a lovely bunch of troubadours
As an example of the form, trust me to have picked what, by consensus, is quite the bawdiest of Old Occitan troubadour tensons. This one is credited to a poet who simply went by the soubriquet of Montan (the Mounter). Note the alternating female and male personae in the stanzas - I've italicised the latter's septets - also the abababa rhyme scheme and the fact that it's written in iambic pentameters (I think, though my Old Occitan leaves something to be desired...lol!). It also strikes me that Occitan seems to bear as much relation to modern Spanish as it does to French:Eu veing vas vos, Seingner, fauda levada,
c'auzitz ai dir c'avetz nom En Montan,
c'anc de fotre non fui asassonada,
et ai tengut dos anz un capellan,
e sos clergues e tota sa masnada;
et ai gros cul espes e trameian
e maior con que d'autra femna nada.
Et eu vas vos, dompn', ab braga bassada,
ab maior viet de nuill az'en despan,
e fotrai vos de tal arandonada
que los linzols storzerez l'endeman
-- e pos diretz c'ops i es la bugada;
ni mais no·m leu ni mais mei coillon gran
se tan no·us fot que vos zaires pasmada.
Pois tan m'aves de fotre menazada,
saber volria, Seingner, vostre van,
car eu ai gen la mia port'armada
per ben soffrir los colps del coillon gran;
apres comensarai tal repenada
que no·us poiretz tener als crins denan,
anz de darier vos er ops far tornada.
Sapchatz, Midons, que tot aizo m'agrada
-- sol que siam ensems a l'endeman,
mon viet darai en vostra port'armada;
adoncs conoisseretz s'eu sui truan
qu'eu vos farai lanzar per la culada
tals peitz que son de corn vos senblaran
-- et ab tal son fairetz aital balada.
Montan, circa 1250 AD
You'll want to read it in translation (as I suspect Chaucer might have done). It comes with an advisory sticker. It's earthy and graphic stuff, as likely to shock as to amuse, and some of you may need to lie down afterwards:
I come to you, Sir, with my skirt lifted,
since I have heard your name is the Mounting Lord,
and I was never sated with fucking:
I kept a chaplain for two years,
and his clerics and all his following;
and I have a large, firm and sprightly butt
and a larger cunt than any woman ever.
And I come towards you, Lady, with my trousers lowered,
with a larger cock than any randy donkey,
and will fuck you with such an outburst
that you'll have to wring your bed-sheets the day after
---and say thereafter that they need to be washed;
Neither I, nor my huge nuts will leave
unless I fuck you until you pass out.
Since you anticipate so much fucking,
I would like to know, Sir, your pride,
since I have armoured my entrance quite well
in order to resist the attack of large testicles;
then I'll start kicking so much
that you won't be able to hold to the front hair
and you'll have to begin again from behind.
Know, my lady, that I agree to all this:
as long as we are together until tomorrow,
I shall ram into your armoured entrance;
then you'll know whether mine is just boasting,
since I'll make you cast through your arse
such farts as will sound like they come from a horn
--and your dance shall suit the music.
I don't know. Those troubadours, what a bunch! đŸ˜�
Being of a more cultured disposition myself, I offer you this modern take on the tenson, also a bit of a twist on Edward Lear, proposing that life isn't all dining on mince and quince, even for owls and their pussycats. (Can you tell I got a bit bored with it?)
owl and pussy (from British Council animated film)
Owl & Pussycat ReduxIt was fun when we first got togetherwe were both young and so madly in lovebut of late I've been wondering whetherwe're not the proverbial hand and gloveI feel an urge to fly off the tetherjoin with fellow owls and heavens abovesing and play my guitar hell for leather.I knew you'd end up being a flighty birdcan't say I wasn't warned but there you goan owl and cat together seemed absurdbut Edward Lear would not have had it soand after all you pledged your faithful wordto play for me when I was feeling lowyour music is the prettiest I've heard.Don't flatter me with this false extollingI've seen the bored look on your furry faceat best you're nothing short of controllingour diet of mince and quince is a disgraceinstinctively I'd rather be volingor turning mouser to snatch us a bracerefinement! who'd you think we're fooling?
I don't like how you eat bones fur and allyour lack of manners makes my stomach turnand then you drop this most disgusting ballright in the bedroom will you never learnthat cats like cleanliness? you've got some gall!but I'll forgive your mess because I yearnto live harmonious without a wall.
There's fat chance of that you jumped up hussyI've seen that tom come slinking round at nightone mewl from him and you're not so fussyso tell me who it was gave you the rightto moralise and come on so bossy?By the way I'm not trying to pick a fightjust cut me some slack vexatious pussy.
If you could give me kittens owl perhapsof course I never thought that far aheadhow can a poet set so many traps?Music alone can't save this marriage bedyou're right when true natures reveal such gapsand if you believe our romance is deadthen take your guitar fuck off and play taps!Thanks for reading, S ;-) Email ThisBlogThis!Share to TwitterShare to Facebook