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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & General Editor
Volume 6, Number 3, September 2012

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Gary LeBel
Cumming, Georgia, USA


Et chante le jongleur (And the minstrel sang)

While in your esteemed employ, we’ve talked of much, my liege,
And so I ask you frankly: is thy realm a lord’s to squeeze?

Granted, Sire, I’m no de Born
But I know when a fief’s forlorn;

I’ve seen it time and time again:
Beware when hunger growls in men!

Since you so amply pay, Sirah, I serve you truth;
Now let my song recount its proof:

The nobles cannot ride for free;
For this advice I take no fee.

What you must do is a lord’s affair
But this one thing I’ll not forswear:

Waltz not round with nary a care
For heads may find their bodies air:

Though I’ve your best at heart, Milord,
To close your ears you can’t afford

For Time unstops them with its sword.

Gerard de Meilh (12th Century)
               Translated by Deedee Télioux

Could this be true? Was Gerard de Meilh a Nostradamus in Provençal clothing? Twice I read it, and twice again. Oh please, won’t some worthy god or alien reach down and lift the needle, and stop this infernal skip?

Watching
their neighbor’s house burn down
one of the orange faces
turns round and asks
the other for a light

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