Joachim du Bellay
Joachim du Bellay was born around 1522 in Anjou, and lived for 37 years. He founded the “Pléaide”, a movement whose aim was to defend and foster the French language. He had a lifelong friendship with Ronsard. His best-known poem, Ulysse resulted from his many travels performed in an official capacity. Although he exulted in his exalted position as an aristocrat, he composed one of the best poems in the French language about those who “missed the boat”.
I first did more or less a word for word translation without making any effort at rhyming. I then proceeded to add not irrelevant but rhyming bits, which did not spoil the rhythm, but which did not alter the meaning of the poem in any way. I include both. I think other translators might wish to employ this little trick.
Heureux qui comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage
Heureux qui comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage
Ou comme cestuy-là qui conquit la toison,
Et puis est retourné, plein d’usage et de raison
Vivre entre ses parents le reste de son âge!
Quand reverrai-je hélas, de mon petit village
Fumer la cheminée, et en quelle saison
Reverrai-je le clos de ma pauvre maison,
Qui m’est une province et beaucoup davantage?
Plus me plait le séjour qu’ont bâti mes aïeux.
Que des palais Romains le front audacieux,
Plus que le marbre me plaît l’ardoise fine:
Plus mon Loire gaulois que le Tibre latin,
Plus mon petit Liré que le mont Palatin,
Et plus que l’ar marin la douceur angevine
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Here is the first version
Happy who like Ulysses…
Happy, who like Ulysses has seen the world
Or the one who conquered the golden fleece
And went back home full of wit and wisdom
To spend with his ancestors the rest of his life
Alas, when will I see my little village
With its smoking chimney and when again
Will I see the yard of my house
Which for me is more than a province
The hearth my ancestors have built I adore
Than Roman palaces with their facades bold
More than marble I prefer fine slate
More my Gaulish Loire than the latin Tiber
To Mount Palatine my little Liré!
The serene sweetness of Anjou to air marine
—
The version “with bits”
Happy who like Ulysses have seen the world and Greece
Or the one who conquered the golden fleece
And went back home full of wit and wisdom in freedom
To spend with his ancestors the rest of his life free from strife
Alas, when will I see my little village, its bocage
With its smoking chimney and when again my domain
Will I see the yard of my house my cows
Which for me is more than a province to a prince?
The hearth my ancestors have built I adore and value more
Than Roman palaces with their facades bold and gold
More than marble I prefer fine slate weight for weight
More my Gaulish Loire than the latin Tiber I prefer
To Mount Palatine my little Liré, hurray!
The serene sweetness of Anjou to the air marine
***
Après avoir longtemps erré sur le rivage
Après avoir longtemps erré sur le rivage
Où l’on voit lamenter tant de chétifs de cour,
Tu as atteint le bord où tout le monde court,
Fuyant de pauvreté le pénible servage.
Nous autres cependant, le long de cette plage,
En vain tendons les mains vers le nautonnier sourd,
Qui nous chasse bien loin ; car, pour le faire court,
Nous n’avons un quatrain pour payer le naulage.
Ainsi donc tu jouis du repos bienheureux,
Et comme font là-bas ces doctes amoureux,
Bien avant dans un bois te perds avec ta dame :
Tu bois le long oubli de tes travaux passés,
Sans plus penser en ceux que tu as délaissés,
Criant dessus le port ou tirant à la rame.
—
Along the shore after years of wandering
Along the shore after years of wandering
With fickle fawners and whining weaklings
You managed to get to the edge of freedom
By fleeing poverty and painful serfdom
Whilst we erring in hope along the shore
In vain supplicate the deaf wielder of the oar
Who shoos us away; for the crossing ain’t free
And we have nought with which to pay the levy
So your blissful repose enjoying
In the manner of learned lovers there
Ere going into the woods with your lady fair
You imbibe long draughts of forgetting
Those left behind, those you now ignore
Joyfully hollering and pulling your oar
