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Poems By Poet Forrest Hainline  10/1/2014 9:20:50 PM
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  Best Poems From
  FORREST HAINLINE
 
 

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  1.     

General Prologue 17: The Wife of Bath - Geoffrey Chaucer (Forrest Hainline's Minimalist Translation)

A good Wife was there of beside Bath,
But she was somewhat deaf, and that was scathe.
Of cloth making she had such a haunt
She passed them of Ypres and of Ghent.
In all the parish wife was there none
That to the offering before her should go on;
And if they did, certain so wroth was she
That she was out of all charity.
Her coverchiefs full fine were of ground;
I do swear they weighed ten pound
That on a Sunday were upon her head.
Her hose were of fine scarlet red,
Full straight tied, and shoes full moist and new.
Bold was her face, and fair, and red of hew.
She was a worthy woman all her life:
Husbands at church door she had five,
Without them other company in youth -
But there's no need to speak right now.
And thrice had she been at Jerusalem;
She had passed many a strange stream;
At Rome she had been, and at Boulogne,
In Galicia at Saint Jame, and at Cologne.
She could much of wandering by the way.
Gap-toothed was she, truly for to say.
Upon an ambler easily she sat,
Wimpled well, and on her head a hat
As broad as is a buckler or a targe;
A foot-mantle about her hips large,
And on her feet a pair of spurs sharp.
In fellowship well could she laugh and carp.
Of remedies of love she knew per chance,
For she knew of that art the old dance.

© 2009 Forrest Hainline
 
Forrest Hainline
   
 

   
   
 

  2.     

Geoffrey Chaucer, To Rosamund - (Forrest Hainline's Minimalist Translation)

Madame, you be of all beauty shrine
As far as circled is the mappamund,
For as the crystal glorious you shine,
And like ruby be your cheeks round.
Therewith you be so merry and so jocund,
That at a revel when that I see you dance,
It is an ointment unto my wound,
Though you to me not do no dalliance.

For though I weep of tears full a tyne,
Yet may that woe my heart not confound;
Your seemly voice, that you so small out-twine
Makes my thought in joy and bliss abound.
So courteously I go, with love bound,
That to myself I say, in my penance,
Suffiseth me to love you, Rosamund,
Though you to me not do no dalliance.

No never pike wallowed in galantine
As I in love am wallowed and am wound,
For which full oft I of myself divine
That I am truly Tristan the second.
My love may not refreyd be nor a found
I burn aye in amorous pleasure.
Do what you list, I will your thrall be found,
Though you to me not do no dalliance.

© 2013 Forrest Hainline
 
Forrest Hainline
   
 

   
   
 

  3.     

Merciless Beauty, Geoffrey Chaucer (Forrest Hainline's Minimalist Translation)

I. CAPTIVITY

Your two eyes will slay me suddenly
I may the beauty of them not sustain,
So wounded, hit throughout my heart keen.

And but your word will heal hastily
My heart’s wound, while that hit is green,
Your two eyes will slay me suddenly
I may the beauty of them not sustain,

Upon my truth I say you faithfully,
That you’ve been of my life’s death the queen;
For with my death the truth shall be seen.
Your two eyes will slay me suddenly
I may the beauty of them not sustain,
So wounded, hit throughout my heart keen.

II. REJECTION

So has your beauty from your heart chased
Pity, that it avails me not to complain;
For Danger holds your mercy in his chain.

Guiltless my death thus have you purchased;
I say you truly, I need not to faint;
So has your beauty from your heart chased
Pity, that it avails me not to complain.

Alas! that nature has in you compassed
So great beauty; that no man may attain
To mercy, though he starves for the pain.
So has your beauty from your heart chased
Pity, that it avails me not to complain.
For Danger holds your mercy in his chain.

III. ESCAPE

Since I from love escaped am so fat,
I never think to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count him not a bene.

He may answer, and say this or that;
I do not force, I speak right as I mean.
Since I from love escaped am so fat,
I never think to be in his prison lean;

Love has my name stricken out of his slate,
And he is stricken out of my books clean
For evermore; there’s no other mean.
Since I from love escaped am so fat,
I never think to be in his prison lean;
Since I am free, I count him not a bene.

© 2007 Forrest Hainline
 
Forrest Hainline
   
 

   
   
 

  4.     

General Prologue 18: The Parson - Geoffrey Chaucer (Forrest Hainline's Minimalist Translation)

A good man was there of religion,
And was a poor Parson of a town,
But rich he was of holy thought and work.
He was also a learned man, a clerk,
That Christ’s Gospel truly would preach;
His parishioners devoutly would he teach.
Benign he was and wonder diligent,
And in adversity full patient,
And such he was proved oft sithe.
Full loathe was he to curse for his tithes,
But rather would he give, out of doubt,
Unto his poor parishioners about
Of his offering and too of his substance.
He could in little things have sufficience.
Wide was his parish, and houses far asonder,
But he left none out, for rain nor thunder,
In sickness nor in mischief to visit
The farthest in his parish, much and light,
Upon his feet, and in his hand a stave.
This nobel example to his sheep he gave,
That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.
Out of the Gospel he those words caught,
And this figure he added also thereto,
That if gold rust, what shall iron do?
For if a priest be foul, on whom we trust,
No wonder is a lewd man to rust;
And shame it is if a priest take keep,
A shitten shepherd and a clean sheep.
Well ought a priest example for to give,
By his cleanness, how that his sheep should live.
He set not his benefice to hire
And let his sheep encumbered in the mire
And ran to London unto Saint Paul’s
To seek him a chantry for souls,
Or with a brotherhood to be withhold;
But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold,
So that the wolf not make it miscarry;
He was a shepherd and not a mercenary.
And though he holy were and virtuous,
He was to sinful men not despitous,
Nor of his speech dangerous nor digne,
But in his teaching discreet and benign.
To draw folk to heaven by fairness,
By good example, that was his business.
But if were any person obstinate,
What so he were of high or low estate,
Him would he snib him sharply for the nonce.
A better priest I trust that nowhere none is.
He waited after no pomp and reverence,
Nor maked him a spiced conscience,
But Christ’s lore and his apostles twelve
He taught; but first he followed it himself.

© 2009 Forrest Hainline
 
Forrest Hainline
   
 
 

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Poems By Poet Forrest Hainline