The Great Mirror of Same-Sex Love - Poetry - 83. ...her deepest silence is her most enticing song...

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Dat Suetste van Minnen

Dat suetste van minnen sijn hare storme;

Haar diepste afgront es haer scoenste vorme;

In haer verdolen dats na gheraken;

Om haer verhongeren dats voeden ende smaken;

Hare mestroest es seker wesen;

Hare seerste wonden es al ghenesen;

Om hare verdoyen dat es gheduren;

Hare berghen es vinden alle uren;

Om hare quelen dat es ghesonde;

Hare helen openbaert hare conde;

Hare onthouden sijn hare ghichten;

Sonder redenne es haere scoenste dichten;

Hare ghevangnesse es al verloest;

Hare seerste slaen es hare suetste troest;

Hvare al beroven es groot vromen

Hare henen varen es naerre comen;

Hare nederste stille es hare hoechste sanc;

Hare groetste abolghe es hare liefste danc;

Hare groetste dreighen es al trouwe;

Hare droefheit es boete van allen rouwe;

Hare rijcheit es hare al ghebreken.

Noch machmen meer van minnen spreken:

Hare hoechste trouwe doet neder sinken;

Hare hoechste wesen doet diep verdrincken;

Hare grote rijcheit maect armoede;

Haers vele vercreghen toent onspoede;

Hare troesten maect die wonden groot;

Hare hanteren brinct meneghe doet;

Hare voeden es hongher; hare kinnen es dolen;

Verleidinghe es wijse van harer scolen;

Hare hanteren sijn storme wreet;

Hare ghedueren es in onghereet;

Hare toenen es hare selven al helen;

Hare ghichten sijn mere weder stelen;

Hare gheloeften sijn al verleiden;

Hare chierheiden sijn al oncleiden;

Hare waerheit es al bedrieghen;

Hare sekerheyt scijnt meneghen lieghen,

Dies ic ende menich dat orconde

Wel moghen draghen in alre stonde,

Dien de minne dicken hevet ghetoent

Saken daer wij sijn bi ghehoent,

Ende waenden hebben dat hare bleef.

Sint si mi ierst die treken treken dreef

Ende ic ghemercte al hare seden,

So hildicker mi al anders mede;

Hare ghedreich, hare gheloven

Daer met en werdic meer bedroghen.

Ic wille hare wesen al datse si,

Si goet, si fel: al eens eest mi.

—Hadewijch, [i]

circa 1230

The Sweetest Love

The sweetest of love are all her storms;

Her deepest abyss shows her most beautiful form;

Losing yourself is getting nearer to her;

Starving for her is being fed with great taste;

Her despair is her only certainty;

Her painful wounds heal everything;

Languishing for her is your survival;

Feeling miserable is finding her again;

She bestows her refined sufferings;

Keeping her secret brings her to full light;

What she denies is her greatest gift;

Keeping silent is her most delicious poetry;

Imprisoned by her brings freedom;

Her hardest blows are her sweetest solace;

You will gain all she takes from you,

Her departure brings her nearer;

Her deepest silence is her most enticing song;

Her fiercest anger is her most tender gratitude;

Her biggest threat is her unconditional faithfulness;

Her sadness heals all mourning;

Her wealth is all her shortcomings.

There’s more to be said about love:

Her highest fidelity makes you sink deep;

Her splendid character causes you to drown;

Her opulence plunges you into poverty;

Receiving much from her leads to misfortune;

Her comforting enlarges your wounds;

Those who practice her ways suffer many deaths;

Her nourishment is hunger;

Her knowledge lets you get lost;

Temptation is the method of her teachings;

Professing her is like many cruel storms;

Enduring her is an inhuman undertaking;

Where ever she shows, she wants to be kept a secret;

Whatever she gives you, she will steal even more;

Her promises are sheer seduction;

Her adornments are sole nudity;

Her truth is nothing more than deception;

Many see her serenity and quietness as a lie.

I and many others can testify,

For all of our lives:

Love has often shown it to us,

Her things that deluded us,

Leading us to think we possessed what remained of her.

Since she made a fool of me the very first time

And I discovered each of her oddities.

I changed the way I treated her,

Her threats, her promises,

So she couldn’t delude me any longer.

I don’t care if she’s good or evil,

I want to be hers, no matter how she is;

Sweet or merciless, it is all the same to me.

—Hadewijch,

circa 1230

[Georgie DHainaut, translator]