samedi, février 27, 2016

Maken Melodye on #WhanthatAprilleDay16

Goode Friendes and Readeres of thys Litel Blog,

Yt doth fill my litel herte wyth gret happinesse to invyte yow to the thirde yeare of a moost blisful and plesinge celebracioun.

On the first daye of Aprille, lat us make tyme to take joye yn alle langages that are yclept ‘old,’ or ‘middel,’ or ‘auncient,’ or ‘archaic,’ or, alas, even ‘dead.’ 

Thys feest ys yclept ‘Whan That Aprille Day.’ For thys yeare yt ys: 'Whan That Aprille Day 16.' #whanthataprilleday16

Ich do invyte yow to joyne me and manye othir goode folk yn a celebracioun across the entyre globe of the erthe. Yn thys celebracioun we shal reade of oold bokes yn sondrye oold tonges. We shal singe olde songes. We shal playe olde playes. Eny oold tonge will do, and eny maner of readinge. All are welcome. We shal make merrye yn the magical dreamscape of 'social media,' and eke, yf ye kan do yt, yn the material plane of the 'real worlde' as wel.

Ye maye, paraventure, wisshe to reade from the beginning of my Tales of Caunterburye, but ye maye also wisshe to reade of eny oothir boke or texte or scroll or manuscript that ye love. Ye maye even reade the poetrye of John Gower yf that ys yower thinge. 

What are sum wayes to celebrate Whan That Aprille Daye?

Gentil frendes, yf yt wolde plese yow to celebrate Whan That Aprille Daye 2016, ye koude do eny of the followinge. Be sure to use the hasshe-tagge #WhanthatAprilleday16 on yower poostes of twytter and facebooke and blogge.

• Counte downe to Whan That Aprille Daye wyth postes and readinges.

• Maken a video of yowerself readinge (or singinge! or actinge!) and share yt on the grete webbe of the internette.

• Planne a partye at yower classroome or hous to celebrate oolde langages, and poost pictures to the ynternette.

• Read auncient langages to yower catte, and the catte shal be moost mirthful.

• Make sum maner of cake or pastrye wyth oold wordes upon yt, and feest upon yt wyth good folke and share pictures of yower festivitee. (And yet beware the catte that shal seke to ruin the icinge.)

• Yf ye be bold, ye maye wisshe to share yower readinge yn publique, yn a slam of poesye or a nighte of open mic. (Bringe the catte?)

• Yf ye worke wyth an organisatioun or scole, ye maye wisshe to plan sum maner of event, large or smal, to share writinge yn oold langages.

• And for maximum Aprillenesse, marke all tweetes and poostes wyth the hashtagge #WhanthatAprilleday16 – remember the ‘whan’ and ‘aprille.’

What ys the poynte of Whan That Aprille Daye?

Ower mission ys to celebrate al the langages that have come bifor, and alle their joyes and sorrowes and richesse.

Ower mission ys to remynde folk of the beautye and grete lovelinesse of studyinge the wordes of the past. And eke ower mission ys to bringe to mynde the importaunce of supportinge the scolership and labour that doth bringe thes wordes to us. To remynde folk to support the techinge of paleographye and of archival werke and eek, ywis, the techinge of thes oold langages. To remynde folk of the gret blisse and joye of research libraryes and the gret wysdam and expertyse of the libraryans that care for them across the centuryes. To call to mynde the fundinge of the humanityes, the which ys lyke the light of the sonne on the plantes of learninge and knowledge. For wythout al of thes, the past wolde have no wordes for us. 

Ower mission ys also to have ynogh funne to last until next Whan That Aprille Daye. 

Note that thys event doth also coincide wyth Aprille Fooles Daye, the which ys fyne by cause we do love thes langages and alle who love are yn sum maner also fooles. 

