Troubadour song (Peire Vidal in Langue d'Oc)

Without sin I asked for  penance 
To be forgiven, without causing harm 
From nothing I drew a tender gift
And from bitterness, a gentle charm

From anger I recovered good will
And found perfect joy amidst the tears
I am emboldened by my fears
I am a victor in my defeat 
A conqueror, even in retreat

I bring comfort to  lovers in despair

My  labor is a heavenly motion

I pull  clouds of snow and ice  from fire

And Fresh water from the deep ocean

Never did I another soul a wrong  
And so in good faith I shall aspire

That  lament shall  turn triumphal song

For good ever starts from gentle desire

--
Ses peccat pris penedensa 
E ses tort fait quis perdo, 
E trais de nien gen do 
Et aid'ira benvolensa

E gaug entier de plorar 
E d'amar doussa sabor, 
E sui arditz per paor 
E sai perden gazanhar 
E, quan sui vencutz, sobrar

E poiran s’en conortar

En mi tuit l’autr Amador

Qu’ab sobresforsiu labor

Trac de neu freida foc clar

Et aigua doussa de mar

Ni quar anc no fis falhensa

Sui en bona sospeisso

Quel maltraitz me torn en pro,

Pos lo bes tan gen comensa

24 April 1915-2015

24 April 1915-2015

Tomorrow morning’s late...
did they forget to dream...
When last they closed their eye?
Could they tell their fate?
the line from truth to lie
is a desert in which to die

Did their eyes look high
At an unrepentant Sky?
Did the last beat of their heart
believe in Annunciation?
or the kindness of a god
that forgets its own creation?

Tomorrow morning’s late
their fate became a rhyme
memory to the human race
born of its worst disgrace
from its cruelest belief
from the wounds of crime
from the womb of grief:

it is the theft of time…