(Disclaimer: these are not all translations. It's just a small selection of words and music based on, or inspired by, Psalm 130.)
From the Book of Common Prayer:
1 Out of the deep have I called unto thee, O Lord : Lord, hear my voice.
2 O let thine ears consider well : the voice of my complaint.
3 If thou, Lord, wilt be extreme to mark what is done amiss : O Lord, who may abide it?
4 For there is mercy with thee : therefore shalt thou be feared.
5 I look for the Lord; my soul doth wait for him : in his word is my trust.
6 My soul fleeth unto the Lord : before the morning watch, I say, before the morning watch.
7 O Israel, trust in the Lord, for with the Lord there is mercy : and with him is plenteous redemption.
8 And he shall redeem Israel : from all his sins.
Thomas Morley (the best of a poor selection on youtube):
From the earliest complete English prose Psalter (here) - the Midland Prose Psalter (c1350–1400):
1. Ich cried, Lord, to þe for þe depe; Lord, here my uoice.
2. Ben þin eres made vnder-stondand to þe voice of mi praier.
3. Lord, yif þou hast kept wickednes, Lord, who shal holde hem vp?
4. For help is to þe, & ich susteined þe, Lorde, for þy lawe.
5. My soule helde vp gode in his worde, my soule hoped in our Lord.
6. Hope, þe folk of Israel, in our Lord fram þe mornynge kepinge vn-to þe niyt.
7. For merci is at our Lord, & at him is plentiuose raunsoun.
8. And he shal raunsoun þe folk of Israel fram alle her wickednes.
Orlando di Lassus:
From the Wycliffite Bible, c.1390s:
1 Lord, Y criede to thee fro depthes; Lord, here thou mi vois.
2 Thin eeris be maad ententif; in to the vois of my biseching.
3 Lord, if thou kepist wickidnessis; Lord, who schal susteyne?
4 For merci is at thee; and, Lord, for thi lawe Y abood thee.
5 Mi soule susteynede in his word; my soule hopide in the Lord,
6 Fro the morewtid keping til to niyt; Israel, hope in the Lord.
7 For whi, merci is at the Lord; and plenteous redempcioun is at hym.
8 And he schal ayenbie Israel; fro alle the wickidnessis therof.
'Ayenbie' is typical of the diction of the Wycliffite Psalms; it's literally 'again-buy', that is, ransom.
Orlando Gibbons:
Christina Rossetti, De Profundis:
Oh why is heaven built so far,
Oh why is earth set so remote?
I cannot reach the nearest star
That hangs afloat.
I would not care to reach the moon,
One round monotonous of change;
Yet even she repeats her tune
Beyond my range.
I never watch the scatter'd fire
Of stars, or sun's far-trailing train,
But all my heart is one desire,
And all in vain:
For I am bound with fleshly bands,
Joy, beauty, lie beyond my scope;
I strain my heart, I stretch my hands,
And catch at hope.
And a poem of the same name by the young C. S. Lewis (published in Spirits in Bondage, 1919):
Come let us curse our Master ere we die,
For all our hopes in endless ruin lie.
The good is dead. Let us curse God most High.
Four thousand years of toil and hope and thought
Wherein man laboured upward and still wrought
New worlds and better, Thou hast made as naught.
We built us joyful cities, strong and fair,
Knowledge we sought and gathered wisdom rare.
And all this time you laughed upon our care,
And suddenly the earth grew black with wrong,
Our hope was crushed and silenced was our song,
The heaven grew loud with weeping. Thou art strong.
Come then and curse the Lord. Over the earth
Gross darkness falls, and evil was our birth
And our few happy days of little worth.
Even if it be not all a dream in vain
— The ancient hope that still will rise again —
Of a just God that cares for earthly pain,
Yet far away beyond our labouring night,
He wanders in the depths of endless light,
Singing alone his musics of delight;
Only the far, spent echo of his song
Our dungeons and deep cells can smite along,
And Thou art nearer. Thou art very strong.
O universal strength, I know it well,
It is but froth of folly to rebel;
For thou art Lord and hast the keys of Hell.
Yet I will not bow down to thee nor love thee,
For looking in my own heart I can prove thee,
And know this frail, bruised being is above thee.
Our love, our hope, our thirsting for the right,
Our mercy and long seeking of the light,
Shall we change these for thy relentless might?
Laugh then and slay. Shatter all things of worth,
Heap torment still on torment for thy mirth—
Thou art not Lord while there are Men on earth.
Showing posts with label psalms. Show all posts
Showing posts with label psalms. Show all posts
Saturday, 8 June 2013
Sunday, 17 March 2013
Reaping in Joy
I'm afraid blogging here has been a little slow lately, but I'm hoping that will change over the next few weeks: Passiontide calls to mind an endless stream of wonderful poetry, and I've also been visiting some beautiful places I intend to post about. But in the meantime, since I don't have anything in particular to say, let me share a few pieces of music which I've encountered today. This morning, in the snow, I went to Christ Church Cathedral. The music was Vaughan Williams' Mass in G Minor (and this is the choir of Christ Church singing it):
And the simple, yet extraordinarily beautiful 'O taste and see', also by Vaughan Williams:
And unexpectedly, and best of all, Henry Purcell's 'Hear my prayer':
I have a very great fondness for this piece because it features at the end of my favourite film of all time, Powell and Pressburger's 1944 film A Canterbury Tale, which is set in the lanes and villages around Canterbury and which begins like this. How could you not love a film which begins with Chaucerian pilgrims? But the pilgrims in this film are from the twentieth century, brought to Kent by the war: a British soldier, about to be sent overseas, a land-girl mourning the loss of her fiance, and a homesick American GI. They all unexpectedly find themselves to be pilgrims in search of blessings, and at Canterbury they each find (spoiler alert!) the different miracles they've been searching for. My favourite character is the British soldier, a cynical young man who trained as a church organist but has given it up to play in a cinema, and with it given up his idealism and faith in anything greater than himself. The most bitter and sardonic of the three, he doesn't believe himself in need of a blessing; but he walks into Canterbury Cathedral at the end of the film, amid the weird, unearthly sounds of choirboys singing 'Hear my prayer', and meets the cathedral organist... and from that moment all his cynicism begins to fall away.
I could talk about A Canterbury Tale all day, but this excellent article really says it better than I could. Do watch the speech in this clip, though; it encapsulates everything most lovable about this film, and its use of Chaucer, Canterbury and pilgrimage.
As I said, this morning it was snowing heavily - it took everyone by surprise, even the Met Office. This was Christ Church in the snow, with a flock of black-clad choristers hurrying back to the warmth:
But by this evening, after a day of rain, the sun came out and all the snow was gone as suddenly and unexpectedly as it had arrived. When it melted, it left puddles and streams everywhere, which seemed particularly appropriate, because the last piece of the musical puzzle from this morning was Psalm 126:
1 When the Lord turned again the captivity of Sion : then were we like unto them that dream.
2 Then was our mouth filled with laughter : and our tongue with joy.
3 Then said they among the heathen : The Lord hath done great things for them.
4 Yea, the Lord hath done great things for us already : whereof we rejoice.
5 Turn our captivity, O Lord : as the rivers in the south.
6 They that sow in tears : shall reap in joy.
7 He that now goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth good seed : shall doubtless come again with joy, and bring his sheaves with him.
And when I hear this psalm I always think of Richard Rolle's interpretation of verse 5:
'That is, as the south wind blowing causes the frozen rivers to be released and to run, so by the Holy Ghost blowing in us we are released from sin, and we run towards heaven; and all our captivity, wherein we were kept captive under the devil, he turns into joy.'
And the simple, yet extraordinarily beautiful 'O taste and see', also by Vaughan Williams:
And unexpectedly, and best of all, Henry Purcell's 'Hear my prayer':
I have a very great fondness for this piece because it features at the end of my favourite film of all time, Powell and Pressburger's 1944 film A Canterbury Tale, which is set in the lanes and villages around Canterbury and which begins like this. How could you not love a film which begins with Chaucerian pilgrims? But the pilgrims in this film are from the twentieth century, brought to Kent by the war: a British soldier, about to be sent overseas, a land-girl mourning the loss of her fiance, and a homesick American GI. They all unexpectedly find themselves to be pilgrims in search of blessings, and at Canterbury they each find (spoiler alert!) the different miracles they've been searching for. My favourite character is the British soldier, a cynical young man who trained as a church organist but has given it up to play in a cinema, and with it given up his idealism and faith in anything greater than himself. The most bitter and sardonic of the three, he doesn't believe himself in need of a blessing; but he walks into Canterbury Cathedral at the end of the film, amid the weird, unearthly sounds of choirboys singing 'Hear my prayer', and meets the cathedral organist... and from that moment all his cynicism begins to fall away.
I could talk about A Canterbury Tale all day, but this excellent article really says it better than I could. Do watch the speech in this clip, though; it encapsulates everything most lovable about this film, and its use of Chaucer, Canterbury and pilgrimage.
As I said, this morning it was snowing heavily - it took everyone by surprise, even the Met Office. This was Christ Church in the snow, with a flock of black-clad choristers hurrying back to the warmth:
But by this evening, after a day of rain, the sun came out and all the snow was gone as suddenly and unexpectedly as it had arrived. When it melted, it left puddles and streams everywhere, which seemed particularly appropriate, because the last piece of the musical puzzle from this morning was Psalm 126:
1 When the Lord turned again the captivity of Sion : then were we like unto them that dream.
2 Then was our mouth filled with laughter : and our tongue with joy.
3 Then said they among the heathen : The Lord hath done great things for them.
4 Yea, the Lord hath done great things for us already : whereof we rejoice.
5 Turn our captivity, O Lord : as the rivers in the south.
6 They that sow in tears : shall reap in joy.
7 He that now goeth on his way weeping, and beareth forth good seed : shall doubtless come again with joy, and bring his sheaves with him.
And when I hear this psalm I always think of Richard Rolle's interpretation of verse 5:
'That is, as the south wind blowing causes the frozen rivers to be released and to run, so by the Holy Ghost blowing in us we are released from sin, and we run towards heaven; and all our captivity, wherein we were kept captive under the devil, he turns into joy.'
Sunday, 3 March 2013
Psalm Translations: O God, thou art my God
Some medieval English translations of Psalm 62/63, which I know best for this setting by Purcell:
The whole psalm in the Book of Common Prayer goes like this:
1. O God, thou art my God: early will I seek thee.
2. My soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh also longeth after thee: in a barren and dry land where no water is.
3. Thus have I looked for thee in holiness: that I might behold thy power and glory.
4. For thy loving-kindness is better than the life itself: my lips shall praise thee.
5. As long as I live will I magnify thee on this manner: and lift up my hands in thy Name.
6. My soul shall be satisfied, even as it were with marrow and fatness: when my mouth praiseth thee with joyful lips.
7. Have I not remembered thee in my bed: and thought upon thee when I was waking?
8. Because thou hast been my helper: therefore under the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.
9. My soul hangeth upon thee: thy right hand hath upholden me.
10. These also that seek the hurt of my soul: they shall go under the earth.
11. Let them fall upon the edge of the sword: that they may be a portion for foxes.
12. But the King shall rejoice in God; all they also that swear by him shall be commended: for the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.
An Old English translation, from the Paris Psalter (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS 8824):
God min, god min, ic þe gearuwe to
æt leohte gehwam lustum wacie.
Min sawl on ðe swyðe þyrsteð
and min flæsc on ðe fæste getreoweð.
On westene and on wege swylce
and on wæterflodum wene ic swiðe,
þæt ic ðe on halgum her ætywe,
þæt ic þin wuldur and mægen wis sceawige.
Ys þin milde mod micele betere
þonne þis læne lif þe we lifiað on;
weleras ðe mine wynnum heriað.
Swa ic ðe on minum life lustum bletsige
and ic on naman þinum neode swylce
mine handa þwea halgum gelome.
Ys sawl min swetes gefylled,
swa seo fætte gelynd, fægeres smeoruwes;
weleras mine wynnum swylce
þinne naman nu ða neode heriað.
Swa ic þin gemynd on modsefan
on minre reste rihte begange,
and on ærmergen on ðe eac gewene,
forðon þu me on fultum fæste gestode.
Ic beo fægere beþeaht fiðerum þinum
and hiht on ðon hæbbe georne,
forðon min sawl on ðe soðe getreoweþ;
me ðin seo swiðre onfencg symble æt ðearfe.
Forðon hi on idel ealle syððan
sohton synlice sawle mine,
and geond eorðscræfu eodon geneahhe;
nu hi wæran geseald under sweordes hand,
syndon fracuðe nu foxes dælas.
Kynincg sceal on drihtne clæne blisse
hluttre habban, and hine heriað eac
ealle þa ðe on hine aðas sweriað;
forþon synt gemyrde muðas ealle
þa unriht sprecað ahwær landes.
One of the things I find interesting - and if I'm honest, quite moving - about comparing translations is spotting the phrases which have barely changed over the centuries. 'Min sawl on ðe swyðe þyrsteð' - once you know that swyðe means 'greatly', you can recognise exactly what that phrase is, even though this is the English of more than a thousand years ago. It's our English but it's also very much the English of its time: this is a poetic translation rather than a literal one, and there are some familiar features of Old English poetic diction here - for example, in the phrase 'Ys þin milde mod micele betere þonne þis læne lif þe we lifiað on' ('thy merciful spirit is much better than this fleeting life in which we live'). The word læne crops up frequently in Old English poetry to describe human life on earth (there's a list of examples here); the sense behind it is of something 'loaned' and temporary - life is only a lease and can be taken away at any time.
Here's an illustration of the psalm from the eleventh-century manuscript British Library Harley 603 - I particularly like the smiling sun:
But better still is the invisible line of sight, right at the heart of the picture, which runs between the hand of the psalmist reaching up to heaven (from his bed) and the hand of God reaching down. With the other hand the psalmist gestures towards his lips. The trees and plants and goats (?) suggest a wilderness, and heaven is on the other side of the swirl of watery green, under the shadow of sweeping wings. On the right side of the picture are the enemies 'going under the earth' and being made the prey of foxes, while a crowned king 'rejoices in God' by raising up his hands.
And a Middle English translation, from a Wycliffite Bible:
God, my God, Y wake to thee ful eerli.
Mi soule thirstide to thee; my fleisch thirstide to thee ful many foold.
