Kedves Tanár Úr!
Nem volt kérdés, hogy írok a festschriftjébe: az már inkább, hogy mit. Azt tudtam, hogy fordításról biztosan nem: idegen a műfaj – a nyolc év Dante (meg egyebek) alatt azt szoktam meg, hogy olvassam a fordítását, összevessem valami forrással (Dante esetében ez nem az eredeti volt), hosszú (vagy rövid) sorokat keressek és rövid megjegyzéseket írjak. Jött majd az is megint, csak nem itt. (Múlt-jövő úgy értendő, hogy az írás pillanatában még nem néztem bele a IV. Henrik-be, de mire ezt megkapja, addigra meg fogtam kommentálni.) Nyelvészeti tanulmányt se akartam írni, mert most, disszertálást tervezgetve, nem nagyon tudok elszabadulni a középangol témától, amit (téma)vezet, és amiről így többet hall, mint eleget: nem kell az még a festschriftbe is. Verset meg középangolul szoktam írni leginkább, abból viszont már kapott párat születésnapjára (l. appendix).
De hát mégiscsak születésnap, úgyhogy mégiscsak vers és némileg középangol. Meg a többi olyan nyelv, amelyekkel együtt foglalkoz(t)unk. És egy kicsit verstan és nyelvészet is. (Akitől a versformát és versötletet kölcsönöztem, vele soha nem foglalkoztunk együtt – valószínűleg nem is fogunk –, de adta magát.)
Pont az egyik születésnapi középangol versemre válaszolva írta ezt: „köszönet a lábjegyzetekért – azok nélkül félkarú óriás a filológus…”: úgyhogy megjegyzeteltem ezt is, ezúttal azért a többi olvasó kedvéért is; meg azért, hogy lássa, észrevettem pár hibát metrumban, rímben (ha hibának lehet őket nevezni). A következő bekezdés pedig csak a többieknek (nemközépangolosoknak) szól: mi már nagyon sokszor megbeszéltük, így ha gondolja, hagyja ki.
Középangolban a szóvégi e-t még kiejthették: lehetett nyelvtani szerepe (pl. a határozott melléknévi ragozásban – the gode man), egyes szavak (pl. newe, ende) meg egyszerűen e-re végződtek. Tehát ebben a versben, amit a mai angolul tudó nem gondolna szótagnak, még lehet az. Az e-k szerepét külön-külön nem magyaráztam meg: viszont ha ki kell őket ejteni, akkor ë szerepel helyettük.
És hogy miért van az egész többesben? Én csak annyit tudok, hogy a második sort az összes nyelvtörténet-hallgató nevében írtam: aztán maradt a többes. Szerintem ha nyelvészeti adatként tekintenénk erre a szövegre, akkor arra a következtetésre jutnánk, hogy ezt a kérdést bízzuk az irodalmárokra.
Many a myrie retorn – and thonkes for alle thynges,
Werthmüller Gyöngyi
Kívülről tudjuk már mi is!
Trewë.
Newë
for yow, our derë Redëman:
siker
ʃiker.
Some macaroni would be good…
Der Reim
voll rein.
harminckettőt
feles-
leges
úgyis kívánunk még sokat,
valde.
Al the
and welthe; and with that wishen we
joyë
to yë.
so wish we meter, sound and tongue:
legyen,
melyen
(E.g. is h the same as ŋ?) -
Anyag,
s adat.
Egyet kívánnánk még azért:
Csak ezt –
the best.
Dear Dr of the Rede – for that is your name in the Middle English tradition (at least in my Middle English tradition),
This appendix contains two of the “Early” Middle English birthday poems that I wrote for you – “Early” in the sense that they were written (respectively) five and four years ago. Unlike in the case of Pasta Poliglotta (which I wrote for this webschrift and thus I knew it would be published – although I’d have written something anyway), when I wrote these, I didn’t think of publishing them at all. They were simply meant to be presents: I wrote them to express my thanks and gratitude, and (of course) I hoped they could provide at least some linguistic delight and fun.
The thought of publishing these earlier pieces didn’t occur until sometime late autumn: not much before that time we had a conversation, during the course of which you told me that I should brag about my Middle English poetry to the profession. Since I don’t have many Middle English poems apart from these verses, probably these are the ones you thought were worthy of being shown to the (international) professional audience.