Ich do hope wyth al myn herte that that sum of yow good folke will joyne me on thys April first for readinge and celebratinge and foolinge. Lat us maken melodye on #WhanthatAprilleday16

Wyth muchel love and admiracioun

Le Vostre
GC



vendredi, mars 06, 2015

Maken Melodye on Whan That Aprille Day 2015


Friendes,

Yt doth fill my litel herte wyth gret happinesse to invyte yow to the seconde yeare of a moost blisful and plesinge event.

On the first daye of Aprille, lat us make tyme to take joye yn alle langages that are yclept ‘old,’ or ‘middel,’ or ‘auncient,’ or ‘archaic,’ or, alas, even ‘dead.’ 

Thys feest ys yclept ‘Whan That Aprille Day.’ For thys yeare, 'Whan That Aprille Day 15.'

Ich do invyte yow to joyne me yn a celebracioun across the entyre globe of the erthe. Yn thys celebracioun we shal reade of oold bokes yn sondrye oold tonges. We shal singe olde songes. We shal playe olde playes. Eny oold tonge will do, and eny maner of readinge. All are welcome. We shal make merrye yn the magical dreamscape of 'social media,' and eke, yf ye kan do yt, yn the 'real worlde' too. 

Ye maye, paraventure, wisshe to reade from the beginning of my Tales of Caunterburye, but ye maye also wisshe to reade of eny oothir boke or texte or scroll or manuscript that ye love. Ye maye even reade the poetrye of John Gower yf that ys yower thinge. 

What are sum wayes to celebrate Whan That Aprille Daye?

Gentil frendes, yf yt wolde plese yow to celebrate Whan That Aprille Daye 2015, ye koude...

• Counte downe to Whan That Aprille Daye wyth the good folke of TEAMS Middel Englisshe Textes on twytter: @METS_Texts

• Maken a video of yowerself readinge (or singinge! or actinge!) and share yt on the grete webbe of the internette.

• Make sum maner of cake or pastrye wyth oold wordes upon yt, and feest upon yt wyth good folke and share pictures of yower festivitee.

• Yf ye be bold, ye maye wisshe to share yower readinge yn publique, yn a slam of poesye or a nighte of open mic. 

• Yf ye worke wyth an organisatioun or scole, ye maye wisshe to plan sum maner of event, large or smal, to share writinge yn oold langages.

• And for maximum Aprillenesse, marke all tweetes and poostes wyth the hashtagge #whanthataprilleday15

What ys the poynte of Whan That Aprille Daye?

Ower mission ys to celebrate al the langages that have come bifor, and alle their joyes and sorrowes and richesse.

Ower mission ys to remynde folk of the beautye and grete lovelinesse of studyinge the wordes of the past. And eke ower mission ys to bringe to mynde the importaunce of supportinge the scolership and labour that doth bringe thes wordes to us. To remynde folk to support the techinge of paleographye and of archival werke and eek, ywis, the techinge of thes oold langages. To remynde folk of the gret blisse and joye of research libraryes. For wythout al of thes, the past wolde have no wordes for us. 

Ower mission ys also to have ynogh funne to last until next Whan That Aprille Daye. 

Note that thys event doth also coincide wyth Aprille Fooles Daye, the which ys fyne by cause we do love thes langages and alle who love are yn sum maner also fooles. 

Ich do hope wyth al myn herte that that sum of yow good folke will joyne me on thys April first for readinge and celebratinge and foolinge. Lat us maken melodye. 

jeudi, décembre 11, 2014

Vikinges Go Berserk

Whyle goinge through my copye of the Elder Edda, Ich dyd fynde a seccioun yclept 'The Younge Persones Edda,' the which hath verye gentil and mirthful poemes for children concerninge the deedes of valiant warriors, and eek of the Tree of Givinge that Ys Callid Yggdrasill, and eek of the Aesir and the Vanir and the Beares of Caring. Belowe, Ich have typed yn my favorite of thes fyne poemes. Enjoye, gentil folk of the blogosphere.

The Eddic Poem of the Vikinges Who Do Go Berserk


Oon Vikinge, al aloon
Carveth a bynde-rune on a bone.