In a lond forsakun without wei, and without water, so Y apperide to thee in hooli; that Y schulde se thi vertu, and thi glorie.
For thi merci is betere than lyues; my lippis schulen herie thee.
So Y schal blesse thee in my liif; and in thi name Y schal reise myn hondis.
Mi soule be fillid as with inner fatnesse and vttermere fatnesse; and my mouth schal herie with lippis of ful out ioiyng.
So Y hadde mynde on thee on my bed, in morewtidis Y shal thenke of thee; for thou were myn helpere.
And in the keueryng of thi wyngis Y schal make ful out ioye, my soule cleuede after thee;
thi riythond took me vp.
Forsothe thei souyten in veyn my liif, thei schulen entre in to the lower thingis of erthe;
thei schulen be bitakun in to the hondis of swerd, thei schulen be maad the partis of foxis.
But the king schal be glad in God; and alle men schulen be preysid that sweren in hym, for the mouth of hem, that speken wickid thingis, is stoppid.
The whole psalm in the Book of Common Prayer goes like this:
1. O God, thou art my God: early will I seek thee.
2. My soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh also longeth after thee: in a barren and dry land where no water is.
3. Thus have I looked for thee in holiness: that I might behold thy power and glory.
4. For thy loving-kindness is better than the life itself: my lips shall praise thee.
5. As long as I live will I magnify thee on this manner: and lift up my hands in thy Name.
6. My soul shall be satisfied, even as it were with marrow and fatness: when my mouth praiseth thee with joyful lips.
7. Have I not remembered thee in my bed: and thought upon thee when I was waking?
8. Because thou hast been my helper: therefore under the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice.
9. My soul hangeth upon thee: thy right hand hath upholden me.
10. These also that seek the hurt of my soul: they shall go under the earth.
11. Let them fall upon the edge of the sword: that they may be a portion for foxes.
12. But the King shall rejoice in God; all they also that swear by him shall be commended: for the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped.
An Old English translation, from the Paris Psalter (Paris, Bibliothèque Nationale, MS 8824):
God min, god min, ic þe gearuwe to
æt leohte gehwam lustum wacie.
Min sawl on ðe swyðe þyrsteð
and min flæsc on ðe fæste getreoweð.
On westene and on wege swylce
and on wæterflodum wene ic swiðe,
þæt ic ðe on halgum her ætywe,
þæt ic þin wuldur and mægen wis sceawige.
Ys þin milde mod micele betere
þonne þis læne lif þe we lifiað on;
weleras ðe mine wynnum heriað.
Swa ic ðe on minum life lustum bletsige
and ic on naman þinum neode swylce
mine handa þwea halgum gelome.
Ys sawl min swetes gefylled,
swa seo fætte gelynd, fægeres smeoruwes;
weleras mine wynnum swylce
þinne naman nu ða neode heriað.
Swa ic þin gemynd on modsefan
on minre reste rihte begange,
and on ærmergen on ðe eac gewene,
forðon þu me on fultum fæste gestode.
Ic beo fægere beþeaht fiðerum þinum
and hiht on ðon hæbbe georne,
forðon min sawl on ðe soðe getreoweþ;
me ðin seo swiðre onfencg symble æt ðearfe.
Forðon hi on idel ealle syððan
sohton synlice sawle mine,
and geond eorðscræfu eodon geneahhe;
nu hi wæran geseald under sweordes hand,
syndon fracuðe nu foxes dælas.
Kynincg sceal on drihtne clæne blisse
hluttre habban, and hine heriað eac
ealle þa ðe on hine aðas sweriað;
forþon synt gemyrde muðas ealle
þa unriht sprecað ahwær landes.
One of the things I find interesting - and if I'm honest, quite moving - about comparing translations is spotting the phrases which have barely changed over the centuries. 'Min sawl on ðe swyðe þyrsteð' - once you know that swyðe means 'greatly', you can recognise exactly what that phrase is, even though this is the English of more than a thousand years ago. It's our English but it's also very much the English of its time: this is a poetic translation rather than a literal one, and there are some familiar features of Old English poetic diction here - for example, in the phrase 'Ys þin milde mod micele betere þonne þis læne lif þe we lifiað on' ('thy merciful spirit is much better than this fleeting life in which we live'). The word læne crops up frequently in Old English poetry to describe human life on earth (there's a list of examples here); the sense behind it is of something 'loaned' and temporary - life is only a lease and can be taken away at any time.
Here's an illustration of the psalm from the eleventh-century manuscript British Library Harley 603 - I particularly like the smiling sun:
But better still is the invisible line of sight, right at the heart of the picture, which runs between the hand of the psalmist reaching up to heaven (from his bed) and the hand of God reaching down. With the other hand the psalmist gestures towards his lips. The trees and plants and goats (?) suggest a wilderness, and heaven is on the other side of the swirl of watery green, under the shadow of sweeping wings. On the right side of the picture are the enemies 'going under the earth' and being made the prey of foxes, while a crowned king 'rejoices in God' by raising up his hands.
And a Middle English translation, from a Wycliffite Bible:
God, my God, Y wake to thee ful eerli.
Mi soule thirstide to thee; my fleisch thirstide to thee ful many foold.
In a lond forsakun without wei, and without water, so Y apperide to thee in hooli; that Y schulde se thi vertu, and thi glorie.
For thi merci is betere than lyues; my lippis schulen herie thee.
So Y schal blesse thee in my liif; and in thi name Y schal reise myn hondis.
Mi soule be fillid as with inner fatnesse and vttermere fatnesse; and my mouth schal herie with lippis of ful out ioiyng.
So Y hadde mynde on thee on my bed, in morewtidis Y shal thenke of thee; for thou were myn helpere.
And in the keueryng of thi wyngis Y schal make ful out ioye, my soule cleuede after thee;
thi riythond took me vp.
Forsothe thei souyten in veyn my liif, thei schulen entre in to the lower thingis of erthe;
thei schulen be bitakun in to the hondis of swerd, thei schulen be maad the partis of foxis.
But the king schal be glad in God; and alle men schulen be preysid that sweren in hym, for the mouth of hem, that speken wickid thingis, is stoppid.
Sunday, 10 February 2013
'And in thy light shall we see light'
Three verses from Sir Philip Sidney's translation of Psalm 36:
Lord, how the heav'ns thy mercy fills,
Thy truth above the cloudes most hy,
Thy righteousnesse like hugest hills,
Thy judgments like the deepes do ly:
Thy grace with safety man fullfills,
Yea beastes (made safe) thy goodnesse try.
O Lord, how excellent a thing
Thy mercy is, which makes mankind
Trust in the shadow of thy wing,
Who shall in thy house fattnesse find,
And drinck from out thy pleasure spring
Of pleasures past the reach of mind.
For why? the well of life thou art,
And in thy light shall we see light.
O then extend thy loving hart
To them that know thee, and thy might:
O then thy righteousnes impart
To them that be in soules upright.
The same, from the Wycliffite Bible:
Lord, thi merci is in heuene; and thi treuthe is til to cloudis.
Thi riytfulnesse is as the hillis of God; thi domes ben myche depthe of watris.
Lord, thou schalt saue men and beestis; as thou, God, hast multiplied thi merci.
But the sones of men schulen hope in the hilyng of thi wyngis.
Thei schulen be fillid gretli of the plentee of thin hows; and thou schalt yyue drynke to hem with the steef streem of thi likyng.
For the wel of life is at thee; and in thi liyt we schulen se liyt.
Lord, sette forth thi mercy to hem that knowen thee; and thi ryytfulnesse to hem that ben of riytful herte.
And from the Book of Common Prayer (verses 5-10):
Thy mercy, O Lord, reacheth unto the heavens *
and thy faithfulness unto the clouds.
Thy righteousness standeth like the strong mountains *
thy judgements are like the great deep.
Thou, Lord, shalt save both man and beast; How excellent is thy mercy, O God *
and the children of men shall put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.
They shall be satisfied with the plenteousness of thy house *
and thou shalt give them drink of thy pleasures, as out of the river.
For with thee is the well of life *
and in thy light shall we see light.
O continue forth thy loving-kindness unto them that know thee *
and thy righteousness unto them that are true of heart.
Lord, how the heav'ns thy mercy fills,
Thy truth above the cloudes most hy,
Thy righteousnesse like hugest hills,
Thy judgments like the deepes do ly:
Thy grace with safety man fullfills,
Yea beastes (made safe) thy goodnesse try.
O Lord, how excellent a thing
Thy mercy is, which makes mankind
Trust in the shadow of thy wing,
Who shall in thy house fattnesse find,
And drinck from out thy pleasure spring
Of pleasures past the reach of mind.
For why? the well of life thou art,
And in thy light shall we see light.
O then extend thy loving hart
To them that know thee, and thy might:
O then thy righteousnes impart
To them that be in soules upright.
The same, from the Wycliffite Bible:
Lord, thi merci is in heuene; and thi treuthe is til to cloudis.
Thi riytfulnesse is as the hillis of God; thi domes ben myche depthe of watris.
Lord, thou schalt saue men and beestis; as thou, God, hast multiplied thi merci.
But the sones of men schulen hope in the hilyng of thi wyngis.
Thei schulen be fillid gretli of the plentee of thin hows; and thou schalt yyue drynke to hem with the steef streem of thi likyng.
For the wel of life is at thee; and in thi liyt we schulen se liyt.
Lord, sette forth thi mercy to hem that knowen thee; and thi ryytfulnesse to hem that ben of riytful herte.
And from the Book of Common Prayer (verses 5-10):
Thy mercy, O Lord, reacheth unto the heavens *
and thy faithfulness unto the clouds.
Thy righteousness standeth like the strong mountains *
thy judgements are like the great deep.
Thou, Lord, shalt save both man and beast; How excellent is thy mercy, O God *
and the children of men shall put their trust under the shadow of thy wings.
They shall be satisfied with the plenteousness of thy house *
and thou shalt give them drink of thy pleasures, as out of the river.
For with thee is the well of life *
and in thy light shall we see light.
O continue forth thy loving-kindness unto them that know thee *
and thy righteousness unto them that are true of heart.
Thursday, 14 June 2012
Psalm Translations: I was glad
Some medieval translations of Psalm 122 (123), which we've been hearing rather a lot in this Jubilee year, because of its use in the coronation service. I like this psalm very much in its Book of Common Prayer formulation, so I was curious to see how earlier translators had rendered it.
To start with the most familiar version, this is the BCP:
1. I was glad when they said unto me : We will go into the house of the Lord.
2. Our feet shall stand in thy gates : O Jerusalem.
3. Jerusalem is built as a city : that is at unity in itself.
4. For thither the tribes go up, even the tribes of the Lord : to testify unto Israel, to give thanks unto the Name of the Lord.
5. For there is the seat of judgement : even the seat of the house of David.
6. O pray for the peace of Jerusalem : they shall prosper that love thee.
7. Peace be within thy walls : and plenteousness within thy palaces.
8. For my brethren and companions' sakes : I will wish thee prosperity.
9. Yea, because of the house of the Lord our God : I will seek to do thee good.
I was disappointed not to be able to find a version of this set to Anglican chant on youtube; there's at least one particularly lovely setting, and the words really lend themselves to that aesthetic, especially the first declaration "I was glad" and the gorgeous rich alliteration of 6-8: pray, peace, prosper, plenteousness, palaces, prosperity... So much fun to sing!
However, I suppose we ought to have a link here to Parry instead:
And now for some medieval translations. Here's the Latin from which most of the medieval translators were working:
1. Laetatus sum in his quae dicta sunt mihi in domum Domini ibimus.
2. Stantes erant pedes nostri in atriis tuis Hierusalem.
3. Hierusalem quae aedificatur ut civitas cuius par ticipatio eius in id ipsum.
4. Illic enim ascenderunt tribus tribus Domini testimonium Israel ad confitendum nomini Domini.
5. Quia illic sederunt sedes in iudicium sedes super domum David.
6. Rogate quae ad pacem sunt Hierusalem et abundantia diligentibus te.
7. Fiat pax in virtute tua et abundantia in turribus tuis.
8. Propter fratres meos et proximos meos loquebar pacem de te.
9. Propter domum Domini Dei nostri quaesivi bona tibi.
Here's an Old English translation from the Paris Psalter (online here) - this is from the tenth century. I've inserted verse numbers which match up with the Latin, so you can compare.
(1) Ic on ðyssum eom eallum bliðe,
þæt me cuðlice to acweden syndon,
and on godes hus gange syððan.
(2) Wæron fæststealle fotas mine
on þinum cafertunum, þær ure cyðð wæs,
on Hierusalem geara ærest.
(3) Hierusalem, geara ðu wære
swa swa cymlic ceaster getimbred,
þær syndon dælas on sylfre hire.
(4) þær cneorisse cende wæron
cynn æfter cynne; cuðan þa drihten
and on þære gewitnesse wæran Israelas,
þe his naman neode sceoldon
him andetnes æghwær habban.
(5) Oft hi þær on seldon sæton æt domum;
þu eart ðonne dema, Dauides hus,
þæt on heofenum siteþ heah gestaðelod.
(6) Biddað eow bealde beorhtere sibbe,
ða ðe on Hierusalem gode syndan;
and geniht agun, þa þe neode þe
on heora lufun lustum healdað.
(7) Si þe on þinum mægene sib mæst and fyrmest,
and on þinum torrum wese tidum genihtsum.
(8) For mine broðru ic bidde nu,
and mine þa neahstan nemne swylce,
þæt we sibbe on ðe symble habbon.
(9) And ic for mines godes huse georne þingie,
and to minum drihtne deorum sece,
þæt ic god æt him begitan mote.
This is a poetic translation, not a literal one, and I'll discuss the vocabulary in a moment; first, let's have two later translations (both from the fourteenth century). This is a Wycliffite translation:
1. I am glad in these thingis, that ben seid to me; We schulen go in to the hous of the Lord.
2. Oure feet weren stondynge; in thi hallis, thou Jerusalem.
3. Jerusalem, which is bildid as a citee; whos part taking therof is in to the same thing.
4. For the lynagis, the lynagis of the Lord stieden thidir, the witnessing of Israel; to knouleche to the name of the Lord.
5. For thei saten there on seetis in doom; seetis on the hous of Dauid.
6. Preie ye tho thingis, that ben to the pees of Jerusalem; and abundaunce be to hem that louen thee.
7. Pees be maad in thi vertu; and abundaunce in thi touris.
8. For my britheren and my neiyboris; Y spak pees of thee.
9. For the hous of oure Lord God; Y souyte goodis to thee.
And this is from the Surtees Psalter:
1. I am faine in þa þate saide are to me:
“In hous ofe lauerd ga sal we”.
