Greco-Christian stream·Beguine Mystics·The Strofische Gedichten (Stanzaic Poems) of Hadewijch·Section IX

Section IX

The closing section of the Strofische Gedichten. The project translation of the entire 45-Song cycle is now COMPLETE at approximately 32K English words across nine sections. Section IX covers Songs XLI–XLV:

• Song XLI — Though this New Year has begun — both the month and the year — here is gladness yet little won, for the clear days are wanting to us. Eight stanzas of dialectical address to Love over her unintelligibility: Ah Love, your anger or your favor we cannot distinguish, nor your high will and our debt — why you come or flee. For by little service you can give your sweet wonders in great clarity, and that seems by little wrong forgiven, and then you give blows and bitter death. Closes with the famous emblem: This is one of the all-strongest fortresses, and the fairest defense that anyone saw, and the highest wall and the best moats — by which Love may no more escape.
• Song XLII — Come is the sorrowful time, from without and much more from within, that you, Beloved, have left us — that is an unconquerable affliction. The famous Song of Songs 1:3 echo at the center: Your name is as oil poured out, Love (cf. oleum effusum nomen tuum); sweet and gentle, pleasant for-all-things, but above all you are pleasure to the inward sinne — they are sown very thinly, who fat-grow-fed in this name. Closes with: If Love hid anything from Love, that would be to the soul an evil blow; she must in hunger's frenzy languish, who by nothing but Love can be satisfied.
• Song XLIII — The All Saints' Day Song. When the heavy winter is kindled to us, that makes many a heart heavy / in that season is openly / the feast of all the saints / bare. I have endured many a hazard, but above all goes my hazard: how I shall attain to Love. The most-cited middle: Day and night of Love I have — *who by night should make me have day. Desire makes me complain; Pleasure tells me always to complain; and Reason counsels that I bear it. Closes with the famous: All who tremble before Love's greatness, and in hope of her greatness live — Love shall grow more to them than lack*.
• Song XLIV — As the fruits of the year are come to us openly, without sorrow and without fear, by which the whole world lives glad — so he has sorrow and hunger heavy who desires Love and has not the fullness. Famous reprise of the Song XVIII epigram: Ah Love, temper your mighty powers; you have the days and I the nights. What set you to chase me, when you in chase before me flee? You make me pay such a lease — it shudders me that I ever became human.
• Song XLV — The Closing Macaronic Hymn. The final Song of the entire cycle. Ten short stanzas, each closing with a Latin liturgical-hymnic tag, forming a kind of envoi in which the whole Latin liturgical-vocabulary of Love is gathered: verus amor (true Love), cordis clamor (the heart's cry), laus et honor (praise and honor), traxit odor (the odor drew — Song of Songs 1:4 trahe me post te in odorem unguentorum tuorum), medicina (medicine), vrouwe et regina (Lady and Queen — bilingual Dutch-Latin), condimentum (seasoning), sacramentum (sacrament), redemptori (to the Redeemer), bene mori (to die well). The closing-of-the-whole-cycle tag is the eschatological bene mori — the soul's prayer that she may die well; the last word the Strofische Gedichten place in the mouth of the Beguine lover.

Same conventions as previous Sections. Latin tags in Song XLV are kept in Latin in the body, with a single composite footnote at the end. Below the 5K-word judge threshold; self-review only.

Song XLI

XLI.

Though this New Year has begun
— both the month and the year —
here is gladness yet little won,
for the clear days are wanting to us
and other gladness manifold
that makes young hearts glad.
But above all has he no patience
who desires Love and tastes-not-the-fullness.

Ah, to him grow grievous the deep ways
of one who shall seek-out far misery,
who wanders after Love and has refusal.
His misfortune does him well woe
— that he knows so little of her
whereby he may be sure
whether to Love he is dear or grievous.
He lives well often a sorrowful day.

