Two Extracts from Coplas por la Muerte de su Padre by Patrick McGuinness

From the Spanish of Jorge Manrique (c.1440-1479)

Opening Coplas

                        I

Let the sleeping soul remember,
let the mind awake and come alive,
            by contemplating
how life passes,
how death takes us
by surprise;
how quickly pleasure fades,
how, remembering what pleasure was,
            it gives us pain;
how to our eyes
the time that’s passed
            was best.

                        II

For when we see the present,
how in a moment
it is gone,
if we judge things wisely
we will treat what is to come
as if it were already past.
No, we are not wrong
to think that what we hope to see
will last no longer than what we saw,
since everything is bound to pass
this way.

                        III

Our lives are the rivers
that flow down to the sea
that dying is;
there flow the Lordships,
down to their ends
            to be consumed;
there flow the great rivers,
and there, the others: the tributaries
and the lesser streams;
all arrive together equal,
those who live by their hands
and the rich.

….

                        VII

See how little they are worth,
the things we strive for
and pursue,
how in this deceitful world
they are lost to us
            even before we die:
some undone by age,
some broken by the chance disasters
            that befall them;
others by their nature perish
when they reach their
            highest state.

                       VIII

Tell me: beauty,
the sweet and fresh complexion
            of the face,
its colour and its whiteness:
what becomes of them
            when old age arrives?
As for agility and lightness,
the body’s strength
in youth,
they all turn heavy
when we reach the slum
of our senescence.

Ubi Sunt Coplas

XIV

Those mighty kings
we read of in the writings
            of the past,
how their lucky ventures
            were reversed;
thus nothing endures
since Death treats popes and emperors
            and prelates
as it treats the humblest herdsman
            with his sheep.

XV

Let us leave aside the Trojans
for we saw nothing of their suffering
            or their glories;
let us leave aside the Romans,
though we listened to and read
            their stories.
            Let us not seek to know
of some past century
            and what became of it;
let us see the things of yesterday,
how they have been, like them,
            forgotten.

XVI

What became of King Juan?
The princes of Aragon,
            what became of them?
What happened to such fine young men?
What of all the fine inventions
            they devised?
The jousting and the tournaments,
the bright embroideries, the ornaments
            and plumes;
what were they if not fancies?
What were they but the grass
            left on the threshing-floor?

XVII

What became of the Ladies,
their headdresses, their finery,
            their scents?
Where now are the flames
lit by so many lovers’
            fires?
And where now are their poems,
the tuneful music
            that they played?
Where now are their dances,
the brightly-coloured gowns
they trailed?

XVIII

And that other king, his heir
Don Enrique, what power
            he attained!
How sweet and promising
the world and all its pleasures
            appeared to be for him!
But you will see how contrary
an enemy this friend
            revealed itself to be,
how cruel; how briefly
it bestowed
the gifts it gave.

XIX

The extravagant presents,
the royal palaces
            filled with gold,
the burnished tableware,
the gold and silver coins
            of the treasury;
the harnesses and horses
of his men, all that excessive
finery,
where should we go to find them?
What were they but dewdrops
            on the fields?

XX

And what of his brother, the innocent,
who when he lived was called
            the heir;
what a sumptuous court
he had, what great lords
            followed him!
But, as he was mortal,
so death fired him
            in his forge.
O Divine judgment:
when the flames burned hottest
            you threw on water.

XXI

And the great High Constable,
the master whom we knew
            as such a favourite;
we ought not to speak of him
except to say we witnessed
            his beheading.
His immeasurable treasures,
his towns and his estates,
            his high authority,
what were they to him but tears?
What were they but the grief
            he had in leaving them?

Geraldine Hazbun and Patrick McGuinness on Jorge Manrique’s Coplas

Patrick McGuinness is Professor of French and Comparative Literature at Oxford, and Sir Win and Lady Bishoff Fellow in French at St Anne's College. His most recent books are a novel, Throw me to the Wolves (2019), and Real Oxford (2021), an exploration of the city behind the dreaming spires. Stanzas for the Death of his Father, by Jorge Manrique, translated by Patrick McGuinness and with an Introduction by Geraldine Hazbun, is published by Shearsman Books.