(no subject)
Jan. 19th, 2006 07:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
which_chickBecause I am mailing off my Riverside Chaucer to ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
not_your_real this afternoon (and it's a hunka hunka burnin' literature, I gotta say), here we are having a farewell party for the book. If you're not up to speed on your Chaucer, he's a famous dead british guy who basically ripped off Boccaccio's Decameron (including the whole "little stories framed up by one big unifying story" thing) and put it in verse. There are (speaking with ye olde leer in my voice) dirty bits.
I am going to expect you people to read real (more or less) Chaucer in real Middle English. Let us have no whinging that Chaucer is Old English. He is not. Now, behave yourselves or I'll slap some Beowulf on your asses so that you can see what honest to dog Old English looks like. Many people do not bother to read Chaucer in real Middle English because our soft modern ways have led us to the side-by-side translations available in books and online. Heresy!
One of the most fun things about reading Chaucer in Middle English, with footnotes, is the sense of growing horror that, no, he did NOT just write that. No way. Not for real. Not that, not if you're reading it in a fucking literature class. No. No fucking way. Er. (Madly checking footnotes.) Er. Well, hell. Yes, he damn well did just write that. My god. (The other fun thing is how damn lively his prose is, for being more than six hundred years old.)
If you approach Chaucer in the modern adaptation, all of that is removed from your enjoyment of The Canterbury Tales and all you have left is a set of nicely bawdy stories in a framing story about making a pilgrimage to Canterbury. If you're just going for pure smut value, you'd do better trolling alt.sex.stories. (That's a newsgroup, children. It's what people used to do on the internet, way long ago in history back.) The thing is that it's more fun to get to the smut unexpectedly, after you've worked your ass off trudging through the extraneous y's, strangely pervasive negation, optional spelling, and weird past tenses that Middle English, as she is ywrotten by Chaucer, sets before you. Anticipation really does make some things better but I will concede to shorter modern attention spans. Therefore, here are two nicely dirty bits that you can have, gratis, without having to wade through too much preliminary stuff.
(Afap regulars, at least those with good memories, will have seen the first selection before. It's one of my favorite passages, is why.)
From The Parsoner's Tale, the part about Pride, where the Parsoner is bitching about how men dress.
Upon that oother side, to speken of the horrible disordiant scantnesse of clothyng, as been thise kutted sloppes, or haynselyns, that thurgh hire shortnesse ne covere nat shameful membres of man, to wikked entente. Allas! somme of hem shewen the boce or hir shap, and the horrible swollen membres, that semeth lik the maladie of hirnia, in the wrappynge of hir hoses; and eek the buttokes of hem faren as it were the hyndre part of a she-ape in the fulle of the moone. And mooreover, the wrecched swollen membres that they shewe thurgh disgisynge, in departynge of hire hoses in whit and reed, semeth that half hir shameful privee membres weren flayne. And if so be that they departen hire hoses in othere colours, as is whit and blak, or whit and blew, or blak and reed, and so forth, thanne semeth it, as by variaunce of colour, that half the partie of hire privee membres were corrupt by the fir of Seint Antony, or by cancre, or by oother swich meschaunce. Of the hyndre part of hir buttokes, it is ful horrible for to see. For certes, in that partie of hir body ther as they purgen hir stynkynge ordure, that foule partie shewe they to the peple prowdly in despit of honestitee, which honestitee that Jhesu Crist and his freendes observede to shewen in hir lyve.
It might help you to know that stockings in this era did not have much of what we'd refer to as a crotch seam. It might also help you to know that tunics had gotten shorter during the 1300's. (I found a nice online essay about this some time ago but I cannot relocate it. Sorry.)
Another? Yes, I think so. Let us look upon The Miller's Tale, which is short and bawdy. Huzzah!
A little background for those of you who have not read any of The Miller's Tale: There's a carpenter, bit of an older, jealous guy, who has a pretty, young, flirtatious wife named Alisoun or Alison or whatever. (We'd probably say "Allison" but spelling was optional back then.) Alisoun has the hots for Nicholas, a scholar who is boarding in their house. Alisoun is also being wooed by Absolon, who sings outside her window at night with his guitar or lute or other stringed instrument suitable for serenading. Alison isn't impressed with Absolon but, as I said, she has the hots for Nicholas. The plot goes on merrily and the carpenter, whose name is John, winds up on the roof in a kneading trough, waiting for The Great Deluge, Mk II. (Yes, really. I would not lie to you.) Meanwhile, Nicholas and Allison sneak downstairs to get busy. Unfortunately, their tryst is interrupted by Absolon, who comes to the window to woo Alison.