2. Standande ware our fete als beme
In þi porches ofe Iherusaleme.
3. Ierusalem, þat bigged als cite isse,
Ofe wham in him-selfe del-taking hisse.
4. Þider sothlike vpstegh on heght
Kinde, kinde ofe lauerd reght,
Witnes ofe Irael þe same,
For to schriue to lauerdes name.
5. For þare sat þai setels in dome with,
Setel ouer þe hous ofe Dauid.
6. Biddes whilke at pais ere Ierusalem land,
And mightsomnes to þe louand.
7. Pais be in þi might esse,
And in þi toures mightsomnes.
8. For mi brethre and mi neghburghs be,
Spake I mikel pais of þe.
9. For hous ofe lauerd, our god es he,
Soght I godes vnto þe.
The first words of this psalm gives us an opportunity to explore medieval terms for happiness - "Laetatus sum!" Last time I did one of these psalm translation posts, I ended up talking about various kinds of curses, and the time before that it was words for sorrow and sadness, but this is a nicer subject! These three translations have, respectively, blithe, glad, and fain, all lovely words. The Old English begins Ic eom bliðe, which means 'I am glad, I rejoice'. Modern English blithe can have slightly negative overtones ('oblivious, careless'), but it was entirely positive in Old English: in this case it means 'glad, merry, joyful', but it could also mean 'kind, mild, gentle, merciful' (cf., I suppose, the last of these terms of endearment). Blithe and glad are both Old English words and together they became a very common phrase in Middle English poetry - "ever he was glad and blithe", says the author of Havelok about the most good-humoured hero in English literature. Fain often appears in these doublet phrases too - glad and fain, fain and merry, blithe and fain, all largely interchangeable. (Mentioning fain means I also have to give a link here to this post about one particularly lovely phrase - 'as fain as a bird when the day dawns'.)
An interesting feature of all three words is that they share a similar three-fold range of meaning, according to the OED: 1) the primary sense, 'glad, joyful', 2) 'kind, mild, gentle', and 3) 'beautiful', literally and metaphorically, and in the case of both glad and blithe, 'shining, bright'. I think it's delightful that these three qualities meet in these words; it's both more vague and more precise than our sense of gladness. It's a bit like how Old English uses 'bright' to describe anything lovely - on the one hand it seems thoughtless and just a meaningless stock phrase (as sometimes it is), but it also expresses something of a sense of what constitutes beauty. Similarly, glad, blithe and fain (and also merry) tell us about what constitutes happiness in medieval literature. Happiness is not exactly a feeling, or not just a feeling - these words all suggest a particular kind of cheerfulness which is also a moral quality, an indwelling sense of joy which is the rejoicing of the angels but also expresses itself in everyday courtesy, simple kindness and generosity. I think that to understand this helps make various things about medieval literature more comprehensible - saints' lives, for instance. A saint like Edward the Confessor is often credited with a mild cheerfulness which doesn't entirely fit with our idea of how a royal saint should behave (in these stories, for instance), and saintly jests are a mini-genre of their own (think of Wulfstan's 'Cat of God' joke). It seems almost undignified to us, but I think it's supposed to express a sense of abiding light-heartedness, a constant rejoicing in God which makes for gentleness and a peaceful spirit.
This question reminds me a little of what Chesterton says about pre-modern joy as embodied in the works of Dickens, and C. S. Lewis talks about this somewhere when he describes medieval ideas of what it is to be 'jovial'. We tend to denigrate medieval merriment as the stereotyped jolliness of Errol Flynn's Robin Hood - contrived tricks and schemes, and sudden bursts of slightly forced laughter. Medieval gladness is somehow 'lighter' than that - if the Green Knight is jovial, Gawain is constantly glad (and not just because it alliterates with his name!). In the romances such gladness belongs to courteous heroes, good-humoured and humble, generous and open-handed. In an utterly characteristic passage, Langland describes Charity as follows, while riffing on 1 Corinthians 13:4-8:
And alle manere meschiefs in myldenesse he suffreth.
Coveiteth he noon erthely good but heveneriche blisse...
For Charite is Goddes champion, and as a good child hende,
And as gladliche he it gaf to gomes that it neded.
[He is glad with all who are glad [i.e. 'rejoices with those who rejoice'] and good to all the wicked, and gives freely and loves all whom Our Lord made. He curses no creature, and bears no grudges, and never takes delight in lying or laughing men to scorn. All that people say he trusts to be the truth, and takes it as comfort, and he bears every kind of injury with mildness. He covets no earthly good, only the bliss of heaven... For Charity is God's champion, as gracious as a well-behaved child, and the merriest in conversation at dinner wherever he goes. The love that lies in his heart makes him light of speech, and he is sociable and cheerful, as Christ himself taught: 'Do not be sad like the hypocrites [Matt. 6:16]'. For I have seen Charity in silk and in woolen cloth, both in rich furs and in gilt armour - and he gave it away gladly to anyone who needed it.]
That says it all - no sour-faced saints here! St Paul doesn't actually mention cheerfulness and good dinner-table conversation as expressions of Love, but in my experience they really can be. "The love that lith in his herte maketh hym light of speche" - how beautiful.
Oh right, the psalm. I'll just point one or two more things:
- Note that in the Old English Jerusalem is a ceaster, which is the OE word for a fortified city like a Roman castrum, and therefore the source of many English place names of towns which had been Roman settlements: Chester, Worcester, Gloucester, Colchester, etc.
- I like how the Surtees Psalter has the psalmist standing "in the porches of Jerusalem"! Seems like a perfectly reasonable translation of atrium to me...
- a funny piece of linguistic history is illustrated in verse 7. The word to be translated is abundantia, 'abundance' (the BCP's splendid plenteousness). The Wycliffite translation logically renders it abundaunce. The Old English equivalent is tidum genihtsum, 'plentiful seasons'; this latter word means 'plentiful', and the Surtees Psalter's mightsomnes is sort of derived from the Old English word, but in an odd way. In Early Middle English the word genyhtsumnes became inihtsumnesse, which was rare and seems to have been misunderstood by the medieval scribes who copied it; if you imagine inihtsumnesse written in a manuscript, with all those joined-up minim strokes, you can see how a scribe unfamiliar with Old English might think the word was mihtsomnesse. Such a word had never existed in English, but in this way it was born - though it only appears in this one Psalter, a number of times. You have to sympathise with those poor scribes...
To start with the most familiar version, this is the BCP:
1. I was glad when they said unto me : We will go into the house of the Lord.
2. Our feet shall stand in thy gates : O Jerusalem.
3. Jerusalem is built as a city : that is at unity in itself.
4. For thither the tribes go up, even the tribes of the Lord : to testify unto Israel, to give thanks unto the Name of the Lord.
5. For there is the seat of judgement : even the seat of the house of David.
6. O pray for the peace of Jerusalem : they shall prosper that love thee.
7. Peace be within thy walls : and plenteousness within thy palaces.
8. For my brethren and companions' sakes : I will wish thee prosperity.
9. Yea, because of the house of the Lord our God : I will seek to do thee good.
I was disappointed not to be able to find a version of this set to Anglican chant on youtube; there's at least one particularly lovely setting, and the words really lend themselves to that aesthetic, especially the first declaration "I was glad" and the gorgeous rich alliteration of 6-8: pray, peace, prosper, plenteousness, palaces, prosperity... So much fun to sing!
However, I suppose we ought to have a link here to Parry instead:
And now for some medieval translations. Here's the Latin from which most of the medieval translators were working:
1. Laetatus sum in his quae dicta sunt mihi in domum Domini ibimus.
2. Stantes erant pedes nostri in atriis tuis Hierusalem.
3. Hierusalem quae aedificatur ut civitas cuius par ticipatio eius in id ipsum.
4. Illic enim ascenderunt tribus tribus Domini testimonium Israel ad confitendum nomini Domini.
5. Quia illic sederunt sedes in iudicium sedes super domum David.
6. Rogate quae ad pacem sunt Hierusalem et abundantia diligentibus te.
7. Fiat pax in virtute tua et abundantia in turribus tuis.
8. Propter fratres meos et proximos meos loquebar pacem de te.
9. Propter domum Domini Dei nostri quaesivi bona tibi.
Here's an Old English translation from the Paris Psalter (online here) - this is from the tenth century. I've inserted verse numbers which match up with the Latin, so you can compare.
(1) Ic on ðyssum eom eallum bliðe,
þæt me cuðlice to acweden syndon,
and on godes hus gange syððan.
(2) Wæron fæststealle fotas mine
on þinum cafertunum, þær ure cyðð wæs,
on Hierusalem geara ærest.
(3) Hierusalem, geara ðu wære
swa swa cymlic ceaster getimbred,
þær syndon dælas on sylfre hire.
(4) þær cneorisse cende wæron
cynn æfter cynne; cuðan þa drihten
and on þære gewitnesse wæran Israelas,
þe his naman neode sceoldon
him andetnes æghwær habban.
(5) Oft hi þær on seldon sæton æt domum;
þu eart ðonne dema, Dauides hus,
þæt on heofenum siteþ heah gestaðelod.
(6) Biddað eow bealde beorhtere sibbe,
ða ðe on Hierusalem gode syndan;
and geniht agun, þa þe neode þe
on heora lufun lustum healdað.
(7) Si þe on þinum mægene sib mæst and fyrmest,
and on þinum torrum wese tidum genihtsum.
(8) For mine broðru ic bidde nu,
and mine þa neahstan nemne swylce,
þæt we sibbe on ðe symble habbon.
(9) And ic for mines godes huse georne þingie,
and to minum drihtne deorum sece,
þæt ic god æt him begitan mote.
This is a poetic translation, not a literal one, and I'll discuss the vocabulary in a moment; first, let's have two later translations (both from the fourteenth century). This is a Wycliffite translation:
1. I am glad in these thingis, that ben seid to me; We schulen go in to the hous of the Lord.
2. Oure feet weren stondynge; in thi hallis, thou Jerusalem.
3. Jerusalem, which is bildid as a citee; whos part taking therof is in to the same thing.
4. For the lynagis, the lynagis of the Lord stieden thidir, the witnessing of Israel; to knouleche to the name of the Lord.
5. For thei saten there on seetis in doom; seetis on the hous of Dauid.
6. Preie ye tho thingis, that ben to the pees of Jerusalem; and abundaunce be to hem that louen thee.
7. Pees be maad in thi vertu; and abundaunce in thi touris.
8. For my britheren and my neiyboris; Y spak pees of thee.
9. For the hous of oure Lord God; Y souyte goodis to thee.
And this is from the Surtees Psalter:
1. I am faine in þa þate saide are to me:
“In hous ofe lauerd ga sal we”.
2. Standande ware our fete als beme
In þi porches ofe Iherusaleme.
3. Ierusalem, þat bigged als cite isse,
Ofe wham in him-selfe del-taking hisse.
4. Þider sothlike vpstegh on heght
Kinde, kinde ofe lauerd reght,
Witnes ofe Irael þe same,
For to schriue to lauerdes name.
5. For þare sat þai setels in dome with,
Setel ouer þe hous ofe Dauid.
6. Biddes whilke at pais ere Ierusalem land,
And mightsomnes to þe louand.
7. Pais be in þi might esse,
And in þi toures mightsomnes.
8. For mi brethre and mi neghburghs be,
Spake I mikel pais of þe.
9. For hous ofe lauerd, our god es he,
Soght I godes vnto þe.
The first words of this psalm gives us an opportunity to explore medieval terms for happiness - "Laetatus sum!" Last time I did one of these psalm translation posts, I ended up talking about various kinds of curses, and the time before that it was words for sorrow and sadness, but this is a nicer subject! These three translations have, respectively, blithe, glad, and fain, all lovely words. The Old English begins Ic eom bliðe, which means 'I am glad, I rejoice'. Modern English blithe can have slightly negative overtones ('oblivious, careless'), but it was entirely positive in Old English: in this case it means 'glad, merry, joyful', but it could also mean 'kind, mild, gentle, merciful' (cf., I suppose, the last of these terms of endearment). Blithe and glad are both Old English words and together they became a very common phrase in Middle English poetry - "ever he was glad and blithe", says the author of Havelok about the most good-humoured hero in English literature. Fain often appears in these doublet phrases too - glad and fain, fain and merry, blithe and fain, all largely interchangeable. (Mentioning fain means I also have to give a link here to this post about one particularly lovely phrase - 'as fain as a bird when the day dawns'.)
An interesting feature of all three words is that they share a similar three-fold range of meaning, according to the OED: 1) the primary sense, 'glad, joyful', 2) 'kind, mild, gentle', and 3) 'beautiful', literally and metaphorically, and in the case of both glad and blithe, 'shining, bright'. I think it's delightful that these three qualities meet in these words; it's both more vague and more precise than our sense of gladness. It's a bit like how Old English uses 'bright' to describe anything lovely - on the one hand it seems thoughtless and just a meaningless stock phrase (as sometimes it is), but it also expresses something of a sense of what constitutes beauty. Similarly, glad, blithe and fain (and also merry) tell us about what constitutes happiness in medieval literature. Happiness is not exactly a feeling, or not just a feeling - these words all suggest a particular kind of cheerfulness which is also a moral quality, an indwelling sense of joy which is the rejoicing of the angels but also expresses itself in everyday courtesy, simple kindness and generosity. I think that to understand this helps make various things about medieval literature more comprehensible - saints' lives, for instance. A saint like Edward the Confessor is often credited with a mild cheerfulness which doesn't entirely fit with our idea of how a royal saint should behave (in these stories, for instance), and saintly jests are a mini-genre of their own (think of Wulfstan's 'Cat of God' joke). It seems almost undignified to us, but I think it's supposed to express a sense of abiding light-heartedness, a constant rejoicing in God which makes for gentleness and a peaceful spirit.