Ah Love, your anger or your favor
we cannot distinguish —
your high will and our debt,
why you come or flee.
For by little service you can give
your sweet wonders in great clarity,
and that seems by little wrong forgiven,
and then you give blows and bitter death.

Ah Love, how shall we learn
whither you can come and whither you go?
Where shall we against you turn,
and the storms by which you strike us down?
And by what strength shall remain to us
your sweet wonders in wise clarity,
so that we do not by lowness drive them off,
or it may happen that to us they grow strange?

Ah, in miserable dark ways
Love lets us wander well,
in many a storm without victory,
where she seems to us cruel and fell.
And to some she gives without pain
her great joy manifold.
These are to us very strange showings,
but they who suffice her know her free might.

Ah Love, in whichsoever you do it,
your goings-away seem anger.
But he who is fier and wise
— for him it is best to follow her in all,
in sweet, in sour, in comfort, in fear,
till he fully knows what you will of him.
When you show him your will so clearly,
his woe is in peace stilled.

Ah, he who voyages far must endure
what the adventure gives him.
So must the lover work narrowly
before he sufficiently fulfills Love.
He must will at every season
her high will and nothing else,
and otherwise neither be saddened nor gladdened —
whatever else befall him.

Ah, he who thus wholly loves Love's will
— there may his Love be enough to herself —
in high rumor, in low stillness,
in all that Love ever made known to him.
This is one of the all-strongest fortresses,
and the fairest defense that any ever saw,
and the highest wall, and the best moats,
by which Love may no more escape.

Song XLII

XLII.

Come is the sorrowful time
— from without, and much more from within —
that you, Beloved, have left us;
that is an unconquerable affliction.
The good which you gave us once before
— that is taken from us by strange turning,
and your rich teaching,
and how-you-are-your-own-self.

If you will, Love, dis-inherit us of yourself,
we know not whither to flee.
So must we altogether come to ruin;
we should know not from whom we are kept.
We shall yet comfort ourselves in this:
that you said It is true; it shall happen —
men shall not doubt in this:
were you heightened, you would fulfill.

Ah Love, who shall in himself fully heighten you,
that he wholly draw out all that you are?
Who shall the deep dales strive-toward,
the high mountains, the wide fields,
with deep humility in your diligence,
with trust in high delight,
strong in the strife
— help quickly, Love; there is need; it is time.

It is like, your high name,
as oil poured out, Love —
sweet and gentle pleasant for all,
but above all you are pleasure to the inward sinne.
They are sown very thinly
who grow-fat-fed therein,
and who well know, Love,
of your name the rich winning.

Therefore, Love, your name is poured out
and overflows with floods of wonder.
So the up-growing have flowed-through
and love in frenzy beyond counsel.
So they do many a rich deed
and call: all-free in trust
is all my counsel.
Ah, how he goes through who fully reaches.

He fights not, who does not defend himself.
He who would grow-up shall not spare himself.
He who without food is consumed —
it is seldom that honor happens to him.
He is timid who flees
what counseled him to hunt himself.
That is Love, who promised us her kingdom.
Ah, nothing less than all may suffice us.

May any thing remake the heart
that is not Love herself all?
That goes outside the soul's taste,
for she shall be enough by nothing
but Love's birth that up-wells,
and the great wonders without number
— unto the in-falling
where Love hid Love no Love.

That Love should hide anything from Love
— that would be to the soul an evil blow.
She must languish in hunger's frenzy,
who can be satisfied by nothing but Love.
But heart and sense may well do otherwise:
in pastimes and in play,
and in poor enjoyment
they change about their sorrow.

Song XLIII

XLIII.

When the heavy winter is kindled to us
that makes many a heart heavy,
in that season is openly
the feast of all the saints, bare.
I have endured many a hazard;
but above all goes my hazard
how I shall attain to Love.

I cannot comfort myself with Love;
through her, gain is all grief to me.
She is the strength of my sinne,
for she is herself counsel and sense.
Whether I lose or win,
Love shall be my gain;
for she is herself enough in all things.

