>
>
> i might send you the whole thing...

> only 1 think... translated on the fly from the spanish.. in Bogota..

.a mate has rediscovered the complete works of de Conte de Poitiers..
just rang me from the library and is hurrying round with it..probably
arrive
later...
IN fact he did very excited.. found me the original of the dedication of
TexT...
it was Guillaume D'Aquitaine... and it goes like this in a rough, as is
the norm, inglish
(only have it in Spanish and provencal..)

......

I will make a poem of pure nothing
it will speak neither of me, nor of others
It will celebrate neither love nor youth
nor anything in particular
the only thing is that it was composed sleeping
on a horse

I don't know at what time I was born
nor am I happy or sad
I am not a sociable sort (hurado)
and I can't do anything about it
since during this night I was bewitched
on a high mountain

I don't know when I'm sleeping
nor when I'm watching, if I'm not told.
Recently my heart has been splitting apart
with a heavy pain;
but I wouldn't exchange it for the price of an ant,
by St Marcial!

ill I am and afeared of dying
and I know little more of that than what I hear
I look for doctors to my heart's content
but I know of none like this
It would be a good doctor who could manage to cure me
but no, I get worse.

I have a girlfriend, I don't know who she is
and by my faith, I never saw her.
She has done nothing that either pleases or disgusts me
and it absolutely doesn't matter
I never had a french or a norman
in my house

I have never seen her and love her dearly
I never had favour or disfavour from her
when I don't see her, its a missing thing
I wouldn't exchange for a cock
Who knows of any other sweeter or more beautiful
who could be worth more

I don't know where she lives
in the mountains or the plain
I don't tell you about the meaninglessness of it all
I prefer to keep quiet
and it weighs heavy on me that she remains like this:
for this reason I am leaving.

My poem is ended, I don't know what about.
I'm proposing to send it to someone who ,
through the medium of another will send it
to Poitou on my behalf;
and I hope that from their pocket they will get to me
the contrakey

......

so my friend came in full of the peripetia of library angels..
we spoke as the camera lapsed us in time..

he left like my guillaume.. and I shall too