This question reminds me a little of what Chesterton says about pre-modern joy as embodied in the works of Dickens, and C. S. Lewis talks about this somewhere when he describes medieval ideas of what it is to be 'jovial'. We tend to denigrate medieval merriment as the stereotyped jolliness of Errol Flynn's Robin Hood - contrived tricks and schemes, and sudden bursts of slightly forced laughter. Medieval gladness is somehow 'lighter' than that - if the Green Knight is jovial, Gawain is constantly glad (and not just because it alliterates with his name!). In the romances such gladness belongs to courteous heroes, good-humoured and humble, generous and open-handed. In an utterly characteristic passage, Langland describes Charity as follows, while riffing on 1 Corinthians 13:4-8:
He is glad with alle glade and good til alle wikkede,
And leneth and loveth alle that Oure Lord made.
Corseth he no creature, ne he kan bere no wrathe,
Ne no likynge hath to lye ne laughe men to scorne.
Al that men seyn, he leet it sooth, and in solace taketh,
Al that men seyn, he leet it sooth, and in solace taketh,
Coveiteth he noon erthely good but heveneriche blisse...
For Charite is Goddes champion, and as a good child hende,
And the murieste of mouth at mete where he sitteth.
The love that lith in his herte maketh hym light of speche,
And is compaignable and confortatif, as Crist bit hymselve:
Nolite fieri sicut ypocrite tristes &c.
For I have seyen hym in silk and som tyme in russet,
Bothe in grey, and in grys, and in gilt harneis -
[He is glad with all who are glad [i.e. 'rejoices with those who rejoice'] and good to all the wicked, and gives freely and loves all whom Our Lord made. He curses no creature, and bears no grudges, and never takes delight in lying or laughing men to scorn. All that people say he trusts to be the truth, and takes it as comfort, and he bears every kind of injury with mildness. He covets no earthly good, only the bliss of heaven... For Charity is God's champion, as gracious as a well-behaved child, and the merriest in conversation at dinner wherever he goes. The love that lies in his heart makes him light of speech, and he is sociable and cheerful, as Christ himself taught: 'Do not be sad like the hypocrites [Matt. 6:16]'. For I have seen Charity in silk and in woolen cloth, both in rich furs and in gilt armour - and he gave it away gladly to anyone who needed it.]
That says it all - no sour-faced saints here! St Paul doesn't actually mention cheerfulness and good dinner-table conversation as expressions of Love, but in my experience they really can be. "The love that lith in his herte maketh hym light of speche" - how beautiful.
Oh right, the psalm. I'll just point one or two more things:
- Note that in the Old English Jerusalem is a ceaster, which is the OE word for a fortified city like a Roman castrum, and therefore the source of many English place names of towns which had been Roman settlements: Chester, Worcester, Gloucester, Colchester, etc.
- I like how the Surtees Psalter has the psalmist standing "in the porches of Jerusalem"! Seems like a perfectly reasonable translation of atrium to me...
- a funny piece of linguistic history is illustrated in verse 7. The word to be translated is abundantia, 'abundance' (the BCP's splendid plenteousness). The Wycliffite translation logically renders it abundaunce. The Old English equivalent is tidum genihtsum, 'plentiful seasons'; this latter word means 'plentiful', and the Surtees Psalter's mightsomnes is sort of derived from the Old English word, but in an odd way. In Early Middle English the word genyhtsumnes became inihtsumnesse, which was rare and seems to have been misunderstood by the medieval scribes who copied it; if you imagine inihtsumnesse written in a manuscript, with all those joined-up minim strokes, you can see how a scribe unfamiliar with Old English might think the word was mihtsomnesse. Such a word had never existed in English, but in this way it was born - though it only appears in this one Psalter, a number of times. You have to sympathise with those poor scribes...
Sunday, 29 April 2012
Psalm Translations: By the waters of Babylon
I was thinking about something today - I don't know why - and as so often happens, a psalm at Evensong tonight resonated with my thought, and worked to crystallise it somehow. So if this post goes off on a tangent at the end, you'll have to forgive me.
It was Psalm 136/7:
1. By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept : when we remembered thee, O Sion.
2 As for our harps, we hanged them up : upon the trees that are therein.
3 For they that led us away captive required of us then a song, and melody, in our heaviness : Sing us one of the songs of Sion.
4 How shall we sing the Lord's song : in a strange land?
5 If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, : let my right hand forget her cunning.
6 If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth : yea, if I prefer not Jerusalem in my mirth.
7 Remember the children of Edom, O Lord, in the day of Jerusalem : how they said, Down with it, down with it, even to the ground.
8 O daughter of Babylon, wasted with misery : yea, happy shall he be that rewardeth thee, as thou hast served us.
9 Blessed shall he be that taketh thy children : and throweth them against the stones.
I love that setting, which is by George Garrett; it's so beautiful it breaks your heart.
This is perhaps the most famous setting of the Latin version:
1 Super flumina Babylonis ibi sedimus et flevimus, cum recordaremur Sion.
2 Super salices in medio eius suspendimus citharas nostras.
3 Quoniam ibi interrogaverunt nos qui captivos duxerunt nos verba carminis et qui adfligebant nos laeti: canite nobis de canticis Sion.
4 Quomodo cantabimus canticum Domini in terra aliena?
5 Si oblitus fuero tui, Hierusalem, in oblivione sit dextera mea.
6 Adhereat lingua mea gutturi meo, si non recordatus fuero tui si non praeposuero Hierusalem in principio laetitiae meae.
7 Memento, Domine, filiorum Edom in diem Hierusalem dicentium evacuate evacuate usque ad fundamentum eius.
8 Filia Babylon vastata, beatus qui retribuet tibi vicissitudinem tuam quam retribuisti nobis.
9 Beatus qui tenebit et adlidet parvulos tuos ad petram.
Now for some medieval translations. I don't have an Old English translation to offer you, but I can direct you to this illustration from a Psalter produced at Canterbury in c.1000. The organ and harp hanging on the sinewy trees are wonderful!
The earliest English translation I could find is by Richard Rolle (I didn't look very hard, so there may be earlier ones).
1. Aboven the flodes of Babilon, thar we sat and gret whils we umthou3t of Syon.
2. In the wylghis in the myddis of hit we hang up our orgoyns.
3. For thar thei askyd us, tho that caitifes led us, wordes of songes, and tho that away led us ȝmpne synges til us of the sanges of syon.
4. How shal we syng the song of Lord in aliens land?
5. If I forgete thee Jerusalem, til forgetyng be gifen my riȝthand.
6. My tong draw til my chekis, if i had thouȝt not of thee, if i sett nouȝt of thee, Jerusalem, in begynnyng of my joy.
7. Be menand, Lord, of the sunnys of Edom in day of Jerusalem, the whilk seys "temys, temys, til the ground in hit."
8. Dowȝghtur of Babilon, wrech, blisful he that shal ȝeld til thee the ȝeldyng that thou ȝeldid til us.
9. Blisful he that shal holde and knok his smale til the stone.
Rolle's is a psalter with commentary, and his comment on this last verse is, "These small [things] are evil stirrings in man's thought, of pride, covetise and lechery, but he is blessed that holds them, that they pass not into delight, and knocks them against Christ, that they perish through his might, for if he let them wax, they will not so soon be overcome." I like that!
His comment on the first verse is, "Floods of Babylon are all things that are loved here and pass away, which holy men behold and forsake, sitting above them, and weeping for their own pilgrimage and their sins that are ravished into the floods while they think of Sion - that is, of heaven, where nothing runs away, but all joy is together. Worldly men weep for the loss of their goods or their friends, as they joy in nothing but in their wealth; but each man should weep when thinking of Sion."
We'll come back to that.
Here's a Wycliffite translation from the late 14th century:
1. On the floodis of Babiloyne there we saten, and wepten; while we bithouyten on Syon.
2. In salewis in the myddil therof; we hangiden up oure orguns.
3. For thei that ledden us prisoners, axiden us there the wordis of songis. And thei that ledden awei us seiden "Synge ye to us an ympne of the songis of Syon."
4. Hou schulen we singe a songe of the Lord in an alien lond?
5. If I foryete thee, Jerusalem, my riyt hond be youun to foryeting.
6. Mi tunge cleue to my chekis, if I bithenke not on thee, if I purposide not of thee, Jerusalem, in the bigynnyng of my gladnesse.
7. Lord, haue thou mynde on the sones of Edom, for the dai of Jerusalem. Whiche seien, Anyntische ye, anyntische ye; til to the foundement ther ynne.
8. Thou wretchid douyter of Babiloyne; he is blessid, that schal yelde to thee thi yelding, which thou yeldidist to vs.
9. He is blessid, that schal holde; and hurtle doun hise litle children at a stoon.
It took me a ridiculously long time to realise that the word ympne in "Synge ye to us an ympne of the songis of Syon" is of course hymn. Should have spotted that sooner...
This would be a useful psalm to learn condemnations from. That "Anyntische ye, anyntische ye" in verse 7 means 'bring to nothing, destroy' (related to the French anéantir), while Rolle's "temys, temys" comes from a word of Old Norse origin meaning 'to spill, to pour out'. Choose your method of destruction.
Rolle was a Yorkshireman and our next translation is also from Yorkshire, from the thirteenth-century Surtees Psalter (the numbering of the verses is a bit different here):
1. Stremes ofe Babilon, þare sate we on,
And wepe, whils we mined of Syon.
2. In selihes in mide ofe ite
Our organes henge we yhite.
3. For þider asked vs, þat wrecches swa
Led vs, wordes of sanges ma;
4. And þat outlede vs: "ympne singe yhe
Til vs of sanges ofe Syon be."
5. Hou sal we singe sange with blisse
Ofe lauerd in outen land þat isse?
6. Ife I forgete þe, Jerusalem land,
To forgetelnesse giuen be mi righte hand.
7. Mi tunge to mi chekes cleuand be,
Ife þat I noght mine ofe þe;
8. Ife I forsete þe noght, Jerusalem, ai
In biginninge ofe mi fainenes al dai.
9. Mine, lauerd, ofe Edom sones, þat tem,
In daie ofe Jerusalem,
10. Þat saies: “lesses, lesses yhite,
Vnto þe grondstaþelnes in ite!”
11. Doghtre of Babilon, wrecched alle!
Seli þat foryhelde salle
To þe þi foryheldinge nou
Þat til vs foryhelded þou;
12. Seli þat sal hald on-ane
And giue þi smale vnto þe stane.
Seli is one of my favourite words for 'blessed'; in Middle English it means 'fortunate, favoured', but also 'innocent, blameless', and over time the latter meaning came to be used of things deserving of compassion or pity, like children or animals (especially sheep, for some reason - so you will sometimes find Christmas carols which have the shepherds 'leave their silly sheep'). And this tender epithet came to have overtones of 'weak, foolish', and thus we get today's silly, still used of things or people towards whom one feels more pity than contempt.
Songs and hymns, streams and floods and waters. I didn't even realise until I started writing this post just how close this psalm comes to what I've been thinking about in my own life. It's something about singing in exile. Rolle is quite right: "The floods of Babylon are all things that are loved here and pass away". Recently I've been feeling self-conscious about the things I love - essentially, all the stuff I post about on this blog. It's such an odd and silly assortment, and pretty much no one I know in real life shares my love for any of it. I've spent my whole life being a little embarrassed about my taste in music and literature, and wishing really that I could just be normal and like the things everyone else likes; I don't feel that as much as I did when I was younger, but I still wish I could love my own things a little less. Perhaps it's just an extreme case of the grad student's curse - which is the knowledge that absolutely no one cares about your subject as much as you do - but I suspect really it's a manifestation of Sehnsucht, C. S. Lewis' Joy, the 'inconsolable longing for we know not what', and the sense of utter aloneness which comes with it.
And somewhere in there is Chesterton, and his idea of things 'saved from the wreck':
'The greatest of poems is an inventory' - I love that. I've quoted it before in reference to this poem (and it's even more true of this one). Chesterton was being typically ebullient, but hoarding hills and seeing in them a sudden glimpse of the hills of heaven are two sides of the same coin. Sometimes it's cosy, sometimes it's "the old stab, the old bittersweet". Everyone would have their own list of things saved from the wreck; this was C. S. Lewis':
That longing, that love, is an endless hunger of hopeless things, and sometimes it's more wonderful than painful, and sometimes the other way around. I suppose everyone feels it to some degree, but some people seem more susceptible than others; and these days I wish I was less susceptible.
And I've forgotten what this has to do with the psalm.
It was Psalm 136/7:
1. By the waters of Babylon we sat down and wept : when we remembered thee, O Sion.
2 As for our harps, we hanged them up : upon the trees that are therein.
3 For they that led us away captive required of us then a song, and melody, in our heaviness : Sing us one of the songs of Sion.
4 How shall we sing the Lord's song : in a strange land?
5 If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, : let my right hand forget her cunning.
6 If I do not remember thee, let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth : yea, if I prefer not Jerusalem in my mirth.
7 Remember the children of Edom, O Lord, in the day of Jerusalem : how they said, Down with it, down with it, even to the ground.
8 O daughter of Babylon, wasted with misery : yea, happy shall he be that rewardeth thee, as thou hast served us.
9 Blessed shall he be that taketh thy children : and throweth them against the stones.
I love that setting, which is by George Garrett; it's so beautiful it breaks your heart.
This is perhaps the most famous setting of the Latin version:
1 Super flumina Babylonis ibi sedimus et flevimus, cum recordaremur Sion.
2 Super salices in medio eius suspendimus citharas nostras.
3 Quoniam ibi interrogaverunt nos qui captivos duxerunt nos verba carminis et qui adfligebant nos laeti: canite nobis de canticis Sion.
4 Quomodo cantabimus canticum Domini in terra aliena?
5 Si oblitus fuero tui, Hierusalem, in oblivione sit dextera mea.
6 Adhereat lingua mea gutturi meo, si non recordatus fuero tui si non praeposuero Hierusalem in principio laetitiae meae.
7 Memento, Domine, filiorum Edom in diem Hierusalem dicentium evacuate evacuate usque ad fundamentum eius.
8 Filia Babylon vastata, beatus qui retribuet tibi vicissitudinem tuam quam retribuisti nobis.
9 Beatus qui tenebit et adlidet parvulos tuos ad petram.
Now for some medieval translations. I don't have an Old English translation to offer you, but I can direct you to this illustration from a Psalter produced at Canterbury in c.1000. The organ and harp hanging on the sinewy trees are wonderful!
The earliest English translation I could find is by Richard Rolle (I didn't look very hard, so there may be earlier ones).
1. Aboven the flodes of Babilon, thar we sat and gret whils we umthou3t of Syon.
2. In the wylghis in the myddis of hit we hang up our orgoyns.
3. For thar thei askyd us, tho that caitifes led us, wordes of songes, and tho that away led us ȝmpne synges til us of the sanges of syon.