"Allas," quod Absolon, "and weylawey,
That trewe love was evere so yvel biset!
Thanne kysse me, syn it may be no bet,
For Jhesus love, and for the love of me."
"Wiltow thanne go thy wey therwith?" quod she.
"Ye, certes, lemman," quod Absolon.
"Thanne make thee redy," quod she, "I come anon."
And unto Nicholas she seyde stille,
"Now hust, and thou shalt laughen al thy fille."
This Absolon doun sette hym on his knees
And seyde, "I am a lord at alle degrees;
For after this I hope ther cometh moore.
Lemman, thy grace, and sweete bryd, thyn oore!"
The wyndow she undoth, and that in haste.
"Have do," quod she, "com of, and speed the faste,
Lest that oure neighebores thee espie."
This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drie.
Derk was the nyght as pich, or as a cole,
And at the wyndow out she putte hir hole,
And Absolon, hym fil no bet ne wers,
But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers
Ful savorly, er he were war of this.
Abak he stirte, and thoughte it was amys,
For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd.
He felte a thyng al rough and long yherd,
And seyde, "Fy! allas! what have I do?"
"Tehee!" quod she, and clapte the wyndow to,
And Absolon gooth forth a sory pas.
Yep. This passes for literature. You betcha. Don't you just love "full savorly"? I bet that means with tongue.
Anyway, I'm off to see the Harry Potter movie (at my local theater now) and then home, to eggplant stew with rice because I was virtuous and did not eat evil fast food burger instead. There will be new Yawara! tonight, unless I'm too tired, and the employee has downloaded for me the PoT musical! And I have this excellent idea for a thing. Thing. For you people. To do. Just not yet, is all.
not_your_real this afternoon (and it's a hunka hunka burnin' literature, I gotta say), here we are having a farewell party for the book. If you're not up to speed on your Chaucer, he's a famous dead british guy who basically ripped off Boccaccio's Decameron (including the whole "little stories framed up by one big unifying story" thing) and put it in verse. There are (speaking with ye olde leer in my voice) dirty bits.I am going to expect you people to read real (more or less) Chaucer in real Middle English. Let us have no whinging that Chaucer is Old English. He is not. Now, behave yourselves or I'll slap some Beowulf on your asses so that you can see what honest to dog Old English looks like. Many people do not bother to read Chaucer in real Middle English because our soft modern ways have led us to the side-by-side translations available in books and online. Heresy!
One of the most fun things about reading Chaucer in Middle English, with footnotes, is the sense of growing horror that, no, he did NOT just write that. No way. Not for real. Not that, not if you're reading it in a fucking literature class. No. No fucking way. Er. (Madly checking footnotes.) Er. Well, hell. Yes, he damn well did just write that. My god. (The other fun thing is how damn lively his prose is, for being more than six hundred years old.)
If you approach Chaucer in the modern adaptation, all of that is removed from your enjoyment of The Canterbury Tales and all you have left is a set of nicely bawdy stories in a framing story about making a pilgrimage to Canterbury. If you're just going for pure smut value, you'd do better trolling alt.sex.stories. (That's a newsgroup, children. It's what people used to do on the internet, way long ago in history back.) The thing is that it's more fun to get to the smut unexpectedly, after you've worked your ass off trudging through the extraneous y's, strangely pervasive negation, optional spelling, and weird past tenses that Middle English, as she is ywrotten by Chaucer, sets before you. Anticipation really does make some things better but I will concede to shorter modern attention spans. Therefore, here are two nicely dirty bits that you can have, gratis, without having to wade through too much preliminary stuff.
(Afap regulars, at least those with good memories, will have seen the first selection before. It's one of my favorite passages, is why.)
From The Parsoner's Tale, the part about Pride, where the Parsoner is bitching about how men dress.
