SaxonCeorl
05-31-2011, 06:14 AM
Lately I have been reading about the romantic school of Italian poetry during the Middle Ages and Rinascimento, known as the Dolce Stil Novo, or "Sweet New Style".
From Wikipedia:
Poetry from this school is also full of vivid descriptions of female beauty, frequently comparing the desired woman to a creature from paradise. The woman is described as an 'angel' or as 'a bridge to God'. Rather than being material in nature, the 'Love' of the Dolce Stil Novo is a sort of 'Divine Love'.
The two main concepts (introspection and love) are thus brought together as the poet enters his interior world to express his most inner feelings which are caused by an excessively divine female beauty.
The first expression of this style of writing is credited to Guido Guinizzelli and his poem Al cor gentil rempaira sempre amore, whereas the major exponent of this school of poetry was Dante Alighieri, who is most famous for his Divina Commedia.
The importance of the Dolce Stil Novo lies in the fact that apart from being the manifestation of the first true literary tradition in Italy, it ennobled the Tuscan vernacular, which was soon destined to become the Italian national language.
And now for some Canzoni :D
Lapo Gianni (c. 1250 - c. 1328)
Dolce é 'l pensier che mi notrica il core
d'una giovane donna ch'e' desia,
per cui si fè gentil l'anima mia,
poichè sposata la congiunse Amore.
I' non posso leggeramente trare
il novo esempio ched ella somiglia:
quest' angela che par di ciel venuta
d'amor sorella mi sembr' al parlare
ed ogni su' atterello è meraviglia:
beata l'alma che questa saluta!
In colei si può dir che sia piovuta
allegrezza, speranza e gioi' compita
ed ogni rama di virtù fiorita,
la qual procede dal su' gran valore.
Il nobile intelletto che io porto
per questa giovin donna ch'è apparita,
mi fa spregiar viltate e villania.
Il dolce ragionar mi dà conforto
ch'i' fè con lei de l'amorosa vita,
essendo già in sua nuova signoria.
Ella mi fè tanto di cortesia,
che non sdegnò mio soave parlare,
ond' io voglio Amor dolce ringraziare
che mi fè degno di cotanto onore.
Com' i' son scritto nel libro d'amore
conterai, Ballatella, in cortesia,
quando tu vederai la donna mia,
poi che di lei fui fatto servitore.
e in Inglese :D
The thought my heart nourishes is sweet,
It’s of a young girl that I desire,
Because of whom my spirit mounts higher,
Since Love, himself, and she did meet.
I cannot easily express
The fresh form this angel resembles
Who seems to have descended from the sky:
She seems Love’s sister by her address,
And at her every gesture one marvels:
Blessed the souls she greets and passes by!
It can be said that every brightness lies
In her and every hope and joy’s there too,
And every blossoming branch of virtue,
And all this is due to her great worth.
The noble intellect I have acquired
Because of the appearance of this lady,
Makes me scorn all sin and villainy,
And the sweet conversation we enjoyed
Concerning the life of love, comforts me,
When I was still new to her sovereignty.
She showed me then such courtesy,
That she did not disdain my gentle speech:
So that I wish to thank sweet Love, indeed,
Who made me fit for such honour on Earth.
Since my name is writ in the book of Love,
Tell my tale, little song, with courtesy,
When you are allowed to see my lady,
Since I am made her servant, and so prove.
Cino da Pistoia (c. 1270 - c. 1337)
Io guardo per li prati ogni fior bianco,
per rimembranza di quel che mi face
sì vago di sospir ch'io ne chieggo anco.
E mi rimembra de la bianca parte
che fa col verdebrun la bellataglia,
la qual vestio Amore
nel tempo che, guardando Vener Marte,
con quella sua saetta che più taglia
mi diè per mezzo il core:
e quando l'aura move il bianco fiore,
rimembro de' begli occhi il dolce bianco
per cui lo mio desir mai ne fie stanco.
English:
In the meadow I gaze at each white flower,
Remembering what it is that makes me
So eager to sigh that now I ask for more.
And I remember the white, the dark green,
That so created the lovely dress
With which Love was clothed,
When, with Mars and Venus watching,
The arrow that cuts deepest
Into my heart he drove:
When in the breeze the white flowers move,
I remember her lovely eyes’ sweet whiteness,
For which this desire of mine cannot be less.
More from Cino:
Io fu’ ’n su l’alto e ’n sul beato monte,
ch’i’ adorai baciando ’l santo sasso;
e caddi ’n su quella petra, di lasso,
ove l’onesta pose la sua fronte,
e ch’ella chiuse d’ogni vertù il fonte
quel giorno che di morte acerbo passo
fece la donna de lo mio cor, lasso,
già piena tutta d’adornezze cònte.
Quivi chiamai a questa guisa Amore:
“Dolce mio iddio, fa che qui mi traggia
la morte a sé, ché qui giace ’l mio core”.
Ma poi che non m’intese ’l mio signore,
mi diparti’ pur chiamando Selvaggia;
l’alpe passai con voce di dolore.
English:
I was on the high and blessed hill,
Where I worshipped, kissing the sacred stone,
On that rock, in weariness, bowed down,
Where Purity laid her forehead chill,
Sealing there the fount of every virtue,
When the woman of my heart, alas,
Travelled through Death’s bitter pass,
She who was accounted full of beauty.
There I called to Love, in words again:
‘Sweet Lord, let Death take me for his own,
Now, since in this place my heart was slain.’