4. How shal we syng the song of Lord in aliens land?
5. If I forgete thee Jerusalem, til forgetyng be gifen my riȝthand.
6. My tong draw til my chekis, if i had thouȝt not of thee, if i sett nouȝt of thee, Jerusalem, in begynnyng of my joy.
7. Be menand, Lord, of the sunnys of Edom in day of Jerusalem, the whilk seys "temys, temys, til the ground in hit."
8. Dowȝghtur of Babilon, wrech, blisful he that shal ȝeld til thee the ȝeldyng that thou ȝeldid til us.
9. Blisful he that shal holde and knok his smale til the stone.
Rolle's is a psalter with commentary, and his comment on this last verse is, "These small [things] are evil stirrings in man's thought, of pride, covetise and lechery, but he is blessed that holds them, that they pass not into delight, and knocks them against Christ, that they perish through his might, for if he let them wax, they will not so soon be overcome." I like that!
His comment on the first verse is, "Floods of Babylon are all things that are loved here and pass away, which holy men behold and forsake, sitting above them, and weeping for their own pilgrimage and their sins that are ravished into the floods while they think of Sion - that is, of heaven, where nothing runs away, but all joy is together. Worldly men weep for the loss of their goods or their friends, as they joy in nothing but in their wealth; but each man should weep when thinking of Sion."
We'll come back to that.
Here's a Wycliffite translation from the late 14th century:
1. On the floodis of Babiloyne there we saten, and wepten; while we bithouyten on Syon.
2. In salewis in the myddil therof; we hangiden up oure orguns.
3. For thei that ledden us prisoners, axiden us there the wordis of songis. And thei that ledden awei us seiden "Synge ye to us an ympne of the songis of Syon."
4. Hou schulen we singe a songe of the Lord in an alien lond?
5. If I foryete thee, Jerusalem, my riyt hond be youun to foryeting.
6. Mi tunge cleue to my chekis, if I bithenke not on thee, if I purposide not of thee, Jerusalem, in the bigynnyng of my gladnesse.
7. Lord, haue thou mynde on the sones of Edom, for the dai of Jerusalem. Whiche seien, Anyntische ye, anyntische ye; til to the foundement ther ynne.
8. Thou wretchid douyter of Babiloyne; he is blessid, that schal yelde to thee thi yelding, which thou yeldidist to vs.
9. He is blessid, that schal holde; and hurtle doun hise litle children at a stoon.
It took me a ridiculously long time to realise that the word ympne in "Synge ye to us an ympne of the songis of Syon" is of course hymn. Should have spotted that sooner...
This would be a useful psalm to learn condemnations from. That "Anyntische ye, anyntische ye" in verse 7 means 'bring to nothing, destroy' (related to the French anéantir), while Rolle's "temys, temys" comes from a word of Old Norse origin meaning 'to spill, to pour out'. Choose your method of destruction.
Rolle was a Yorkshireman and our next translation is also from Yorkshire, from the thirteenth-century Surtees Psalter (the numbering of the verses is a bit different here):
1. Stremes ofe Babilon, þare sate we on,
And wepe, whils we mined of Syon.
2. In selihes in mide ofe ite
Our organes henge we yhite.
3. For þider asked vs, þat wrecches swa
Led vs, wordes of sanges ma;
4. And þat outlede vs: "ympne singe yhe
Til vs of sanges ofe Syon be."
5. Hou sal we singe sange with blisse
Ofe lauerd in outen land þat isse?
6. Ife I forgete þe, Jerusalem land,
To forgetelnesse giuen be mi righte hand.
7. Mi tunge to mi chekes cleuand be,
Ife þat I noght mine ofe þe;
8. Ife I forsete þe noght, Jerusalem, ai
In biginninge ofe mi fainenes al dai.
9. Mine, lauerd, ofe Edom sones, þat tem,
In daie ofe Jerusalem,
10. Þat saies: “lesses, lesses yhite,
Vnto þe grondstaþelnes in ite!”
11. Doghtre of Babilon, wrecched alle!
Seli þat foryhelde salle
To þe þi foryheldinge nou
Þat til vs foryhelded þou;
12. Seli þat sal hald on-ane
And giue þi smale vnto þe stane.
Seli is one of my favourite words for 'blessed'; in Middle English it means 'fortunate, favoured', but also 'innocent, blameless', and over time the latter meaning came to be used of things deserving of compassion or pity, like children or animals (especially sheep, for some reason - so you will sometimes find Christmas carols which have the shepherds 'leave their silly sheep'). And this tender epithet came to have overtones of 'weak, foolish', and thus we get today's silly, still used of things or people towards whom one feels more pity than contempt.
Songs and hymns, streams and floods and waters. I didn't even realise until I started writing this post just how close this psalm comes to what I've been thinking about in my own life. It's something about singing in exile. Rolle is quite right: "The floods of Babylon are all things that are loved here and pass away". Recently I've been feeling self-conscious about the things I love - essentially, all the stuff I post about on this blog. It's such an odd and silly assortment, and pretty much no one I know in real life shares my love for any of it. I've spent my whole life being a little embarrassed about my taste in music and literature, and wishing really that I could just be normal and like the things everyone else likes; I don't feel that as much as I did when I was younger, but I still wish I could love my own things a little less. Perhaps it's just an extreme case of the grad student's curse - which is the knowledge that absolutely no one cares about your subject as much as you do - but I suspect really it's a manifestation of Sehnsucht, C. S. Lewis' Joy, the 'inconsolable longing for we know not what', and the sense of utter aloneness which comes with it.
And somewhere in there is Chesterton, and his idea of things 'saved from the wreck':
Crusoe is a man on a small rock with a few comforts just snatched from the sea: the best thing in the book is simply the list of things saved from the wreck. The greatest of poems is an inventory. Every kitchen tool becomes ideal because Crusoe might have dropped it in the sea. It is a good exercise, in empty or ugly hours of the day, to look at anything, the coal-scuttle or the book-case, and think how happy one could be to have brought it out of the sinking ship on to the solitary island. But it is a better exercise still to remember how all things have had this hair-breadth escape: everything has been saved from a wreck...
I really felt (the fancy may seem foolish) as if all the order and number of things were the romantic remnant of Crusoe's ship. That there are two sexes and one sun, was like the fact that there were two guns and one axe. It was poignantly urgent that none should be lost; but somehow, it was rather fun that none could be added. The trees and the planets seemed like things saved from the wreck: and when I saw the Matterhorn I was glad that it had not been overlooked in the confusion. I felt economical about the stars as if they were sapphires (they are called so in Milton's Eden): I hoarded the hills. For the universe is a single jewel, and while it is a natural cant to talk of a jewel as peerless and priceless, of this jewel it is literally true. This cosmos is indeed without peer and without price: for there cannot be another one.
'The greatest of poems is an inventory' - I love that. I've quoted it before in reference to this poem (and it's even more true of this one). Chesterton was being typically ebullient, but hoarding hills and seeing in them a sudden glimpse of the hills of heaven are two sides of the same coin. Sometimes it's cosy, sometimes it's "the old stab, the old bittersweet". Everyone would have their own list of things saved from the wreck; this was C. S. Lewis':
the smell of bonfire, the sound of wild ducks flying overhead, the title of The Well at the World's End, the opening lines of Kubla Khan, the morning cobwebs in late summer, or the noise of falling waves.
That longing, that love, is an endless hunger of hopeless things, and sometimes it's more wonderful than painful, and sometimes the other way around. I suppose everyone feels it to some degree, but some people seem more susceptible than others; and these days I wish I was less susceptible.
And I've forgotten what this has to do with the psalm.
Saturday, 3 March 2012
Psalms and Psalters
This is how I've just spent a happy afternoon, and I recommend it as a strategy for cheerfulness: pick a psalm, and then go to the British Library website and look at the illustration of it in the Harley Psalter. This manuscript, produced at Canterbury at the beginning of the eleventh century, has lots and lots of superb line-drawings which illustrate scenes from the psalms, and they're just delightful. The pictures are full of detail and so at first glance look disorganised, but once you have the text of the psalm to compare them to, they make perfect sense.
So for instance: spot the 'pelican in the wilderness' and the 'sparrow on the housetop' in this illustration of Psalm 102, and the angels building up Jerusalem (they look very serious about it).
These were some I particularly enjoyed:
'The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats, and so are the stony rocks for the conies' (Psalm 104). Who knew Anglo-Saxons were so good at drawing goats and lions?
Standard-bearing angels in a dramatic illustration of Psalm 103
In this illustration of Psalm 105, spot Joseph with his feet in the stocks, looking just as if the iron entered into his soul!
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills...
People sowing in tears and reaping in joy
A dynamic battle scene
Gorgeous angel-wings
And so on, and so on. Have fun!
So for instance: spot the 'pelican in the wilderness' and the 'sparrow on the housetop' in this illustration of Psalm 102, and the angels building up Jerusalem (they look very serious about it).
These were some I particularly enjoyed:
'The high hills are a refuge for the wild goats, and so are the stony rocks for the conies' (Psalm 104). Who knew Anglo-Saxons were so good at drawing goats and lions?
Standard-bearing angels in a dramatic illustration of Psalm 103
In this illustration of Psalm 105, spot Joseph with his feet in the stocks, looking just as if the iron entered into his soul!
I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills...
People sowing in tears and reaping in joy
A dynamic battle scene
Gorgeous angel-wings
And so on, and so on. Have fun!
Thursday, 16 February 2012
Psalm Translations: Like as the hart
Today I'm going to post a few translations of Psalm 41 (42), best known from its opening line: "Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks, so longeth my soul after thee, O God." Let's start with the Latin version and Palestrina's magnificent setting of some of its verses:
1. Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum: ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.
2. Sitivit anima mea ad Deum fortem vivum: quando veniam et apparebo ante faciem Dei?
3. Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes die ac nocte: dum dicitur mihi quotidie, ubi est Deus tuus?
4. Hæc recordatus sum, et effudi in me animam meam: quoniam transibo in locum tabernaculi admirabilis, usque ad domum Dei, in voce exultationis et confessionis, sonus epulantis.
5. Quare tristis es, anima mea, et quare conturbas me? Spera in Deo quoniam confitebor illi, salutare vultus mei.
6. et Deus meus. Ad me ipsum anima mea conturbata est: propterea memor ero tui de terra Iordanis et Hermoniim a monte modico.
7. Abyssus abyssum invocat, in voce cataractarum tuarum omnia: excelsa tua, et fluctus tui super me transierunt.
8. In die mandavit Dominus misericordiam suam, et nocte canticum eius: apud me oratio Deo vitæ meæ.
9. Dicam Deo, susceptor meus es: quare oblitus es mei? et quare contristatus incedo, dum affligit me inimicus?
10. Dum confringuntur ossa mea, exprobraverunt mihi qui tribulant me, dum dicunt mihi per singulos dies: ubi est Deus tuus?
11. Quare tristis es, anima mea, et quare conturbas me? Spera in Deum quoniam adhuc confitebor illi, salutare vultus mei, et Deus meus.
This is the translation most familiar to me, from the Book of Common Prayer:
1. Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks : so longeth my soul after thee, O God.
2. My soul is athirst for God, yea, even for the living God : when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?
3. My tears have been my meat day and night : while they daily say unto me, Where is now thy God?
4. Now when I think thereupon, I pour out my heart by myself : for I went with the multitude, and brought them forth into the house of God;
5. In the voice of praise and thanksgiving : among such as keep holy-day.
6. Why art thou so full of heaviness, O my soul : and why art thou so disquieted within me?
7. Put thy trust in God : for I will yet give him thanks for the help of his countenance.
8. My God, my soul is vexed within me : therefore will I remember thee concerning the land of Jordan, and the little hill of Hermon.
9. One deep calleth another, because of the noise of the water-pipes : all thy waves and storms are gone over me.
10. The Lord hath granted his loving-kindness in the day-time : and in the night-season did I sing of him, and made my prayer unto the God of my life.
11. I will say unto the God of my strength, Why hast thou forgotten me : why go I thus heavily, while the enemy oppresseth me?
12. My bones are smitten asunder as with a sword : while mine enemies that trouble me cast me in the teeth;
13. Namely, while they say daily unto me : Where is now thy God?
14. Why art thou so vexed, O my soul : and why art thou so disquieted within me?
15. O put thy trust in God : for I will yet thank him, which is the help of my countenance, and my God.
Beautiful. So that's Miles Coverdale's translation of c.1540; going back about 150 years (to the last decade of the 14th century), here's a Wycliffite translation:
1. As an hert desirith to the wellis of watris; so thou, God, my soule desirith to thee.
2. Mi soule thirstide to God, that [i.e. who] is a quik [i.e. living] welle; whanne schal Y come, and appere bifor the face of God?
3. Mi teeris weren looues [i.e. loaves - translating panes] to me bi dai and nyyt; while it is seid to me ech dai, Where is thi God?
4. I bithouyte of these thingis, and Y schedde out in me my soule; for Y schal passe in to the place of the wondurful tabernacle, til to the hows of God. In the vois of ful out ioiyng and knoulechyng; is the sown [i.e. sound] of the etere.
5. Mi soule, whi art thou sory; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; he is the helthe of my cheer,
6. and my God. My soule is disturblid at my silf; therfor, God, Y schal be myndeful of thee fro the lond of Jordan, and fro the litil hil Hermonyim.
7. Depthe clepith depthe in the vois of thi wyndows. Alle thin hiye thingis and thi wawis passiden ouer me.
8 The Lord sente his merci in the dai, and his song in the nyyt.
9 At me is a preier to the God of my liif; Y schal seie to God, Thou art my takere vp. Whi foryetist thou me; and whi go Y sorewful, while the enemy turmentith me?
10 While my boonys ben brokun togidere; myn enemyes, that troblen me, dispiseden me. While thei seien to me, bi alle daies; Where is thi God?
11 Mi soule, whi art thou sori; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; he is the helthe of my cheer, and my God.
That phrase in verse 7, 'the vois of thi wyndows', struck me as extremely odd; how can cataractarum possibly be translated as 'windows', I asked myself? So I went to the OED, which is enlightening as always (under 'window', 3b):
windows of heaven n. openings in the firmament through which rain was thought to pour. A literalism from Hebrew 'ărubbōth hashshāmayim, which is rendered in the LXX by καταρράκται τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, in the Vulgate by cataractæ cæli = ‘the floodgates of heaven’ (Douay version); in the early Wycliffite version ‘the goteris of heuene’: cf. cataract n. 1.
