Villon

by François Villon, Jean Callais

Poetry. Translation. "Jean Calais--a pseudonym for Stephen Rodefer--is Villon's most interesting 'translator.' Running casually between version and imitations, Rodefer makes every tactical misprision it's possible to make. The result feels faithful in the broadest sense. Where, at the end of Villon's snowy catalogue-search for belles and heroines long deceased, Rosetti has him 'And that good Joan whom Englishmen/ At Rouen doomed and burned her there,/ Mother of God where are they then?', Rodefer has already shut down the terminal and caught the dying moments of the happy hour"--Jeremy Harding.

Genres: Poetry

53 pages, Paperback

First published December 1, 1981

About the author

François Villon (in modern French, pronounced [fʁɑ̃swa vijɔ̃]; in fifteenth-century French, [frɑnswɛ viˈlɔn]) (c. 1431 – after 5 January 1463) was a French poet, thief, and vagabond. He is perhaps best known for his Testaments and his Ballade des Pendus, written while in prison. The question "Mais où sont les neiges d'antan?", taken from the "Ballade des dames du temps jadis" and translated by Dante Gabriel Rossetti as "Where are the snows of yesteryear?", is one of the most famous lines of translated secular poetry in the English-speaking world.

Reviews

[Forrest Gander · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is simply one of my favorite books of poetry, in or out of translation. (And this book is both: a translation and not a translation, a translucination that one can't help but think Villon would have admired, considering that it involves a bit of sleight-of-hand and theft). The footnotes are portholes to whole new worlds of delight.

[Darren Angle · Rating 5 out of 5]

Issues of translation, performance, and authorship are almost totally eclipsed by the fiendish, muscular hilarity of these poems. Stephen Rodefer/'Calais' has trumped all other Villon translations, and created a new argument for translation itself--one in which capturing the spirit of the translated and recreating their personality in (the audience's) contemporary terms is always more important than relaying the linguistic nuances of the original language. Instead of a book where interpreting the minutiae of middle French serves only to exclude most readers from the libidinal energy propelling Villon's poems, Rodefer/'Calais' pours wine all over any commitment to the literal--as Villon would've advised.

[Robert Reinhard · Rating 5 out of 5]

Fucking brilliant translations and sometimes reincarnations of Villon poems by Stephen Rodefer using an alias, of course. I don't know why this hard to find book has not been at least reissued although its original pick pocket form is ideal. I wish I could own a copy, I read it from interlibrary loan. The footnote commentary like E.K.'s to the Shepheardes Calendar is another powerful attraction. Rodefer was born too late to have attended Black Mountain College where he would have fit right in.

[Samuel · Rating 1 out of 5]

First, I'm probably the wrong reader for this book. From Rimbaud to Bukowski, I generally find the poetry of dissolution tiresome, and this particular volume consists of very little else.

That said, this book falls more into the tradition (if not the style or the sentiments) of something like Fitzgerald's version of the Rubiyat than any kind of straightforward translation. It's as rambling as the worst of the Beat writers, and embarrassingly '60s -- as an example, Calais' version of "Mes Trois Povres Orphelins" ends with the line "Gee those are really far-out kids." If it's meant as a joke, it's hamhanded and unfunny, and if it's meant to be serious, it's horrifically dated. You can argue that Villon was only partially serious himself, but the layer of quasi-hippie excess that Calais adds to it helps nothing.

The marginal notes, which Calais claims were written for his eight-year-old daughter, range from insufferably smug to utterly baffling, and add nothing to the poetry. A friend of mine loaned this to me, and I'm going to have to go back and ask him why, because I can't see much in this other than a certain historical curiosity.

[Mark · Rating 4 out of 5]

Faithful in spirit if not in word, these are the best translations of Villon in English. The notes are extremely funny, too.

The book is actually credited to Jean (not Jean-Louis) Calais; and Calais is actually Stephen Rodefer...

[Peter · Rating 5 out of 5]

This is the one. Calais is brilliant, and really gets it. Represents 'high poetic activity.' somebody said, and they're right.

[Anselm · Rating 5 out of 5]

I learned my neck to feel the weight of my ass after one more swallow of dark red wine.