While putting the finishing touches to the Pasta (or not much after submitting it) I wondered, what if I added some earlier pieces, too. This way you could read them again if you’d like to; they would be easily available for anyone; and I think in this collection they can remain what I originally intended them for: presents for you (in the company of other presents). In fact I wouldn’t want these published anywhere else. So I asked our editor and he said we could add them.
And if any reader should feel (as indeed part of me does) that writings that were originally meant to be private (by private I mean the number of readers, not really the content, as there’s not much personal information in these poems), let me assure them it will be arranged properly: on the very day when this collection is going to be presented, we will ask the addressee if I have his permission to publish these. If I don’t, this appendix will be deleted immediately. So if anyone is reading this, then either the collection has not been presented yet, or the permission was granted.
I chose these two poems because these are the ones I found the best and the most mature. I haven’t changed anything in the poems themselves: just added two brief introductions and some more explanatory and textual notes; but the original versions, too, contain most of the notes. (These notes were added to the poems by a linguist, who happens to be the poet as well.)
Dear Dr of the Rede, let me wish you many happy returns of the day for the future with these recycled ditties from the past.
In this poem I tried to imitate John Gower’s
Word-final -e’s which have a grammatical role or are lexically part of the word have an umlaut above them if they have to be pronounced in order for the verse to scan properly. (We assume that line-final -e’s, if their presence is grammatically justifiable, were also pronounced, but we do not know this for certain. As the iambic pentameter is not influenced by the sounding or non-sounding of this extra syllable, these -e’s are not printed with a dieresis.)
Now two am I, but o persone.
Oon of me sitteth al myn one,
And axeth hem, the noblë nine,
to come and bringë verses fyne
For if memoirë wel me serveth…
But endëlees is his power!
Ther is that burel clerk, Gower –
He koudë many a line indite.
Fro forth to bak, fro bak to forth!
No thyng and noon is morë worth!
Ful wel knowe I that on his weye
Nerer and nerer comth the deye
To grietë Doctour of the Rede.
I wish a good thrittenes five:
That ye be jolif, myrie and blyve.
Of sounes
So that he his wordes wise
Of Purgatoire and Paradise
Koude in youre oghnë tongë telle
As ye han holpen him thurgh Helle!
Oon of me sitteth al myn one:
a Middel English caroller.
The oother? Sche is your scholer,
Who sitteth with you at this time…
This poem was academically inspired – although I am somewhat reluctant to admit that the author of the paper cited below was my actual muse. There is a paper
Dr Nádasdy couldn’t appreciate the paper either – and although I didn’t write the study I promised, I composed a Middle English poem on the subject instead, in couplets of “halving twelve”. I waited until the right moment came: he turned 66, and this type of line has 6 + 6 syllables.
As in the previous poem, word-final -e-s that are lexically part of the word or have a grammatical function, are printed with an umlaut if they are to be sounded. (Elision – the silencing of word-final -e before vowel- and some [at least orthographically] h-initial words – applies here, too, as in the previous poem.) However, unlike in the previous poem that has octosyllabic lines which can have an extra (ninth) syllable, and we cannot know for certain if a line-final extra -e forms its own syllable, here the linguist’s job is easy. This is probably the first and only Middle English poem with this form, and as these lines must have exactly 12 syllables, I, the linguist, can be certain which line-final -e’s the poet, me, intended to sound; hence those, too, are printed with a dieresis above.
Derë Maister, if ye | han youre eres fullë
With my verses dredful, | with my dities dullë
Here is somthing elles | in a newe stevene
With syllables twelvë | and the halves evene.
Now, ye koudë seyen | that I shold this chaungë:
Bot your scholer am I, | thus I knowë motë
That in our langage
And syth that these
And ye al your verses | in this formë make
(Al that ye translaten | al your poesië
Thoghtë me I woldë | if that God me grauntë,
So that yow it plesë | in this maner chauntë…
This was but folyë | and nat worth a mitë.
I have oother causë | in this forme enditë!
For your six and sixty | soothly, as I gessë,
With six atte lefte and | eek the rightë sydë
wishe I yow the bestë | myrie, jolie tydë.
Helpë yow the muses | whan ye wolde singë,
Goode scholers yive yow | joye in your techingë.
As my carole endeth | lat it in my stedë