Two Vikinges heed the calle
And steer their longshippes to hys halle.

Thre Vikinges, thankes to Thor,
Bringe along anothir four.

Fyve vikinges arryve decked yn sylver and gold.
Six vikinges showe up wyth a mightye troll.

Seven vikinges arryve aftir a sack.
[Manuscript defectif, prose interpolation addid: The saga at thys poynt also doth saye that on thys night eight vikinges crept wyth great stealth through the entrance yn the back.]

Nyne vikinges enter bearing swordes of Weylandes werke.

ALL THE VIKINGES GO BERSERK!

While the sunne doth shyne al nighte
Vikinges feest wyth great delighte.

But as everye joye ys followid by woe,
Yn the morn the vikinges must go.

Nyne vikinges and a mightye troll
Joyne eight moore for sea patrol. 

Seven vikinges yn shippes sayle west
And leave six vikinges wyth bitter jests.

Fyve vikinges go to playe hnefatafl
Whyle four vikinges to the east head off.

Thre vikinges go to straunge landes to seeke their glorye.
The last two vikinges are no longir menciouned yn thys storye. 

Oon Viking, al oon oones moore,
Doth yearn for the othir fortye-four. 

jeudi, mars 20, 2014

Maken Melodye on Whan That Aprille Day


Friendes,

Yt doth fill my litel herte wyth gret happinesse to invyte yow to a moost blisful and plesinge event.

On the first daye of Aprille, lat us make tyme to take joye yn alle langages that are yclept ‘old,’ or ‘middel,’ or ‘auncient,’ or ‘archaic,’ or, alas, even ‘dead.’ 

Thys feest shal be callid ‘Whan That Aprille Daye.’ 

Ich do invyte yow to joyne me yn a celebracioun across the entyre globe of the erthe. Yn thys celebracioun we shal reade of oold bokes yn sondrye oold tonges. Eny oold tonge will do, and eny maner of readinge. All are welcome. 


Ye maye, paraventure, wisshe to reade from the beginning of my Tales of Caunterburye, but ye maye also wisshe to reade of eny oothir boke or texte or scroll or manuscript that ye love. Ye maye even reade the poetrye of John Gower yf that ys yower thinge. 

What are sum wayes to celebrate Whan That Aprille Daye?

Gentil frendes, yf yt wolde plese yow to celebrate Whan That Aprille Daye, ye koude...

• Maken a video of yowerself readinge (or singinge!) and share yt on the grete webbe of the internette.

• Yf ye tweete, sende tweetes wyth the haschetagge #whanthataprilleday

• Make sum maner of cake or pastrye wyth oold wordes upon yt, and share yt wyth good folke and share pictures of yower festivitee.

• Yf ye be bold, ye maye wisshe to share yower readinge yn publique, yn a slam of poesye or a nighte of open mic. 

• Yf ye worke wyth an organisatioun or scole, ye maye wisshe to plan sum maner of event, large or smal, to share writinge yn oold langages.

What ys the poynte of Whan That Aprille Daye?

Ower mission ys to celebrate al the langages that have come bifor, and alle their joyes and sorrowes and richesse.

Ower mission ys to remynde folk of the beautye and grete lovelinesse of studyinge the wordes of the past. And eke ower mission ys to bringe to mynde the importaunce of supportinge the scolership and labour that doth bringe thes wordes to us. To remynde folk to support the techinge of paleographye and of archival werke and eek, ywis, the techinge of thes oold langages. To remynde folk of the gret blisse and joye of research libraryes. For wythout al of thes, the past wolde have no wordes for us. 

Ower mission ys also to have ynogh funne to last until next Whan That Aprille Daye. 

Note that thys event doth also coincide wyth Aprille Fooles Daye, the which ys fyne by cause we do love thes langages and alle who love are yn sum maner also fooles. 