And under 'cataract', 1a:
pl. The ‘flood-gates’ of heaven, viewed as keeping back the rain (with reference to Gen. vii. 11, viii. 2, where Hebrew has 'rbt lattices, windows, LXX καταρράκται, Vulgate cataractæ, the former prob., the latter certainly, = flood-gates, sluices; hence also French cataractes du ciel). This, the earliest use in English, is now Obs.
Obsolete - I should say so! But how interesting. So that's the connection between windows and waterspouts.
The other bit of linguistic history which this translation gets us into is medieval words for 'sad' - a nice cheerful subject! The Wycliffite translation perfectly illustrates the semantic change in the word 'sorry' since its Old English beginnings. Old English sarig means 'sorrowful, sad', though the word is actually etymologically unrelated to sorrow but instead belongs with sore (and cognate words from other Germanic languages have a semantic range including painful, sensitive, scabby as well as sad). However, to quote the OED once more:
Already in Old English [sorry was] closely associated with the etymologically unrelated word sorrow n. (and its derivatives), which occupied the same semantic field of distress and suffering... As a result, sorrow n. has exerted semantic and possibly formal influence on the present word. While cognates of sorry adj. and the related words sore n.1 and sore adj.1 denote both physical and mental suffering in early use (and are now largely restricted to aspects of pain), sorrow n. and its cognates primarily express the idea of mental and emotional suffering, and the narrowing of the present word to this branch of meaning has been attributed to its long-standing association with sorrow n.
You can see easily enough how this development would come about, and in the Wycliffite translation sorry evidently means 'sorrowful' - sorry is used to translate tristis and sorrowful to translate contristatus, so the translator obviously saw these words as related. We would not use sorry in this way today, but it's still comprehensible; perhaps more so than Coverdale's 'full of heaviness'.
That's not the case for the word our second medieval translation uses for tristis, which is dreary. This is from the thirteenth-century Surtees Psalter:
1. Als yhernes hert at welles of watres to be,
Swa yhernes mi saule, god, to þe.
2. Thristed mi saule night an dai
To god, quicke welle þat es ai:
When I sal come and schewen in sighte
Bifor þe face ofe god ofe mighte.
3. Mine teres vnto me þai wore
Laues dai and night þarfore,
Whil ilkadai es said to me:
“Whare es þi god? what es he?”
4. Þis haf I mined what mai be,
And I yhet mi saule in me:
When I sal fare in stede of selkouth telde,
Vnto þe hous ofe god to welde,
5. In steuen of gladschip and ofe schrifte—
Dine of etand þat es swifte.
6. Whi, mi saule, dreri ertou?
And whi todroues þou me nou?
7. Hope in god; for yhit sal I to him schriue,
Hele of mi face, and mi god ofe liue.
8. Mi saule todreued es at me;
For þat sal I mine ofe þe
Ofe þe land of Iordan, and Hermon
Ofe þe littel hille on-on.
9. Depnes depnes inkalles hegh,
In steuen of þi takenes slegh;
10. Alle þi heghnes and stremes of þe
Forth þai ferden ouer me.
11. In dai sent lauerd his merci,
And bi night his sange for-þi.
12. At me bede to god of mi life nou.
I sal sai to god: mi fanger ertou;
13. Wharfore, if þi wille be,
Haues þou forgeten me?
And wharfore murned in I go,
Whil þat twinges me þe fo?
14. Whil broken ere mi banes on-an
Vpbraided me þat droue, mi fan,
15. Whil al dai þai sain to me:
"Whare is þi god, whare is he?"
16. Whi, mi saule, driried ertou?
And whi todroues þou me nou?
17. Hope in god, for yhit sal I to him schriue,
Hele of mi face, and mi god of liue.
Now dreary has experienced a drastic semantic shift, somewhat parallel to that undergone by the word moody which I've discussed before (here and here). You presumably know what dreary means today - 'dull, boring, causing sadness or gloom', as one online dictionary has it. This is a considerable weakening of its medieval meaning, as you can see from its etymology:
Old English dréorig gory, bloody, sorrowful, sad, < dréor gore, falling blood, apparently < Old Germanic type *dreuzo-z; in ablaut relation to Old Saxon drôr , Old High German trôr gore, blood ( < *drauzo-z), and to Old Norse dreyri ( < drauzon-) gore, blood, whence dreyrigr gory, bloody. Generally referred to the verbal ablaut stem *dreuz- , Old English dréosan to drop, fall.
In Old and Middle English it can thus mean 'gory, dripping with blood' and 'cruel, hateful, terrifying', as well as 'sad, sorrowful'. From 'sorrowful' it came to mean 'dismal, gloomy' around the middle of the seventeenth century, but didn't really take on the weaker meaning of 'dull, boring' until the end of the nineteenth.
It continued to mean 'sorrowful' well into the nineteenth century; you may be familiar with the hymn 'Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us', written by James Edmeston (1791-1867), which contains the line, "Lone and dreary, faint and weary, through the desert thou didst go". The meaning here is obviously 'sorrowful', although that has not prevented various ignorant preachers (in my hearing) mocking this line for "calling Jesus boring". Modern hymnals often amend the line, usually to something stupid (one example is splendidly demolished here). This is a great shame, not only because it reminds us how idiotic people can be, but also because dreary is a dignified and heroic word and its previous meaning, though now obsolete in everyday speech, shouldn't be airbrushed out of our language. The word appears in Beowulf, for goodness' sake; are we too clever to sing it in church? Congregations understand that language changes; the chapel where I heard the preacher make fun of it still sings Coverdale's psalms (heaviness and all), so you'd think we could cope with dreary.
Anyway, that's my little rant over. Let's close with Philip Sidney's beautiful version of Psalm 42 (note that he also uses sorry):
1. As the chased hart, which brayeth
Seeking some refreshing brook,
So my soul in panting playeth,
Thirsting on my God to look.
My soul thirsts indeed in me
After ever-living Thee;
Ah, when comes my blessed being,
Of Thy face to have a seeing?
2. Day and night my tears out flowing
Have been my ill-feeding food,
With their daily questions throwing,
Where is now thy God so good?
My heart melts rememb'ring so,
How in troops I want to go:
Leading them, His praises singing,
Holy dance to God's house bringing.
3. Why art thou, my soul, so sorry
And in me so much dismayed?
Wait on God, for yet His glory
In my song shall be displayed,
When but with one look of His
He shall me restore to bliss
Ah, my soul itself appalleth,
In such longing thoughts it falleth.
4. For my mind on my God bideth,
Ev'n from Hermon's dwelling led,
From the grounds where Jordan slideth,
And from Mizzar's hilly head.
One deep with noise of his fall
Other deeps of woe doth call:
While my God, with wasting wonders,
On me, wretch, His tempest thunders.
5. All Thy floods on me abounded,
Over me all Thy waves went:
Yet thus still my hope is grounded
That, Thy anger being spent,
I by day Thy love shall taste,
I by night shall singing last,
Praying, prayers still bequeathing,
To my God that gave me breathing.
6. I will say, O Lord, my tower,
Why am I forgot by Thee?
Why should grief my heart devour,
While the foe oppresseth me?
Those vile scoffs of naughty ones
Wound and rent me to the bones,
When foes ask, with foul deriding,
Where hath now your God His biding?
7. Why art thou, my soul, so sorry,
And in me so much dismayed?
Wait on God, for yet His glory
In my song shall be displayed.
Unto Him a song of praise
Still my thankful heart shall raise;
He who helps my case distressed,
Even my God for ever blessed.
As well as Palestrina, other musical settings of words from this psalm include:
Orlando di Lasso's 'Quare tristis es, anima mea?'.
Settings of 'Was betrübst du dich, meine Seele?' by J. S. Bach and Heinrich Schütz
Mendolssohn's 'As the hart pants'
Handel's 'As the hart pants' (only part of which is on youtube, as far as I could see)
And perhaps most famously, Herbert Howells:
P.S. All the above links are worth checking out, but if you do nothing else you absolutely must watch this wonderful little video:
1. Quemadmodum desiderat cervus ad fontes aquarum: ita desiderat anima mea ad te, Deus.
2. Sitivit anima mea ad Deum fortem vivum: quando veniam et apparebo ante faciem Dei?
3. Fuerunt mihi lacrimæ meæ panes die ac nocte: dum dicitur mihi quotidie, ubi est Deus tuus?
4. Hæc recordatus sum, et effudi in me animam meam: quoniam transibo in locum tabernaculi admirabilis, usque ad domum Dei, in voce exultationis et confessionis, sonus epulantis.
5. Quare tristis es, anima mea, et quare conturbas me? Spera in Deo quoniam confitebor illi, salutare vultus mei.
6. et Deus meus. Ad me ipsum anima mea conturbata est: propterea memor ero tui de terra Iordanis et Hermoniim a monte modico.
7. Abyssus abyssum invocat, in voce cataractarum tuarum omnia: excelsa tua, et fluctus tui super me transierunt.
8. In die mandavit Dominus misericordiam suam, et nocte canticum eius: apud me oratio Deo vitæ meæ.
9. Dicam Deo, susceptor meus es: quare oblitus es mei? et quare contristatus incedo, dum affligit me inimicus?
10. Dum confringuntur ossa mea, exprobraverunt mihi qui tribulant me, dum dicunt mihi per singulos dies: ubi est Deus tuus?
11. Quare tristis es, anima mea, et quare conturbas me? Spera in Deum quoniam adhuc confitebor illi, salutare vultus mei, et Deus meus.
This is the translation most familiar to me, from the Book of Common Prayer:
1. Like as the hart desireth the water-brooks : so longeth my soul after thee, O God.
2. My soul is athirst for God, yea, even for the living God : when shall I come to appear before the presence of God?
3. My tears have been my meat day and night : while they daily say unto me, Where is now thy God?
4. Now when I think thereupon, I pour out my heart by myself : for I went with the multitude, and brought them forth into the house of God;
5. In the voice of praise and thanksgiving : among such as keep holy-day.
6. Why art thou so full of heaviness, O my soul : and why art thou so disquieted within me?
7. Put thy trust in God : for I will yet give him thanks for the help of his countenance.
8. My God, my soul is vexed within me : therefore will I remember thee concerning the land of Jordan, and the little hill of Hermon.
9. One deep calleth another, because of the noise of the water-pipes : all thy waves and storms are gone over me.
10. The Lord hath granted his loving-kindness in the day-time : and in the night-season did I sing of him, and made my prayer unto the God of my life.
11. I will say unto the God of my strength, Why hast thou forgotten me : why go I thus heavily, while the enemy oppresseth me?
12. My bones are smitten asunder as with a sword : while mine enemies that trouble me cast me in the teeth;
13. Namely, while they say daily unto me : Where is now thy God?
14. Why art thou so vexed, O my soul : and why art thou so disquieted within me?
15. O put thy trust in God : for I will yet thank him, which is the help of my countenance, and my God.
Beautiful. So that's Miles Coverdale's translation of c.1540; going back about 150 years (to the last decade of the 14th century), here's a Wycliffite translation:
1. As an hert desirith to the wellis of watris; so thou, God, my soule desirith to thee.
2. Mi soule thirstide to God, that [i.e. who] is a quik [i.e. living] welle; whanne schal Y come, and appere bifor the face of God?
3. Mi teeris weren looues [i.e. loaves - translating panes] to me bi dai and nyyt; while it is seid to me ech dai, Where is thi God?
4. I bithouyte of these thingis, and Y schedde out in me my soule; for Y schal passe in to the place of the wondurful tabernacle, til to the hows of God. In the vois of ful out ioiyng and knoulechyng; is the sown [i.e. sound] of the etere.
5. Mi soule, whi art thou sory; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; he is the helthe of my cheer,
6. and my God. My soule is disturblid at my silf; therfor, God, Y schal be myndeful of thee fro the lond of Jordan, and fro the litil hil Hermonyim.
7. Depthe clepith depthe in the vois of thi wyndows. Alle thin hiye thingis and thi wawis passiden ouer me.
8 The Lord sente his merci in the dai, and his song in the nyyt.
9 At me is a preier to the God of my liif; Y schal seie to God, Thou art my takere vp. Whi foryetist thou me; and whi go Y sorewful, while the enemy turmentith me?
10 While my boonys ben brokun togidere; myn enemyes, that troblen me, dispiseden me. While thei seien to me, bi alle daies; Where is thi God?
11 Mi soule, whi art thou sori; and whi disturblist thou me? Hope thou in God, for yit Y schal knouleche to hym; he is the helthe of my cheer, and my God.
That phrase in verse 7, 'the vois of thi wyndows', struck me as extremely odd; how can cataractarum possibly be translated as 'windows', I asked myself? So I went to the OED, which is enlightening as always (under 'window', 3b):
windows of heaven n. openings in the firmament through which rain was thought to pour. A literalism from Hebrew 'ărubbōth hashshāmayim, which is rendered in the LXX by καταρράκται τοῦ οὐρανοῦ, in the Vulgate by cataractæ cæli = ‘the floodgates of heaven’ (Douay version); in the early Wycliffite version ‘the goteris of heuene’: cf. cataract n. 1.
And under 'cataract', 1a:
pl. The ‘flood-gates’ of heaven, viewed as keeping back the rain (with reference to Gen. vii. 11, viii. 2, where Hebrew has 'rbt lattices, windows, LXX καταρράκται, Vulgate cataractæ, the former prob., the latter certainly, = flood-gates, sluices; hence also French cataractes du ciel). This, the earliest use in English, is now Obs.
Obsolete - I should say so! But how interesting. So that's the connection between windows and waterspouts.
The other bit of linguistic history which this translation gets us into is medieval words for 'sad' - a nice cheerful subject! The Wycliffite translation perfectly illustrates the semantic change in the word 'sorry' since its Old English beginnings. Old English sarig means 'sorrowful, sad', though the word is actually etymologically unrelated to sorrow but instead belongs with sore (and cognate words from other Germanic languages have a semantic range including painful, sensitive, scabby as well as sad). However, to quote the OED once more:
Already in Old English [sorry was] closely associated with the etymologically unrelated word sorrow n. (and its derivatives), which occupied the same semantic field of distress and suffering... As a result, sorrow n. has exerted semantic and possibly formal influence on the present word. While cognates of sorry adj. and the related words sore n.1 and sore adj.1 denote both physical and mental suffering in early use (and are now largely restricted to aspects of pain), sorrow n. and its cognates primarily express the idea of mental and emotional suffering, and the narrowing of the present word to this branch of meaning has been attributed to its long-standing association with sorrow n.
