dublin Writers Museum. I enjoyed everything we did and everywhere we went. My personal highlight was going to Merrion Square and seeing the birthplace of Oscar Wilde then spending ages in complete wonder at Danny Osborne’s 1997 sculpture.

This is my own photograph, one of many taken that afternoon. I thought the statue was painted, but the colours come from the different materials used by the sculptor. The torso is made from nephrite jade and pink thulite, the legs from blue pearl granite from Norway and the head was originally porcelain but replaced by white jadeite when the porcelain showed early signs of cracking. The Trinity College tie is made of porcelain. The stone he is placed on is quartz from Wicklow.

Oscar Wilde read Classics at Trinity College, Dublin then continued at Magdalen College Oxford where he gained a double first in his B.A. of Classical Moderations and Literae Humaniores.

It is well documented that Wilde led a ‘scandalous lifestyle’ for which he served time in prison. Last year, he and others were posthumously pardoned for committing homosexual acts which were no longer offences.

To me, he was a great writer, with nothing to declare except his genius.

 

John Betjeman's poem,

 

 

The Arrest of Oscar Wilde at the Cadogan Hotel

 

He sipped at a weak hock and seltzer

As he gazed at the London skies

Through the Nottingham lace of the curtains

Or was it his bees-winged eyes?

 

To the right and before him Pont Street

Did tower in her new built red,

As hard as the morning gaslight

That shone on his unmade bed.

 

‘I want some more hock in my seltzer,

And Robbie, please give me your hand -

Is this the end or beginning?

How can I understand?

 

‘So you’ve brought me the latest Yellow Book:

And Buchan has got in it now:

Approval of what is approved of

Is as false as a well-kept vow.

 

‘More hock, Robbie – where is the seltzer?

Dear boy, pull again at the bell!

They are all little better than cretins,

Though this is the Cadogan Hotel.

 

‘One astrakhan coat is at Willis’s –

Another one’s at the Savoy:

Do fetch my morocco portmanteau,

And bring them on later, dear boy.’

 

A thump, and a murmur of voices –

(‘Oh why must they make such a din?’)

As the door of the bedroom swung open

And two plain clothes policemen came in:

 

‘Mr Woilde, we ‘ave come for tew take yew

Where felons and criminals dwell:

We must ask yew tew leave with us quoietly

For this is the Cadogan Hotel.’

 

He rose, and he put down The Yellow Book.

He staggered – and, terrible-eyed,

He brushed past the palms on the staircase

And was helped to a hansom outside.

 

                         John Betjeman

 

 Thanks for reading, Pam x

 

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