Ich do hope wyth al myn herte that that sum of yow good folke will joyne me on thys April first for readinge and celebratinge and foolinge. Lat us maken melodye. 

vendredi, août 23, 2013

XIII Wayes of Regardinge a Litel Woolen Hatte


Heere ys a newe poeme from todaye. Yt ys inspired by a verye wondirful adaptacioun of a verye wondirful poeme

XIII Wayes of Regardinge a Litel Woolen Hatte, a poeme by Galfridus Chaucer

I

Amonge XX busye customes deskes
The onlye thinge nat movinge
Was my litel woolen hatte

II

Ich was of three myndes
Lyke a haberdassheres stalle
On the which do hange III litel woolen hattes

III

My woolen hatte flewe off yn the wynde,
Alack! That hatte was ful wel expensif.

IV

A gentil and a churl
Are one.
A gentil and a churl and a litel woolen hatte
Are one.

V

Ich ne knowe nat which to prefer,
The beautee of sentence
Or the beautee of solaas,
The litel woolen hatte being put on
Or just aftir.

VI

Isekeles did fille the greate wyndow
Wyth glas rough and ungentil.
The shadwe of the woolen hatte
Dyd crosse yt, hider and thider.
The hattes wearer
Traced yn the frost
A vers aboute a kankedort.

VII

O thin men of the Guildhall
Wherfor thynke ye upon golden hattes?
Marken ye nat how the litel woolen hatte
Suited ys ful wel
For a cold daye?

VIII

Ich knowe of noble romaunces
And fayre, delitable vers yn heigh style,
Yet eke wel Ich knowe
That the litel woolen hatte ys woven up
Yn what Ich knowe.

IX

Whanne the litel woolen hatte was loste,
Yt marked the beginninge
Of anothir chidinge by Philippa.

X

At the sighte of litel woolen hattes
On the heades of tale-telling pilgrims
Even John Gower
Wolde crye out sharplye.

XI

He walkid alle arounde London
Yn uncomfortable shoon
Oones, a great thirste took hym
Yn that he mistook
The shadwe of hys woolen hatte
For a barrel of ale.

XII

The river ys movinge
Let nat the hatte falle off of the syde of the ferryboate.

XIII

Yt was Aprille alle afternoon
And ther felle soote shoures
To percen the droghte.
The woolen hatte
Sat upon myn heade.

jeudi, février 14, 2013

Tinye gifte for Valentynes Daye: Amour Ys Lyke a Potel of Wyne

O gentil rederes of my blog, how grete the peynes smerte that come to me whanne Ich thinken upon my lakke of updatinge. Swich grete busynesse hath fallen upon me that oft Ich do thynke myself nat worthy of the titel of 'blogger.' And yet twittre hath been of sum comfort, for ther Ich do tweete of litel jestes and japes at @LeVostreGC.

But to the poynte, todaye ys the daye of Saynt Valentyne, the which ys a daye that ys right speciale to me. And for a gifte, a litel, tinye gifte, unto yow, Ich have ytranslatid the grete balade of The Feeldes of Adamantyne Force from their langage ynto myn owene.

May love quite yow yower meede, goode folk.

Happye Valentynes Daye, or woful, or funne, as yt maye suite yow,

-Le Vostre GC

HEERE BEGINNETH GALFRIDUS CHAUCERES TRANSLACIOUN OF THE BALADE OF EXTREMELYE FITTINGE COMPARAISONS MADE BITWENE LOVE AND AN INTOXICATINGE BEVERAGE, MAAD FIRST BY THE FEELDES OF ADAMANTYNE FORCE

