Translation of Bem Platz

Be·m Platz

Bertran de Born (Provençal)

I love the joyous time of Easter,
which makes the leaves and flowers bloom;
I love to hear the pleasant twitter
of birds whose cheerful little tunes
ring throughout the forest;
I love to see, across the plains,
the tents and the pavilions raised;
it brings me happiness,
to see armed knights and steeds arrayed
upon the field in their brigades.

I love it when the scouts come in
and scatter people and possessions;
I love to see the hosts of men
march in behind them with their weapons;
I love, with all my heart,
to see strong castles under siege,
the ramparts broken down and breached,
to see the grounded guards,
hemmed all around by moats dug deep
with sharpened pales around their brink.

And just as well, I love a lord
when he’s the first to join the fight,
armed and fearless upon his horse,
who thus emboldens all his knights
to valiant vassalage.
And when the combat is at hand,
they must be ready, to a man,
to follow without grudge,
for there’s no man who’s worth a damn
until he’s battled hand to hand.

Bright-colored helms, maces and swords,
and shields stabbed through and smashed apart—
we’ll see them when we go to war,
and many vassals fighting hard;
and, wandering free, the horses
of all the wounded and the dead.
And when he’s gone to battle, let
each man of high importance
think naught but splitting arms and heads—
life in defeat is worse than death.

I tell you, I find less delight
in eating, drinking, and in sleep,
than when I hear them crying “Fight!”
from every side, and hear the shrieks
of horses in the dusk;
and “Help me! Help!” I hear them cry,
and see the small and great alike
fall in the grass and mud,
and see the dead pierced through their sides
by javelins and bannered pikes.

Baron, you’d best give up
your castles, villages and forts,
before you shy away from war.

Minstrel, without a grudge,
to Yay-and-Nay, go say your piece,
to tell him he’s too much at peace.

—

The poem above is my translation of a song written in Old Provençal (also called Old Occitan) by the 12th-century troubadour poet Bertran de Born, a baron in the Limousin province in France. Bertran was a poet of love and war, who famously fomented strife in the courts of England and France. He appears in Canto 28 of Dante’s Inferno, where he is condemned to the circle of schismatics for pitting Henry the “Young King” against his father, Henry II of England. Dante sees Bertran as a headless shade, walking around carrying his head like a lantern—just as he severed father from son, so his head is severed from his body.

Once translated by Ezra Pound, this poem perhaps exemplifies Dante’s criticism of Bertran de Born, since it seems to be written in support of warfare for warfare’s sake. Yet the first stanza opens like a pastoral poem, as if the poet is about to sing in praise of spring, and flowers, and cute little birds. There’s a mention of tents and pavilions, but perhaps those are set up for some festival. Then at the end of the stanza, there’s the mention of knights and their steeds; but after the pastoral priming, you almost desperately want to grasp onto that initial image. Surely this is a jousting contest, or some kind of display?

Then comes my favorite part of the poem: the drop.

I love it when the scouts come in
and scatter people and possessions;

Holy shit. This isn’t a pastoral poem at all. This is a celebration of warfare. Bertran seems to love everything about it: the struggle, the violence, the mortality; and also the leveling effect, how “the small and great alike / fall in the grass and mud.” The ending is a call to action: he urges barons and kings to take up arms if they wish to maintain their possessions. Incidentally, “Yay-and-Nay” is Bertran’s nickname for Richard the Lionheart, brother of Henry the “Young King” who succeeded their father Henry II as king of England. Richard the Lionheart, of course, is famous from the Robin Hood stories, in which his other brother, King John, is the villain usurping the throne while Richard is off fighting in the crusades.

You’ll also notice the poem has quite an intricate rhyme scheme. Although I use slant rhymes (my rhyme of “vassalage” and “grudge” comes to mind), my rhyme scheme matches Bertran’s; and my meter is the English equivalent of Bertran’s. The rhyme and meter are important in this poem. In the opening, they contribute to the idyllic springtime imagery; and as the poem rolls past the striking turn in the second stanza, the meter seems to carry the reader along into battle.

Unlike Bertran de Born, I don’t believe war for war’s sake is something to celebrate. But you don’t have to agree with the poet to appreciate the poetry. This is a fantastic poem.