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Poetry? Poetry!
Apr. 5th, 2007 11:09 pmI had wanted to ask what had happened to (Inter-)National Poetry Month yesterday, but by that time half my flist had already beaten me to it, which was just as well as I really had no time.
But, at any rate, April was Poetry Month last year, and some people posted a poem every day and some posted one every week and some just posted one when they found one and had the time - at any rate, there was poetry. And it was good.
So I think this month I'll jump in on the poetry-slamming and try to post a poem every day - or every few days at least. Some will be in English, some will be in German, some, like today's, will be kind of in-between. If I find the time and the fancy tickles me, I may translate them (the German ones to English, anyway; I'm afraid I'm expecting of my German friends that their English suffices for passive poetry-reading); if I don't, I shan't.
Aaaanyway, here's today's poem! As it's always easiest to start with something that has to do with the season, it's the general prologue from Chaucer's Canterbury tales. ("The Waste Land" would have been the other obvious choice, and in fact it'll probably follow one of these days, as its claims are so wonderfully different from those of this one.) It's Middle English, but already well on its way to Early Modern English and thus at least vaguely understandable, so I won't bother with a translation (unless you absolutely want one).
Spelling and wording is according to The Riverside Chaucer.
( Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote... )
- it goes on to describe each of the pilgrims at great length and with a lot of wit and irony; but I am waaaaay to lazy to copy all that down, and at any rate it would rather go beyond the scope of one LJ entry. I do recommend reading it, and the rest of the tales, though; most of them are hilarious, those that are bad are hilarious in the way they parody the ones who tell them, and the rivalries between the different parties are just wonderful.
So there.
But, at any rate, April was Poetry Month last year, and some people posted a poem every day and some posted one every week and some just posted one when they found one and had the time - at any rate, there was poetry. And it was good.
So I think this month I'll jump in on the poetry-slamming and try to post a poem every day - or every few days at least. Some will be in English, some will be in German, some, like today's, will be kind of in-between. If I find the time and the fancy tickles me, I may translate them (the German ones to English, anyway; I'm afraid I'm expecting of my German friends that their English suffices for passive poetry-reading); if I don't, I shan't.
Aaaanyway, here's today's poem! As it's always easiest to start with something that has to do with the season, it's the general prologue from Chaucer's Canterbury tales. ("The Waste Land" would have been the other obvious choice, and in fact it'll probably follow one of these days, as its claims are so wonderfully different from those of this one.) It's Middle English, but already well on its way to Early Modern English and thus at least vaguely understandable, so I won't bother with a translation (unless you absolutely want one).
Spelling and wording is according to The Riverside Chaucer.
( Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote... )
- it goes on to describe each of the pilgrims at great length and with a lot of wit and irony; but I am waaaaay to lazy to copy all that down, and at any rate it would rather go beyond the scope of one LJ entry. I do recommend reading it, and the rest of the tales, though; most of them are hilarious, those that are bad are hilarious in the way they parody the ones who tell them, and the rivalries between the different parties are just wonderful.
So there.
