A Literary Journal of Critical Thinking
In the Samizdat Tradition of Writing against the Machine
A Forum for Examining the Dark Side of the Academic/Literary Industrial Complex

François Villon

François Villon, deemed safe today, would no doubt be excluded from the anthologies if the world he wrote about were ours, for he dared, unlike our laureates, criticize his contemporaries.  In the following poem, examined in a cahier spécial by Ionela Manolesco in issue #9 of The American Dissident, Villon dares accuse his jailer, court bailiff Garnier, who did exist.  This poem is quite pertinent for today's society, where most poets would chose silence. The editor's translation follows the French version.  The sketch is Manolesco's. 

Ballade de l'appel

Que dictes vous de mon appel,
Garnier, fis je sens ou folie ?
Toute beste garde sa pel :
Qui la contraint, efforce ou lie,
S'elle peult, elle se deslie.
Quant dont, par plaisir voluntaire
Chanté me fut ceste omelie,
Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ?

Se fusse des hoirs Hue Capel
Qui fut extrait de boucherie,
On ne m'eust parmy ce drapel
Fait boire en cest escorcherie
—Vous entendez bien joncherie—
Mais quant ceste paine arbitraire
On me juga par tricherie,
Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ?

Cuydiés vous que soubz mon capel
N'eust autant de philosophie
Comme de dire «J'en appel» ?
Si avoit, je vous certifie
—Combien que point trop ne m'y fie—
Quant dit me fut, present notaire,
« Pendu serrés », je vous affie,
Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ?

Prince, se j'eusse eu la pepie,
Pieçà fussë ou est Clotaire :
Aux champs debout comme une espie...
Estoit il lors temps de moy taire ?
 

Ballade of the appeal
So what do you think of my appeal
Garnier, was it sensible or folly?
Every creature will fight for his life,
Constricted, forced or bound,
If he can, he’ll get away.
When by arbitrary decision therefore
That refrain was sung to me
Should I have kept my mouth shut then? 

If I were an heir of Hugues Capet,
Spawned from butcher’s stock,
They wouldn’t have with the cloth
Made me down that scorching water
—You understand argot—
But when that arbitrary sentence
They judged me with trumpery,
Should I have kept my mouth then?

Do you think that under my bonnet
There wasn’t enough philosophy
To have me declare “I appeal”?
Yes, yes, I assure you
—Oh how much lack of confidence though—
When it was said in presence of the notary,
“You will be hung!” I swear,
Should I have kept my mouth shut then?

Prince, if I were stricken by muteness
Long time ago, I would have been where Clotaire:
In the field hanging from a tree
Should I have kept my mouth shut then?