You can see easily enough how this development would come about, and in the Wycliffite translation sorry evidently means 'sorrowful' - sorry is used to translate tristis and sorrowful to translate contristatus, so the translator obviously saw these words as related. We would not use sorry in this way today, but it's still comprehensible; perhaps more so than Coverdale's 'full of heaviness'.
That's not the case for the word our second medieval translation uses for tristis, which is dreary. This is from the thirteenth-century Surtees Psalter:
1. Als yhernes hert at welles of watres to be,
Swa yhernes mi saule, god, to þe.
2. Thristed mi saule night an dai
To god, quicke welle þat es ai:
When I sal come and schewen in sighte
Bifor þe face ofe god ofe mighte.
3. Mine teres vnto me þai wore
Laues dai and night þarfore,
Whil ilkadai es said to me:
“Whare es þi god? what es he?”
4. Þis haf I mined what mai be,
And I yhet mi saule in me:
When I sal fare in stede of selkouth telde,
Vnto þe hous ofe god to welde,
5. In steuen of gladschip and ofe schrifte—
Dine of etand þat es swifte.
6. Whi, mi saule, dreri ertou?
And whi todroues þou me nou?
7. Hope in god; for yhit sal I to him schriue,
Hele of mi face, and mi god ofe liue.
8. Mi saule todreued es at me;
For þat sal I mine ofe þe
Ofe þe land of Iordan, and Hermon
Ofe þe littel hille on-on.
9. Depnes depnes inkalles hegh,
In steuen of þi takenes slegh;
10. Alle þi heghnes and stremes of þe
Forth þai ferden ouer me.
11. In dai sent lauerd his merci,
And bi night his sange for-þi.
12. At me bede to god of mi life nou.
I sal sai to god: mi fanger ertou;
13. Wharfore, if þi wille be,
Haues þou forgeten me?
And wharfore murned in I go,
Whil þat twinges me þe fo?
14. Whil broken ere mi banes on-an
Vpbraided me þat droue, mi fan,
15. Whil al dai þai sain to me:
"Whare is þi god, whare is he?"
16. Whi, mi saule, driried ertou?
And whi todroues þou me nou?
17. Hope in god, for yhit sal I to him schriue,
Hele of mi face, and mi god of liue.
Now dreary has experienced a drastic semantic shift, somewhat parallel to that undergone by the word moody which I've discussed before (here and here). You presumably know what dreary means today - 'dull, boring, causing sadness or gloom', as one online dictionary has it. This is a considerable weakening of its medieval meaning, as you can see from its etymology:
Old English dréorig gory, bloody, sorrowful, sad, < dréor gore, falling blood, apparently < Old Germanic type *dreuzo-z; in ablaut relation to Old Saxon drôr , Old High German trôr gore, blood ( < *drauzo-z), and to Old Norse dreyri ( < drauzon-) gore, blood, whence dreyrigr gory, bloody. Generally referred to the verbal ablaut stem *dreuz- , Old English dréosan to drop, fall.
In Old and Middle English it can thus mean 'gory, dripping with blood' and 'cruel, hateful, terrifying', as well as 'sad, sorrowful'. From 'sorrowful' it came to mean 'dismal, gloomy' around the middle of the seventeenth century, but didn't really take on the weaker meaning of 'dull, boring' until the end of the nineteenth.
It continued to mean 'sorrowful' well into the nineteenth century; you may be familiar with the hymn 'Lead us, heavenly Father, lead us', written by James Edmeston (1791-1867), which contains the line, "Lone and dreary, faint and weary, through the desert thou didst go". The meaning here is obviously 'sorrowful', although that has not prevented various ignorant preachers (in my hearing) mocking this line for "calling Jesus boring". Modern hymnals often amend the line, usually to something stupid (one example is splendidly demolished here). This is a great shame, not only because it reminds us how idiotic people can be, but also because dreary is a dignified and heroic word and its previous meaning, though now obsolete in everyday speech, shouldn't be airbrushed out of our language. The word appears in Beowulf, for goodness' sake; are we too clever to sing it in church? Congregations understand that language changes; the chapel where I heard the preacher make fun of it still sings Coverdale's psalms (heaviness and all), so you'd think we could cope with dreary.
Anyway, that's my little rant over. Let's close with Philip Sidney's beautiful version of Psalm 42 (note that he also uses sorry):
1. As the chased hart, which brayeth
Seeking some refreshing brook,
So my soul in panting playeth,
Thirsting on my God to look.
My soul thirsts indeed in me
After ever-living Thee;
Ah, when comes my blessed being,
Of Thy face to have a seeing?
2. Day and night my tears out flowing
Have been my ill-feeding food,
With their daily questions throwing,
Where is now thy God so good?
My heart melts rememb'ring so,
How in troops I want to go:
Leading them, His praises singing,
Holy dance to God's house bringing.
3. Why art thou, my soul, so sorry
And in me so much dismayed?
Wait on God, for yet His glory
In my song shall be displayed,
When but with one look of His
He shall me restore to bliss
Ah, my soul itself appalleth,
In such longing thoughts it falleth.
4. For my mind on my God bideth,
Ev'n from Hermon's dwelling led,
From the grounds where Jordan slideth,
And from Mizzar's hilly head.
One deep with noise of his fall
Other deeps of woe doth call:
While my God, with wasting wonders,
On me, wretch, His tempest thunders.
5. All Thy floods on me abounded,
Over me all Thy waves went:
Yet thus still my hope is grounded
That, Thy anger being spent,
I by day Thy love shall taste,
I by night shall singing last,
Praying, prayers still bequeathing,
To my God that gave me breathing.
6. I will say, O Lord, my tower,
Why am I forgot by Thee?
Why should grief my heart devour,
While the foe oppresseth me?
Those vile scoffs of naughty ones
Wound and rent me to the bones,
When foes ask, with foul deriding,
Where hath now your God His biding?
7. Why art thou, my soul, so sorry,
And in me so much dismayed?
Wait on God, for yet His glory
In my song shall be displayed.
Unto Him a song of praise
Still my thankful heart shall raise;
He who helps my case distressed,
Even my God for ever blessed.
As well as Palestrina, other musical settings of words from this psalm include:
Orlando di Lasso's 'Quare tristis es, anima mea?'.
Settings of 'Was betrübst du dich, meine Seele?' by J. S. Bach and Heinrich Schütz
Mendolssohn's 'As the hart pants'
Handel's 'As the hart pants' (only part of which is on youtube, as far as I could see)
And perhaps most famously, Herbert Howells:
P.S. All the above links are worth checking out, but if you do nothing else you absolutely must watch this wonderful little video:
Sunday, 5 February 2012
Psalm Translations: I dwell laid up in Safety's nest
This is a translation of Psalm 4, one of the verse translations of the psalms done by Sir Philip Sidney and his sister Mary, Countess of Pembroke. I posted their translation of Psalm 27 a little while ago, and you can read more of them here.
They have some odd stylistic features - notice for instance how much repetition there is here, so that we get all the following twice within single lines: hear me, God, men, lies/lie, your selves, sacrifice, just, peace/peaceful, it is thou... The effect is a tiny bit convoluted, in that nice sixteenth-century way, but I like the last verse very much.
1. Hear me, O, hear me when I call,
O God, God of my equity!
Thou setd'st me free when I was thrall,
Have mercy therefore still on me,
And hearken how I pray to Thee.
2. O men, whose fathers were but men,
Till when will ye My honour high
Stain with your blasphemies; till when
Such pleasure take in vanity,
And only hunt where lies do lie?
3. Yet know this too that God did take,
When He chose me, a godly one;
Such one, I say, that when I make
My crying plaints to Him alone,
He will give good ear to my moan.
4. O, tremble then with awful will,
Sin from all rule in you depose,
Talk with your heart and yet be still;
And when your chamber you do close
Your selves, yet to your selves disclose.
5. The sacrifices sacrify
Of just desires, on justice stayed;
Trust in the Lord that cannot lie.
Indeed full many folk have said,
From whence shall come to us such aid?
6. But, Lord, lift thou upon our sight
The shining clearness of Thy face,
Where I have found more heart's delight
Than they whose store in harvest space
Of grain and wine fills storing-place.
7. So I in peace and peaceful bliss
Will lay me down and take my rest;
For it is Thou, Lord, Thou it is,
By power of whose own only breast
I dwell, laid up in Safety's nest.
This is one of the psalms appointed for Compline, and therefore most familiar to me in this form, more understated but even more beautiful:
1. Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness :
thou hast set me at liberty when I was in trouble;
have mercy upon me, and hearken unto my prayer.
2. O ye sons of men, how long will ye blaspheme mine honour :
and have such pleasure in vanity, and seek after leasing?
3. Know this also, that the Lord hath chosen to himself the man that is godly :
when I call upon the Lord, he will hear me.
4. Stand in awe, and sin not :
commune with your own heart, and in your chamber, and be still.
5. Offer the sacrifice of righteousness :
and put your trust in the Lord.
6. There be many that say :
Who will shew us any good?
7. Lord, lift thou up :
the light of thy countenance upon us.
8. Thou hast put gladness in my heart :
since the time that their corn, and wine, and oil increased.
9. I will lay me down in peace, and take my rest :
for it is thou, Lord, only, that makest me dwell in safety.
They have some odd stylistic features - notice for instance how much repetition there is here, so that we get all the following twice within single lines: hear me, God, men, lies/lie, your selves, sacrifice, just, peace/peaceful, it is thou... The effect is a tiny bit convoluted, in that nice sixteenth-century way, but I like the last verse very much.
1. Hear me, O, hear me when I call,
O God, God of my equity!
Thou setd'st me free when I was thrall,
Have mercy therefore still on me,
And hearken how I pray to Thee.
2. O men, whose fathers were but men,
Till when will ye My honour high
Stain with your blasphemies; till when
Such pleasure take in vanity,
And only hunt where lies do lie?
3. Yet know this too that God did take,
When He chose me, a godly one;
Such one, I say, that when I make
My crying plaints to Him alone,
He will give good ear to my moan.
4. O, tremble then with awful will,
Sin from all rule in you depose,
Talk with your heart and yet be still;
And when your chamber you do close
Your selves, yet to your selves disclose.
5. The sacrifices sacrify
Of just desires, on justice stayed;
Trust in the Lord that cannot lie.
Indeed full many folk have said,
From whence shall come to us such aid?
6. But, Lord, lift thou upon our sight
The shining clearness of Thy face,
Where I have found more heart's delight
Than they whose store in harvest space
Of grain and wine fills storing-place.
7. So I in peace and peaceful bliss
Will lay me down and take my rest;
For it is Thou, Lord, Thou it is,
By power of whose own only breast
I dwell, laid up in Safety's nest.
This is one of the psalms appointed for Compline, and therefore most familiar to me in this form, more understated but even more beautiful:
1. Hear me when I call, O God of my righteousness :
thou hast set me at liberty when I was in trouble;
have mercy upon me, and hearken unto my prayer.
2. O ye sons of men, how long will ye blaspheme mine honour :
and have such pleasure in vanity, and seek after leasing?
3. Know this also, that the Lord hath chosen to himself the man that is godly :
when I call upon the Lord, he will hear me.
4. Stand in awe, and sin not :
commune with your own heart, and in your chamber, and be still.
5. Offer the sacrifice of righteousness :
and put your trust in the Lord.
6. There be many that say :
Who will shew us any good?
7. Lord, lift thou up :
the light of thy countenance upon us.
8. Thou hast put gladness in my heart :
since the time that their corn, and wine, and oil increased.
9. I will lay me down in peace, and take my rest :
for it is thou, Lord, only, that makest me dwell in safety.
Friday, 4 November 2011
Psalm Translations: I will lift up mine eyes
In a long-delayed follow-up to this post, here are some medieval translations of Psalm 121, which in the King James Bible goes like this:
1. I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills, from whence cometh my help.
2. My help cometh from the LORD, which made heaven and earth.
3. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved: he that keepeth thee will not slumber.
4. Behold, he that keepeth Israel shall neither slumber nor sleep.
5. The LORD is thy keeper: the LORD is thy shade upon thy right hand.
6. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night.
7. The LORD shall preserve thee from all evil: he shall preserve thy soul.
8. The LORD shall preserve thy going out and thy coming in from this time forth, and even for evermore.
The youtube video has nothing to do with translations of this psalm (though for reference, it is of course the text of the Book of Common Prayer, not the KJV), but my goodness, it is beautiful. Anglican chant is one of the loveliest things in the world.
Anyway, this is the same psalm in the Wycliffite Bible (late 14th century):
1. I reiside myn iyen to the hillis; fro whannus help schal come to me.
2. Myn help is of the Lord; that made heuene and erthe.
3. The Lord yyue not thi foot in to mouyng; nether he nappe, that kepith thee.
4. Lo! he schal not nappe, nether slepe; that kepith Israel.
5. The Lord kepith thee; the Lord is thi proteccioun aboue thi riythond.
6. The sunne schal not brenne thee bi dai; nether the moone bi nyyt.
7. The Lord kepe thee fro al yuel; the Lord kepe thi soule.
8. The Lord kepe thi goyng in and thi goyng out; fro this tyme now and in to the world.
To be honest, the thing that strikes me about this translation is not very scholarly or devout: the word 'nap' is really funny. We can be glad that subsequent translators have decided that 'slumber', a considerably more dignified word, was more appropriate. A good number of the citations for nappen in the Middle English Dictionary are from Wycliffite texts, so either it didn't seem comical to them or it was part of the 'everyday diction' thing they had going on.
The repetition of keep and keepeth follows the Latin Vulgate, which has custodit or custodiat six times in eight verses; the KJV, note, has versions of 'keep' three times and then switches to 'preserve' (also three times) to translate the same word. Who knows what they thought the difference was.
For comparison, this is a rhymed version from the Surtees Psalter, from thirteenth-century Yorkshire:
1. I houe mine eghen in hilles, to se
Whethen sal come helpe to me.
[according to the OED, hove meaning 'raise' has been obsolete for a few centuries now, but it's related to Modern English heave. Whethen = whence]
2. Mi helpe sal be lauerd fra,
Þat maked heuen, erthe als-swa.