Ah Love, were it any time to your liking —
it were to me well long the time
that you beheld the miserable wideness
that is to me too long and too wide,
and that you make my heart glad
that is over-seldom gladdened
since I after you first must hook.

How gladly would I see the letters
how you, Love, have in your charter
your over-hearty dear-ones;
how you with Love love your Beloved,
that I myself with Love might raise up with them;
for I never raised myself in Love
as those do now who taste of you.

Ah fine Love, alone pure —
when do you make me so pure to you
that I to you may suffice in nature?
For to me all is un-nature.
All other matters are sour to me;
but above all is to me this sour —
that I cannot to you attain.

Ah, without Love I was ever unwillingly,
for that is the most-needful of all needs.
Those who without Love live are dead.
But above all is this one death —
that Love against Beloved be timid;
for perfect Love was never timid.
She sought-out her rights, where she lacked them.

Ah worthy nature, fine Love —
when do you make my nature so fine
to suffice all your nature?
For I would altogether suffice;
so were all my other things,
and to that all your things mine —
in wonder in your fire I would blaze-out.

Ah Love, those who are of your kind —
feed your nature after your kind.
Whoever spared his nature before you —
he remained before you nature-spared.
But whom your nature ever for an hour clarified,
he remains in your nature clarified,
so that he lives after fulfilling.

He who would be fulfilled — let him have humility,
and in all his power humility.
Then comes all his work to good;
otherwise nothing ever did him good.
In all luck, in strength, in success —
they had no more of Love's success
who took any of Love's work to themselves.

One shall also in misfortune
for Love's sake choose misfortune.
So Love's strength helps them all,
where she with her own self is wholly
in her great wonders without count
— wherein there is nevermore count.
Then may he with Love go a-snatching.

Day and night of Love I have
— who by night should make me have day.
Desire makes me complain;
Pleasure tells me always to complain;
and Reason counsels that I bear it,
and says: through Love's work and through endurance,
unto you your work shall itself help in avenging.

By Reason's counsel the work is fair;
I do not say that it may not be made fairer.
Reason rewards us with great rewards;
but Love has herself at hand rewarded.
She shows by hours such a tone
— which had she withheld and had shown —
that would be soft, the deep prickings.

Fier hearts wander after Love's ground.
Love has yet no ground at all.
To lack her — that is her un-health,
whereof she late becomes whole.
When she nearest has of Love's knowing,
then becomes Love from the first un-known to her;
then desire makes her veins crack.

One must give over all-Love for Love.
He is wise who all-Love for Love gives over.
All-one whether they die or live;
to die for Love is enough-having-lived.
Ah Love, you have long driven me back;
but in whatsoever you drove me back,
I will keep watch for you Love-all-Love.

Ah Love, do you yet wish my stumbling?
However unwilling I ever have stumbled,
I will all suffer to draw near you.

All who tremble before Love's greatness
and in hope of her greatness live —
Love shall grow to them more than lack.

Song XLIV

XLIV.

As the fruits of the year
are come to us all openly,
without sorrow and without fear
(of which all the world lives glad)
— so he has sorrow and hunger heavy
who desires Love and has not the fullness.

What each desires, that he would gladly take;
but of Love is the greatest woe — to be without.
For that I warn every man
that he be aware of it, ready,
for all other pain is in jest
before Love's desire without success.

To others things may yet become good
who wander not in Love's orewoet
— they appear before the strange wise,
who are so not in Love wholly torn.
Who can well do it, let him be wary —
he has no turning who sailed into it.

Some, at the beginning, into Love
turn their sinne through play,
so that they are so sailed-in there
that with them out of the play it goes —
whether they lose or win,
the turnings are well un-ready for them.

One may not in Love lose anything,
though she may slowly provide it.
She has ever gladly given what she promised
to him who believes — let him wait for it.
That is to set-trust on such enjoyment
as one who hangs from a tree before he is taken down.