But when my Lord showed only his disdain,
Still calling on my Selvaggia, I passed down:
Travelling the mountain with my voice of pain.
From Wikipedia:
Poetry from this school is also full of vivid descriptions of female beauty, frequently comparing the desired woman to a creature from paradise. The woman is described as an 'angel' or as 'a bridge to God'. Rather than being material in nature, the 'Love' of the Dolce Stil Novo is a sort of 'Divine Love'.
The two main concepts (introspection and love) are thus brought together as the poet enters his interior world to express his most inner feelings which are caused by an excessively divine female beauty.
The first expression of this style of writing is credited to Guido Guinizzelli and his poem Al cor gentil rempaira sempre amore, whereas the major exponent of this school of poetry was Dante Alighieri, who is most famous for his Divina Commedia.
The importance of the Dolce Stil Novo lies in the fact that apart from being the manifestation of the first true literary tradition in Italy, it ennobled the Tuscan vernacular, which was soon destined to become the Italian national language.
And now for some Canzoni :D
Lapo Gianni (c. 1250 - c. 1328)
Dolce é 'l pensier che mi notrica il core
d'una giovane donna ch'e' desia,
per cui si fè gentil l'anima mia,
poichè sposata la congiunse Amore.
I' non posso leggeramente trare
il novo esempio ched ella somiglia:
quest' angela che par di ciel venuta
d'amor sorella mi sembr' al parlare
ed ogni su' atterello è meraviglia:
beata l'alma che questa saluta!
In colei si può dir che sia piovuta
allegrezza, speranza e gioi' compita
ed ogni rama di virtù fiorita,
la qual procede dal su' gran valore.
Il nobile intelletto che io porto
per questa giovin donna ch'è apparita,
mi fa spregiar viltate e villania.
Il dolce ragionar mi dà conforto
ch'i' fè con lei de l'amorosa vita,
essendo già in sua nuova signoria.
Ella mi fè tanto di cortesia,
che non sdegnò mio soave parlare,
ond' io voglio Amor dolce ringraziare
che mi fè degno di cotanto onore.
Com' i' son scritto nel libro d'amore
conterai, Ballatella, in cortesia,
quando tu vederai la donna mia,
poi che di lei fui fatto servitore.
e in Inglese :D
The thought my heart nourishes is sweet,
It’s of a young girl that I desire,
Because of whom my spirit mounts higher,
Since Love, himself, and she did meet.
I cannot easily express
The fresh form this angel resembles
Who seems to have descended from the sky:
She seems Love’s sister by her address,
And at her every gesture one marvels:
Blessed the souls she greets and passes by!
It can be said that every brightness lies
In her and every hope and joy’s there too,
And every blossoming branch of virtue,
And all this is due to her great worth.
The noble intellect I have acquired
Because of the appearance of this lady,
Makes me scorn all sin and villainy,
And the sweet conversation we enjoyed
Concerning the life of love, comforts me,
When I was still new to her sovereignty.
She showed me then such courtesy,
That she did not disdain my gentle speech:
So that I wish to thank sweet Love, indeed,
Who made me fit for such honour on Earth.
Since my name is writ in the book of Love,
Tell my tale, little song, with courtesy,
When you are allowed to see my lady,
Since I am made her servant, and so prove.
Cino da Pistoia (c. 1270 - c. 1337)
Io guardo per li prati ogni fior bianco,
per rimembranza di quel che mi face
sì vago di sospir ch'io ne chieggo anco.
E mi rimembra de la bianca parte
che fa col verdebrun la bellataglia,
la qual vestio Amore
nel tempo che, guardando Vener Marte,
con quella sua saetta che più taglia
mi diè per mezzo il core:
e quando l'aura move il bianco fiore,
rimembro de' begli occhi il dolce bianco
per cui lo mio desir mai ne fie stanco.
English:
In the meadow I gaze at each white flower,
Remembering what it is that makes me
So eager to sigh that now I ask for more.
And I remember the white, the dark green,
That so created the lovely dress
With which Love was clothed,
When, with Mars and Venus watching,
The arrow that cuts deepest
Into my heart he drove:
When in the breeze the white flowers move,
I remember her lovely eyes’ sweet whiteness,
For which this desire of mine cannot be less.
More from Cino:
Io fu’ ’n su l’alto e ’n sul beato monte,
ch’i’ adorai baciando ’l santo sasso;
e caddi ’n su quella petra, di lasso,
ove l’onesta pose la sua fronte,
e ch’ella chiuse d’ogni vertù il fonte
quel giorno che di morte acerbo passo
fece la donna de lo mio cor, lasso,
già piena tutta d’adornezze cònte.
Quivi chiamai a questa guisa Amore:
“Dolce mio iddio, fa che qui mi traggia
la morte a sé, ché qui giace ’l mio core”.
Ma poi che non m’intese ’l mio signore,
mi diparti’ pur chiamando Selvaggia;
l’alpe passai con voce di dolore.
English:
I was on the high and blessed hill,
Where I worshipped, kissing the sacred stone,
On that rock, in weariness, bowed down,
Where Purity laid her forehead chill,
Sealing there the fount of every virtue,
When the woman of my heart, alas,
Travelled through Death’s bitter pass,
She who was accounted full of beauty.
There I called to Love, in words again:
‘Sweet Lord, let Death take me for his own,
Now, since in this place my heart was slain.’
But when my Lord showed only his disdain,
Still calling on my Selvaggia, I passed down:
Travelling the mountain with my voice of pain.