[fra = from; the first line scans in Middle English because lauerd, 'lord', has two syllables, from OE hlaford]
3. Noght in stiringe mi fote giue he,
Ne he sal slepe þat yhemes þe.
[yeme, 'to care for, to guard', didn't make it out of the Middle English period, but it's a nice word. This was the translator's choice for custodit, and it's a good one.]
4. Loke noght sal slepe ne, slepe sal wele,
Whilke þat yhemes Iraele.
[no napping here. Whilke = that same one]
5. Lauerd yhemes þe, lauerd þi schilder be
Ouer þe righthand ofe þe.
6. Bi dai noght þe sunne skalde þe sal
Ne þe mone bi night with-al.
7. Lauerd fra alle iuel yheme þe;
Lauerd þi saule yheme he.
8. Lauerd yheme þine ingange and þine outgange,
Fra hethen and in to werlde lange.
[hethen = hence]
'in to werlde lange' in the last verse is the same phrase as the Wycliffite 'in to the world', both attempting to translate 'in saeculum'. We're so used to 'world without end' now that other versions of it sound odd, but Old and Middle English had a number of versions of the phrase. The OED is instructive on the subject:
world
In various phrases with the sense ‘for ever and ever, for all time, throughout eternity’. Chiefly in religious context or with religious connotation. [After various post-classical Latin phrases containing saeculum, e.g. usque in saeculum, in saeculum saeculi, in saecula saeculorum, all attested in the Vulgate, in turn after various Hellenistic Greek phrases containing αἰών aeon n. (e.g. εἰς τὸν αἰῶνα, εἰς αἰῶνα αἰῶνος, ἕως τοῦ αἰῶνος τῶν αἰώνων) in the Septuagint, which render various biblical Hebrew phrases containing ʿōlām age, aeon, long duration (in post-biblical Hebrew also ‘world’).Post-classical Latin in saeculum saeculi and in saecula saeculorum (and their Greek models) imitate a biblical Hebrew idiom expressing a superlative or elative, also seen in e.g. holy of holies n. at holy n. 5 (see note at that entry) and Song of Songs at song n. 2b, in which the construct state of a noun is followed by the plural of its absolute state; although this construction is apparently unattested with ʿōlām , compare synonymous biblical Hebrew phrases like lĕ-ʿōlām wā-ʿeḏ ‘for ever and ever’, lit. ‘to ages and ages’, where ʿōlām is paired with its near synonym ʿeḏ ‘perpetuity’.]
The various phrases are:
a. to (also oth on, into, unto) (the) world. Obs.
Quotations from OE to c.1425.
b. in (the) world of world(s) (also in to (occas. to, through) (the) world(s) of world(s)). In Old English (and early Middle English) on (also þurh, geond) worulda woruld. Obs.
Quotations from OE to ?1591.
c. Similarly in (also into, through) all (the) worlds (of worlds) (in Old English (and early Middle English) on (also þurh, geond) ealra worulda woruld). Also in (or for) everlasting worlds, world always. Obs. (arch. in later use).
Quotations from OE to 1842 - the last is Tennyson, the one considered archaic, presumably: I heard his deep ‘I will’, Breathed, like the covenant of a God, to hold From thence thro' all the worlds.
e. from world into world(s). Also fro the world and in to the world. Obs.
Quotations from c.1225-1447.
And on 'world without end':
d. (a) world (occas. worlds) without end. In later use also hyperbolically: endlessly, eternally, for ever. In Old English (and early Middle English) also (on, to) worulde (a) butan ende.
[Frequently used to translate the post-classical Latin phrases saeculum saeculi, saecula saeculorum, etc.; especially with reference to the final words of the doxology, after its post-classical Latin text sicut erat in principio, et nunc, et semper, et in saecula saeculorum, lit. ‘as it was in the beginning, and now, and always, and in the ages of ages’, itself after Hellenistic Greek καὶ νῦν καὶ ἀεὶ καὶ εἰς τοὺς αἰῶνας τῶν αἰώνων , lit. ‘now as well as always and into the ages of the ages’. In a biblical context the phrase world without end is first attested translating post-classical Latin saeculum saeculi (and variants) in Coverdale's Bible and also appears in the A.V., but quot. lOE (which does not translate a known Latin original) shows that an equivalent phrase was used in one English version of the doxology at an earlier date... Compare also Anglo-Norman secle sanz fin (c1240 or earlier).]
Interesting.
Tuesday, 5 July 2011
Psalm Translations: The Lord is my light
Psalm 27 is appointed for the fifth evening of the month, and so here are some various translations of it. This is one of my favourite psalms and, as I've said before, the source of the motto of the University of Oxford, so it seems a fitting place to start an occasional mini series on medieval psalm translations.
So for a reminder, here's the Book of Common Prayer version:
1. The Lord is my light, and my salvation; whom then shall I fear :
the Lord is the strength of my life; of whom then shall I be afraid?
2. When the wicked, even mine enemies, and my foes, came upon me to eat up my flesh :
they stumbled and fell.
3. Though an host of men were laid against me, yet shall not my heart be afraid :
and though there rose up war against me, yet will I put my trust in him.
4. One thing have I desired of the Lord, which I will require :
even that I may dwell in the house of the Lord all the days of my life, to behold the fair beauty of the Lord, and to visit his temple.
5. For in the time of trouble he shall hide me in his tabernacle :
yea, in the secret place of his dwelling shall he hide me, and set me up upon a rock of stone.
6. And now shall he lift up mine head :
above mine enemies round about me.
7. Therefore will I offer in his dwelling an oblation with great gladness
: I will sing, and speak praises unto the Lord.
8. Hearken unto my voice, O Lord, when I cry unto thee :
have mercy upon me, and hear me.
9. My heart hath talked of thee, Seek ye my face :
Thy face, Lord, will I seek.
10. O hide not thou thy face from me :
nor cast thy servant away in displeasure.
11. Thou hast been my succour :
leave me not, neither forsake me, O God of my salvation.
12. When my father and my mother forsake me :
the Lord taketh me up.
13. Teach me thy way, O Lord :
and lead me in the right way, because of mine enemies.
14. Deliver me not over into the will of mine adversaries :
for there are false witnesses risen up against me, and such as speak wrong.
15. I should utterly have fainted :
but that I believe verily to see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.
16. O tarry thou the Lord’s leisure :
be strong, and he shall comfort thine heart; and put thou thy trust in the Lord.
I couldn't find any Old English versions of this psalm, nor access Rolle's commentary on it; but here's the version from the Wycliffe Bible, from the end of the fourteenth century. Emphasis for the things which struck me:
1. The Lord is my liytnyng, and myn helthe; whom schal Y drede? The Lord is defendere of my lijf; for whom schal Y tremble?
['lightening'! Isn't that great? Of course it's in the sense of 'something which lightens' rather than, you know, like you get in a thunderstorm; but it's still a great choice of word.]
2. The while noiful men neiyen on me; for to ete my fleischis. Myn enemyes, that trobliden me; thei weren maad sijk and felden doun.
[nice alliteration. 'noiful' is, as you may be able to guess, related to annoying. And 'neiyen' is draw nigh.]
3. Thouy castels stonden togidere ayens me; myn herte schal not drede. Thouy batel risith ayens me; in this thing Y schal haue hope.
4. I axide of the Lord o thing; Y schal seke this thing; that Y dwelle in the hows of the Lord alle the daies of my lijf. That Y se the wille of the Lord; and that Y visite his temple.
[observe how close the bolded phrase is to the BCP version, which is a literary descendant of the Wycliffite Bible]
5. For he hidde me in his tabernacle in the dai of yuelis; he defendide me in the hid place of his tabernacle.
6. He enhaunside me in a stoon; and now he enhaunside myn heed ouer myn enemyes. I cumpasside, and offride in his tabernacle a sacrifice of criyng; Y schal synge, and Y schal seie salm to the Lord.
7. Lord, here thou my vois, bi which Y criede to thee; haue thou merci on me, and here me.
8. Myn herte seide to thee, My face souyte thee; Lord, Y schal seke eft thi face.
9. Turne thou not awei thi face fro me; bouwe thou not awei in ire fro thi seruaunt. Lord, be thou myn helpere, forsake thou not me; and, God, myn helthe, dispise thou not me.
10. For my fadir and my modir han forsake me; but the Lord hath take me.
11. Lord, sette thou a lawe to me in thi weie; and dresse thou me in thi path for myn enemyes.
12. Bitake thou not me in to the soules of hem, that troblen me; for wickid witnessis han rise ayens me, and wickydnesse liede to it silf.
13. I bileue to see the goodis of the Lord; in the lond of `hem that lyuen.
14. Abide thou the Lord, do thou manli; and thin herte be coumfortid, and suffre thou the Lord.
[be 'manly'! In the sense of 'brave, resolute', of course; a translation of the Vulgate's Latin 'viriliter', for which the BCP chooses 'strong'.]
The psalm in Latin and English, from British Library, Harley 1896
The next translation is a metrical version, earlier than the Wycliffite Bible by about a century, and from Yorkshire. It's from the Surtees Psalter, which is online here. If you want to read it in a Yorkshire accent, that would probably help.
1. Lauerd mi lightinge es in lede,
And mi hele; wham i sal drede?
2. Lauerd forhiler of mi life;
For whate sal [i] quake, swerde or knife?
3. Whil neghes ouer me derand,
To ete mi flesche fote and hand,
4. Þat droues me mi faas þat are
Þai are vnfeste and felle sare.
5. Ife stand ogaines me kastelles ma,
Noght drede sal mi hert for þa;
6. Ife vprise ogaine me fighte,
In þat sal i hope in mighte.
7. Life ofe lauerd asked i,
Þat sal .i. seke inwardeli:
Þat [i] wone hous ofe lauerd ine
Alle þe daies ofe life mine,
[ditto to the above note.]
8. Þat i se wille of lauerd swa,
And seke his kirke in forto ga.
[note 'kirke' for tabernacle, here as in the next verse; and if you have a scholarly interest in these things, you may be interested in this article.]
9. For he hide me in his kirke in iuels dai,
He hiled me in hidel ofe his telde ai;
10. In stane heghed me on-ane,
And nou heghed mi heued ouer mi fane.
11. I vmyhode, and offrede in telde hisse
Offrand ofe berand steuen þat isse;
I sal singe bi night and daie,
And salme to lauerd sal i saie.
12. Here, lauerd, mi steuen, þat i crie to þe;
Hafe merci ofe me, and here me.
13. To þe mi hert saide: “þe soght face mine;
I sal seke, lauerd, to face þine”.
14. Ne turne þine anleth me fra;
Ne helde in wreth fra þi hine swa.
15. Mi helper be; ne me forlete,
Ne me forse, god mi hele swete.
[this is a nice rhyme. 'forse' = 'forsake']
16. For mi fader and mi moder me forsoke þai;
Lauerd sothlike vptoke me ai.
17. Lagh set to me, lauerd, in waieþine,
And right me in right stiyhe, for faes myne.
18. Ne hafe giuen me onhande
In saules ofe me drouande;
For in me raas wicked witnes,
And leghed to þam þair wickenes.
19. I leue godes of lauerd to se
In þe land ofe liuande be.
[note that here we already have the famous phrase 'land of the living'. So you can be a little sceptical when, in this King James Version anniversary year, you hear well-meaning people listing all the phrases the KJV has given to the world and including 'land of the living' among them (as for instance in this BBC article, despite David Crystal's warning in the very next sentence). The Vulgate Latin, by the way, is 'in terra viventium'.]
20. Abide lauerd, manlike do nou,
And strenþhed be þi hert, and lauerd vphald þou.
Manly again!
Moving on from the medieval examples, you know who else did a metrical translation of the psalms? Lovely Philip Sidney, and his amazing sister Mary, Countess of Pembroke. They are a very cool pair of literary siblings, and their version of the psalms was praised by John Donne (in this poem), so you know it's good. Here's what they (possibly just Philip, since this is one of the early psalms) did with Psalm 27:
1. The shining Lord He is my light,
The strong God my salvation is,
Who shall be able me to fright?
This Lord with strength my life doth blisse;
And shall I then
Feare might of men?
2. When wicked folk, even they that be
My foes, to utmost of their pow'r,
With rageing jawes environ me,
My very flesh for to devoure,
They stumble so,
That down they go.
3. Then though against me arrays were,
My courage should not be dismaid;
Though battaile's brunt I needs must beare,
While battaile's brunt on me were laid,
In this I would
My trust still hold.
4. One thing in deed I did, and will
For euer craue: that dwell I may
In house of high Jehova still,
On beauty His my eyes to stay,
And look into
His temple too.
5. For when great griefes to me be ment,
In tabernacle His I will
Hide me, ev'n closely in His tent
Yea, noble hight of rocky hill
He makes to be
A seat for me.
6. Now, now shall He lift vp my head
On my beseiging enemyes;
So shall I sacrifices spred,
Offrings of joy in Temple His,
And songes accord,
To prayse the Lord.
7. Heare, Lord, when I my voice display,
Heare to haue mercy eke on me;
'Seek ye My face,' when Thou didst say,
In truth of heart I answerd Thee:
O Lord, I will
Seek Thy face still.
8. Hide not therfore from me that face,
Since all my ayd in Thee I got;
In rage Thy servant do not chase,
Forsake not me, O, leaue me not,
O God of my
Salvation high.
9. Though father's care and mother's loue
Abandond me, yet my decay
Should be restor'd by Him aboue:
Teach, Lord, Lord, lead me Thy right way,
Because of those
That be my foes.
10. Vnto whose ever hating lust,
Oh, giue me not, for there are sproong
Against me witnesses unjust,
Ev'n such, I say, whose lying tongue
Fiercly affords
Most cruel words.
11. What had I been, except I had
Beleivd God's goodness for to see,
In land with living creatures clad?
Hope, trust in God, bee strong, and He
Unto thy hart
Shall joy impart.
The last verse, being the most beautiful sentiment, makes the most beautiful poetry. (Although can he really have meant 'clad'? How can a land be 'clad' with living creatures? That puzzles me. And the word order he uses a few times, 'tabernacle His', 'temple His', 'beauty His', strikes me as extremely strange. You almost never see that in English verse. But that last verse is so lovely!)
For other metrical translations, see:
Isaac Watts
A version from the Scottish Psalter of 1650
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