Yt astonyeth thee, yt doth thee ynne,
Yt maketh thee overthinke thine hardinesse,
Yt tourneth thee to trespass and to synne,
Yt maketh thee speake sans feare of redresse.
‘Tis ful wel smal, of glas and pearle,
And overlye treatid yn verse romaunce
Yt transformeth gentil unto a churl
And maketh fooles clayme grete sapiaunce.
Yt maye make thee cryen welawey,
Or dasshe and daunce yn thy fyne hose,
‘Tis pryced higher than folk sholde paye,
Yet no equal kan man propose.
Thei keepe yt yn a strengere tour
The oldere and moore pure yt groweth,
Yt hath of yts owene a dull colour,
Yet rich-dyede tapestries yt to thee showeth.
Thou mayst fynde yt solde upon Fisshe-strete,
Or ye maye fynde yt at Guildhall,
Yt maketh langage on thy tonge swete,
Maketh sonne to shyne and tempestes falle.
Thou mayst nat drynke, by no engyne,
Moore than thei ynto that space pour.
Amour ys lyke a potele of wyne
Yet a potele of wyne nys nat lyke Amour.

dimanche, avril 15, 2012

A Long Tyme Agoon in a Shire Far Away

Gentil rederes, longe tyme hath it been syn Ich have been able to take reste and wryte upon this blog. Right fullye occupyed Ich have been with the makinge of poetrye, and eek wyth keepinge my Lord Kyng Richard companye.

My Lord the Kyng ys reallye into spelunkinge, and he maketh me go wyth hym every weekende. The while we are downe muckinge about yn waiste-high watere and almost fallinge over ledges, my Lord the King speketh moore and more of how "appealing" revenge semeth to hym. Ich saye to hym that revenge is never a good idea. To convince hym of the evils of revenge, Ich have written a tale of Melibee, and yet everich tyme Ich do yive it unto hym to rede he semeth to falle yn to a slumber. Ich did aske hym if the tale helde no solas for hym, and he did saye ful curteisly and kingly unto me, "Nay, think nat so, Geoffrey. It ys merelye thys newe imported feather bedde of myne from Calays that ys so softe and pleasaunt unto me. It maketh me to sleep everich tyme I do laye down on yt to rede of yower tale. Indeede, thys feather bed ys so envoluping it semeth that a man koude esily be slayne by it." And then he looked out ynto space.

Swich is My Lord the Kinge thes dayes. And yet, a tetchy kinge notwithstandinge, finallye Ich have hadde a litel space of myn owene for to maken of verses, thogh Ich feare nowe nobody doth lyke verses eny moore. Helas, for Ich am super psyched to maken severale lynes followe oon anothir for hundreds of pages, and yet it semeth everichoon thes dayes loveth oonly to twit and tweete and maken up a gret swarme of quippes and linkes. A blog semeth about as cuttinge edge as a sworde buryed in a mounde. Thogh Ich have made an accompte of twitter, Ich knowe but litel how to maken of a fyne and retweetable tweete. Litel Lowys doth mock me dailye with a fiers mockinge, sayinge “watching yow trye to tweet, Dad, ys lyk watchinge Archbishop Arundel trye to keepe hys cool a a Lollard support groupe. Helle of awkward!” The tweet so short, the crafte so longe to lerne!

And yet Ich have had comfort in myn art. For Ich am composinge a narratif about folke who are togedir ythrowne by the windes of fate and goon on a journeye.

Naye, Ich nam nat spekinge of the Tales of Caunterburye, the which Ich have temporarilye putte on hoolde, but rathir of a newe set of tales. Thinketh of this: the image of the viage of an erthely pilgrimage ys but a maner of shewinge the wey of thilke parfit glorious pilgrimage into the celestial spheeres of the skye, in which we shal weare awesome shinye clothes and have swooshie laser swordes and eek have snappye dialog and sweepinge orchestrale bakkeground musique as we flye arounde the sunnes and moones and thinges-that-are-nat-moones. And thus Ich am writinge nat of pilgrimes on erthe but of pilgrimes -- wayteth for yt -- IN THE STERRES!

Yt is but in bittes and pieces as of nowe, but yt semeth good to share my descripciouns of the characters wyth yow, my goode rederes. Ich wolde be right glad to heare of yower feedback. And eek, please lette me knowe if sum oon hath alredy made eny fable or ficcion that yn eny waye doth resemble thys oon.

