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the works of olivier de bayonne

"oleskas wordes to patrick his brother upon the wey to golden moone"

Patrick Redd-Lokkes, the me drenche in drede
For we most have yweyved the way and fynde feer
The ne wryten the ordinaunce, as I sayde.
Hennes lyeth Hawkwod, on hundred miles fer,
But we two may nat rest fetisly with theyr wenches fair.
For oure banes stede is with this rewme corsed
And the Brethehede of the Fyre Ass wol think us deed.

O, the goddis me kithen that I ne troweste in a cherl as the,
And thine handes may lede oure carte, as ne lerneth,
Whan the meres in sleep evere mo shal lye.
For what doth this felaweshipe sterne me smerteth?
As fro jolite in my home Windmastres Hille Fate me werneth.
Alswa, it seemeth, dooth the Dame birefte me al in woo,
For pileers shal crepe upon us for to sloo.

So, o worthy gyde! Let us persevere some,
And preye to arryve ere the revels cese,
Or atte the leest, ere the beestes us overcome.
Hens forth I shal werke and forgo all this preyse,
Wheither we ryde ner or afer, or ony swich wyse.
I ne bere to have the as warden, it be soothe,
For oon ape wolde falle foule twies to this, by my trouthe!

translation:

Red-haired Patrick, you're scaring me so bad I've wet my pants.
Since we're definitely lost and we're both freaking out
Because you didn't write down the directions properly like I told you to.
Hawkwood has got to be at least a hundred miles away,
But we're not going to have time to party with their hot babes.
Instead, we're going to meet our doom on this stupid, god-forsaken road
And the Sacred Brotherhood of Flaming Jackasses will think that we're dead.

The gods told me that I shouldn't trust in such an idiot as you,
So you can push our car with those hands that can't write properly,
Once we run out of gas. (when our horses die)
Why was I so cursed as to be placed in such cruel, god-forsaken company?
It's bad enough that I can't have fun back at home in Windmasters' Hill.
But beyond that, Fate's also left me for the coast, so I'm screwed,
Plus, bandits are creeping up, ready to kill us.

So, you wonderful navigator! Let's try and keep going for a ways,
And hope to God we make it to the event before it ends.
Or at least let's get there before the wolves catch up with us.
From here on out, I'll do all the work so that we don't have to hear me complain,
No matter where we go, whether it be across the kingdom or down the street.
I don't want you to have any control over my destiny, really,
Because only a complete idiot would fall for this twice, I swear.

explanation (razo):

Initial note: This is the very first poem I ever wrote for the SCA, and it was certainly my first attempt at Middle English (let alone any medieval tongue). Although I really want to try and edit this to make it better metrically, I also want to present it as an example of what you can do with little understanding of medieval languages or poetic style. So, the following are the notes I originally typed up when I first performed this piece. I rewrote much of this in September 2005 for publication in the Atlantian arts & sciences journal The Oak - you can read the new version here: Oliveres wordes to Patrick his brother.

This poem has been written in Middle English, with a style and sound much like that of Chaucer’s more personal and less courtly poems, after several of whose works this attempts to imitate. The tone and subject matter are fairly comical and trivial in overall respective importance, and purposefully so. The technical skeleton of the work is as haphazard and loose as the works from which it derives, as Chaucer’s own lack of adhering to specific meter added to the rather banal nature of the poems.

With regard to the tone of the poem, “Oleksas wordes...” means to emulate a rather short poem of satirical grief and ire written by Chaucer, entitled “Chaucers wordes unto Adam, his own scriveyn,” in which Chaucer derides his copyist for the latter’s continual inability to copy manuscripts properly and legibly (Riverside Chaucer pp. 650). As Chaucer pronounces a curse upon his copyist to receive a terrible scalp disease known as the “scalle” if he does not properly duplicate manuscripts, so does the narrator of my poem seek to pronounce all sorts of insults and woeful exclamations for the result of his brother’s inability to write correctly.

A second poem of Chaucer’s also serves to provide an influence of tone and subject matter for my own work; within “Lenvoy de Chaucer a Scogan” Chaucer constantly proclaims his woes upon the apparent apocalypse because his friend Scogan mistreated his lady over the holidays (pp. 655). Building off of this example, the narrator in my poem continually refers to his own end, and that of his brother, due to the error which his brother made in incorrectly copying the directions to the event. However, the environment of traveling companions en route to a revel cannot be provided without some mention of The Canterbury Tales, however subtle its influence. The rather comical tragedy of my poem’s characters is just one offshoot of the disasters that could befall pilgrims in worse situations than those of Chaucer’s epic, from which I offered only tribute to the traveling situation of the characters.

The structure of this poem is derived specifically from both of the shorter poems of Chaucer - that is, “Chaucers wordes...” and “Lenvoy” - which utilize a stanza and rhyme form established by Chaucer and seen in later fourteenth and early fifteenth century works by poets such as John Lydgate, who utilizes this form in works such as “A Balade in Commendation of Our Lady” and “An Exclamacioun of the Death of Alcibades,” the latter of which is from his epic The Fall of Princes (John Lydgate: Poems, pp. 25 and pp. 14). These poems’ stanzas are constructed of seven lines apiece, which follow a strict ABABBCC rhyme pattern for Middle English; it follows pronunciation rules and in some cases, rhyming syllables prior to the ending -e, where appropriate for certain nouns of verb forms (as there are no silent vowels in Middle English). The short poem of “Oleksas wordes” faithfully follows this guideline in construction. With regards to meter, there is none. Regarding the two poems by Chaucer, they do indeed maintain a rather rough semblance of meter from one line to another, which disappears and may form a new meter later on; but as there was no strict or set meterical beat, I chose instead to do without a regular pattern that might be more reminiscent of modern or, at the least, post-Chaucerian poetry.

Works Cited

Norton-Smith, John. ed. John Lydgate: Poems. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1966.
Benson, Larry. ed. The Riverside Chaucer. 3rd Ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987.

©2004 Kevin Brock.