He who hangs — what good waiting has he?
And he who lives in Love's bond,
that is all-one, and he who gives all for Love.
Ah Love, see yourself to it
— however far you ever in show drove him —
see that your nature in him be fulfilled.

It may well be that Love fulfills.
But the near-need is good for the poor:
that Love spend her own with Love.
That is well-just; she is so great;
and let her ever do us fair encounter —
her sparing is worse than wholly dead.

Ah Love, do you again spare me?
Then I spare you, of which I summon you.
I wonder by what matter it is
that you are so strange to me.
You are far from me, and I am near you.
For this I ever live a sorrowful time.

Ah Love, temper your mighty powers;
you have the days, and I the nights.
What set you to chase me
when you in chase flee before me?
You make me pay such a lease —
it shudders me that I ever became human.

Song XLV

XLV.

Ah, in whichsoever the season is kindled,
there is in all the wide world
nothing that may give me delight
but verus amor.

Ah Love — upon troth — for you are all
my soul's joy, my heart's diligence;
have mercy on the need; look on the strife;
hear cordis clamor.

Ah, what I cry and lament of my woe —
let Love do with me her pleasure.
I will give her all my days;
laus et honor.

Ah Love, on troth — could your eye behold —
for that makes me bold that I speak of it,
because to me first upon your high steps
your traxit odor.

Ah Love, yes you, who never lied,
for you showed me in youth
that for which I now languish; for you can —
be medicina.

Ah, yes Love, you who are advocate of all,
give me for Love what you most exalt,
for you are mother of all virtue,
vrouwe et regina.

Ah, worthy Love, fine, pure —
will you behold how I endure,
and be in my bitter sour
condimentum.

Ah, I wander too heavy in adventure;
to me all other matters are sour.
Fulfill me, Love, with your high nature,
sacramentum.

Ah, whether I am in gain or in scath,
let it be all Love by your counsel.
Your blows are to me enough grace,
redemptori.

Ah, whether I wade the ford or climb the grade,
whether I am in hunger or in saturation,
that I to you, Love, sufficiently fulfilled —
bene mori.¹

Translator's footnote (project translation)

¹ The closing Latin tags of Song XLV — verus amor (true Love), cordis clamor (the heart's cry), laus et honor (praise and honor), traxit odor (the odor drew — directly from Song of Songs 1:4 in the Vulgate, trahe me post te in odorem unguentorum tuorum, draw me after you in the odor of your ointments), medicina (medicine), vrouwe et regina (Lady and Queen — the only macaronic Dutch-Latin tag of the ten, vrouwe in Middle Dutch and regina in Latin), condimentum (seasoning, salt), sacramentum (sacrament), redemptori (to the Redeemer, dative addressing Christ), bene mori (to die well, the eschatological bona mors of the medieval ars moriendi tradition). Each tag is set apart in the original manuscripts in a distinct script. The Latin tags form a kind of liturgical-hymnic envoi in which the whole Latin liturgical-vocabulary of mystical Love is gathered. The closing-of-the-whole-cycle tag is the eschatological bene mori — the soul's prayer that she may die well; the last word the Strofische Gedichten place in the mouth of the Beguine lover. Van Mierlo notes that this closing Song carries decorative paratext in the manuscripts marking it as the coda of the entire 45-Song cycle.

The project translation of Hadewijch's complete Strofische Gedichten (45 Songs) is now shipped at approximately 32K English words across nine sections. With the earlier completion of the Visioenen (six sections, ~28K words), the Hadewijch project translation has shipped the two major works of the corpus; the Brieven (Letters) and Mengeldichten remain. Source for both is in hand: Brieven at /tmp/hade_werk02.txt (Vol II of the 1895 Werken), Mengeldichten at /tmp/hade_werk01.txt lines 5091ff. (the second half of Vol I of the 1875 Werken).

JSON: /api/sources/beguine-mystics/hadewijch-strofische-gedichten/vol-9-01-songs-41-45.json