***

NOTES OF CHARACTER SKECCHES FROM THE GENERALE PROLOGE OF
THE PILGRIMES IN THE STERRES


Ther was a SMUGGELERE, and he the beste,
Wyth gowne of whit and snazzye litel veste.
He hadde a shippe that was a noble vessel
For in twelf parsekkes it had yronne the Qessel;
At customes houses nevir did he pause –
For resoned he ther was but litel cause:
To paye a tax or impost made hym wood,
And I seyde his opinioun was good:
Why sholde hys labour fatten up the paunches
Of bureaucrates that sitte upon their haunches
And tak their paye from honest merchauntes werke?
This good man kepte the officiales in the derke
And oft he wolde in his shippes floore hyde.
From oon ende of the sterres to the other syde,
He hadde yflowne, and seene many a wondere,
And yet he hadde no feare of Goddes thondere.
He seyde hys destinee was hys to make
Wyth blastere or wyth sleight or wyth wisecrake.
Of goold and eek of love he had a thirste,
In altercaciouns he ay shot firste.

A WODWOS hadde he, and servantz namo,
A goodly furrye man, from hedde to sho.
Hys lokkes were longe and brown as aren a bearys,
Wher he hath sat, a man may knowe – there hair ys!
A bandolier he wore about hys sholdere
And of bowcastre boltes yt was the holdere.
He was a worthy frende yn tymes of stresse,
Thogh yif a man sholde beate him atte chesse
This gentil beest wolde th’arme rippe from the winner;
Therefor he wonne as oft as Bobbye Fischer.

And ther were wyth thes two good men, on shippe,
By plotte-twist yfalle yn felawshippe,
Fower otheres, of which I shalle anon yow telle,
(And all but oon shal lyve until the sequelle).

A TRANSLATEUR was with hem, maad of goold,
He knewe ech langage newe and ech tonge oold.
A conversacioun right wel this man koud carrye
Wyth vaporators d’eaux in tonge binarye.
And yet he timorous was, and oft wolde hyde
If daunger or if batel did betyde.
Whan men did fighte, for feere he almost breste.
An oyle bath he loved al the beste.

And wyth hym cam a smal ARTIFICER
Whos armour was as azure bright and cler
And eek as whit as ys the whales boon.
Althogh men have two eyen, he had but oon,
In maner of the creatur hight cyclopes.
He was so gret a clerk that ther no pope ys
That koude so muchel of calculaciouns
And ars-metrik, and werkes of alchemie,
And al the divers calculaciouns
By which to maken navigaciouns.
He was a verray parfit killer app,
And ofte in joye he cryed out “bweep, er-dap!”

A WHINY YOUTHE cam nexte, barleye a man,
With yelwe haire, tunique, and farmeres tan.
But aquaculture litel did he love,
He wolde been a pilot al above
And bullseye oump-rattes yn a nimble craft.
Saye, have ye evir been upon a rafte
And herde the wynde blowe fast over the wave
So that the winde did seme to sighe and rave?
Wyth just swich fierceness sigheth thys yonge man,
And whineth eek, and whingeth whan he kan,
For he ne lovede nat his occupacioun
And he wolde rathir go to Tashi stacioun.

And wyth hym rood an oolde EREMITE,
Who knew the crafte of armes more than a lite;
He loved the forse syn he a youngling was,
And eek trouthe and honour, and kickinge arse.
Ful worthy was he in the auncient werres,
For in thos tymes he foughte on manye sterres:
At Theed citee he was, whanne it was won,
And many a metal foe he had outdon;
And eek he made the stande at Jeonosis
(the which, I trowe, was nat a bunch of roses!);
At Rhin-Vare had he foughte, and Terre Sool.
From Corpusant and Utapaux al hool
He cam aweye, unnethe wyth a scracche
Thogh on Mustphar he nerely met his macche.
A saber loved he beste, and thoghte it faster
And moore gentil than eny randome blaster.
Ful wys he was, no action-hero merely,
Thogh of paternitee he spak unclearlye.