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the works of olivier de bayonne

"lenvoy doleska a james"

Outrely totoren been al ye werkes
That lerned men haue wrot to ful endure
As taughte ye muses to swich semely clerkes
Of mynde to kepe that wysdom ryghte and pure
That nowe hath a shrewde and wrecched figure
Which doth present so grete a rude offence
Forsakyng al travail of reverence.

Wherefor haue we made straunge philosophie
And lette away raison and its noblesse,
To swere in stide to lewed villeinie?
Many lordes have endited with richesse
But none of late haue ytorned to clennesse
And cleve alloon to synnful lustihede
So that piete ne thryve ner fynde spede.

Why dostow peyne us that wolde be poetes,
We unkynd men that clepe ourselves gentill?
James, take nat thy divers weys and swetes
Fro where ye reste may hede them al until
We kanne swich wordes write with parfit skill
And caste off the joliftee of plesaunce
To retourne us to beaute and romaunce.

Herkest thou to Apollos grete honour,
That louely science worthy men myghte welde
In defence of dyvyne vertus amour
Which al gode wyghtes in hir hertes most helde
But now ne kanne, for thy degree hath swelde.
Forletest us nat that grace and gay strengthe
Thou woldst yif al to its ful worthy lengthe.

By trouthe, gode James, I kunne nat how to write
In swich manere that preyseth al mistresse
Withoute hir seintly port and myghte to wite
That my wikke gost schal but dyffye kyndenesse
For likerous and queynte pleye and distresse
And queme noone for my dredeful japes oothe
Which I wolde but hem kunnen as the soothe.

If bettre songes haue there a skilful wryghte
Thise trecheries no wyghte wol certeyn chace
Ageynst a pitous loue that graunteth myghte.
Who koude the paramour of luste embrace,
Servyng rather ful charitee and grace?
Makest but routhe for me, myn felawe trewe
And hevenly loue and beaute renewe.

Envoy

Aston, who pryseth al the goliardys
And lette himselve swich worth in arte bysyde
To suffre the gabbynge of apes gys
Eschue this dispitous laude and it hyde
To tourne the myndes of al as Goddes gyde.
Curate meis omnes laudibus
Es poeta inscium Iacobus.

translation:

None yet. I originally wrote it to get my friend James writing more poetry. I didn't give him a translation in the hope that he'd be interested enough to try and figure out the translation (and thus become even more involved in writing poetry). Maybe I'll write a translation up soon, though.

explanation (razo):

The “envoy” is a type of poem encountered numerous times in the study of Geoffrey Chaucer; often, the envoy is addressed like a letter to a specific audience and means to impart just as specific a message to that audience. Sometimes, the envoy was treated as a final stanza to drive home whatever important statement or witticism the poet wished his work to display.

A few poems by Chaucer are directly titled as envoys, such as “Lenvoy de Chaucer a Bukton” and “Lenvoy de Chaucer a Scogan,” the latter of which is the most direct influence to this poem (more below). Other short poems - generally noted by Chaucer as either balades or complaintes - possess a final “envoy”, often as the fourth stanza that follows the three-stanza body of the poem. One poem utilizes an envoy after three series of three-stanza balades.(1)

In all but one of these poems,(2) the stanza form is ABABBCC with ten syllables in each line that often, but do not always, resemble iambic pentameter.

In “Lenvoy de Chaucer a Scogan,” Chaucer offers a friendly reprimand to Scogan for getting in an argument with (and apparently abandoning) his lady at Michaelmas. Because of that, Chaucer argues, Venus and Cupid have refused to help men gain any more paramours, and Heaven itself has crumbled due to Scogan’s unkind words. Chaucer then states he cannot (and will not) write any more poetry after such devastation – ironic because his message comes in the form of a poem!

This poem, then, works as an homage and parody of the envoy to Scogan. James, my very good friend (in whose company I am unworthy of acknowledgment), has often stated his lack of poetic skill or talent. My message to him is that if he does not attempt to write poetry – which, thanks to his virtues, shall be just as virtuous and honorable – then the only poems ever to exist will be the crude, vile writings of lechers such as myself. Such a fate no one wants to see come to fruition.

(1) Chaucer’s “Fortune: Balades de Visage sanz Peinture” has an envoy appear after the statement/response/counter-response from what seems to be Chaucer’s own “self” replying to the personified figures of Fortune and a fictional court’s Pleintif.

(2) The only poem that does not utilize 7-line stanzas is one of the explicitly-named envoy poems: “Lenvoy de Chaucer a Bukton”, which uses 8-line stanzas of ABABBCBC.

©2004 Kevin Brock.