Upon that oother side, to speken of the horrible disordiant scantnesse of clothyng, as been thise kutted sloppes, or haynselyns, that thurgh hire shortnesse ne covere nat shameful membres of man, to wikked entente. Allas! somme of hem shewen the boce or hir shap, and the horrible swollen membres, that semeth lik the maladie of hirnia, in the wrappynge of hir hoses; and eek the buttokes of hem faren as it were the hyndre part of a she-ape in the fulle of the moone. And mooreover, the wrecched swollen membres that they shewe thurgh disgisynge, in departynge of hire hoses in whit and reed, semeth that half hir shameful privee membres weren flayne. And if so be that they departen hire hoses in othere colours, as is whit and blak, or whit and blew, or blak and reed, and so forth, thanne semeth it, as by variaunce of colour, that half the partie of hire privee membres were corrupt by the fir of Seint Antony, or by cancre, or by oother swich meschaunce. Of the hyndre part of hir buttokes, it is ful horrible for to see. For certes, in that partie of hir body ther as they purgen hir stynkynge ordure, that foule partie shewe they to the peple prowdly in despit of honestitee, which honestitee that Jhesu Crist and his freendes observede to shewen in hir lyve.
It might help you to know that stockings in this era did not have much of what we'd refer to as a crotch seam. It might also help you to know that tunics had gotten shorter during the 1300's. (I found a nice online essay about this some time ago but I cannot relocate it. Sorry.)
Another? Yes, I think so. Let us look upon The Miller's Tale, which is short and bawdy. Huzzah!
A little background for those of you who have not read any of The Miller's Tale: There's a carpenter, bit of an older, jealous guy, who has a pretty, young, flirtatious wife named Alisoun or Alison or whatever. (We'd probably say "Allison" but spelling was optional back then.) Alisoun has the hots for Nicholas, a scholar who is boarding in their house. Alisoun is also being wooed by Absolon, who sings outside her window at night with his guitar or lute or other stringed instrument suitable for serenading. Alison isn't impressed with Absolon but, as I said, she has the hots for Nicholas. The plot goes on merrily and the carpenter, whose name is John, winds up on the roof in a kneading trough, waiting for The Great Deluge, Mk II. (Yes, really. I would not lie to you.) Meanwhile, Nicholas and Allison sneak downstairs to get busy. Unfortunately, their tryst is interrupted by Absolon, who comes to the window to woo Alison.
"Allas," quod Absolon, "and weylawey,
That trewe love was evere so yvel biset!
Thanne kysse me, syn it may be no bet,
For Jhesus love, and for the love of me."
"Wiltow thanne go thy wey therwith?" quod she.
"Ye, certes, lemman," quod Absolon.
"Thanne make thee redy," quod she, "I come anon."
And unto Nicholas she seyde stille,
"Now hust, and thou shalt laughen al thy fille."
This Absolon doun sette hym on his knees
And seyde, "I am a lord at alle degrees;
For after this I hope ther cometh moore.
Lemman, thy grace, and sweete bryd, thyn oore!"
The wyndow she undoth, and that in haste.
"Have do," quod she, "com of, and speed the faste,
Lest that oure neighebores thee espie."
This Absolon gan wype his mouth ful drie.
Derk was the nyght as pich, or as a cole,
And at the wyndow out she putte hir hole,
And Absolon, hym fil no bet ne wers,
But with his mouth he kiste hir naked ers
Ful savorly, er he were war of this.
Abak he stirte, and thoughte it was amys,
For wel he wiste a womman hath no berd.
He felte a thyng al rough and long yherd,
And seyde, "Fy! allas! what have I do?"
"Tehee!" quod she, and clapte the wyndow to,
And Absolon gooth forth a sory pas.
Yep. This passes for literature. You betcha. Don't you just love "full savorly"? I bet that means with tongue.
Anyway, I'm off to see the Harry Potter movie (at my local theater now) and then home, to eggplant stew with rice because I was virtuous and did not eat evil fast food burger instead. There will be new Yawara! tonight, unless I'm too tired, and the employee has downloaded for me the PoT musical! And I have this excellent idea for a thing. Thing. For you people. To do. Just not yet, is all.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 12:30 am (UTC)When we read Chaucer in high school, my founder-of-bible-club English teacher made us read it in middle english but didn't bother explaining it so, alas, it was lost on 99% of the class.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 01:33 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 05:51 am (UTC)They're not wimps. They're lazy and unmotivated. There's a difference.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 02:42 am (UTC)I have also read the Decameron, and liked it very much.
no subject
Date: 2006-01-20 04:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-01-24 02:30 am (UTC)And that was the first I knew of it, for I had unwittingly stayed away from LJ and everything else since last Tuesday in a turtleish anticipation of my Dad's operation. Which went really well, except for a lingering air-escaping-into-the-shoulder issue that they think should fix itself Any Day Now.