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Once upon a time there was a kiss ... Once upon a time, in renaissance-time, there was a French man who desired a beautiful lady. The lady let him kiss her but didn't allow him to go further. What could our poor man do now to court her? Of course he wrote a poem! With this "Bayser", which means "kiss", he told his lady in voluptuous rhymes how hard he wanted her, like all men do at all times. He assured her that she could trust him and that he would do her well. Did he convince her? Did they fly together to the stars? We don't know. But there is music in this desire, like there is music in all desires, and I began to sing it. I sang for the old French poet, Joachim du Bellay, who's been dead for a long time. I sang for myself. And I sang for all lovers, wishing they would be lucky enough to follow their feelings. Then I had the great luck to make a man listen and understand in a way that this man felt like adding some more beautiful notes and sounds. He took his guitar and played like a modern cavalier and was even kind enough and able to improve the sound despite the raw material I recorded totally unprofessionally without any adequate equipment. This, too, seems to be a fairy tale. Please enjoy! — Katharina

Joachim Du Bellay (16th century) Bayser Quand ton col de couleur de rose Se donne à mon embrassement Et ton oeil languit doucement D'une paupière à demi close, Mon âme se fond du désir Dont elle est ardemment pleine Et ne peut souffrir à grand'peine La force d'un si grand plaisir. Puis, quand s'approche de la tienne Ma lèvre, et que si près je suis Que la fleur recueillir je puis De ton haleine ambroisienne, Quand le soupir de ces odeurs Où nos deux langues qui se jouent Moitement folâtrent et nouent, Eventent mes douces ardeurs, Il me semble être assis à table Avec les dieux, tant je suis heureux, Et boire à longs traits savoureux Leur doux breuvage délectable. Si le bien qui au plus grand bien Est plus prochain, prendre ou me laisse, Pourquoi me permets-tu, maîtresse, Qu'encore le plus grand soit mien? As-tu peur que la jouissance D'un si grand heur me fasse dieu? Et que sans toi je vole au lieu D'éternelle réjouissance? Belle, n'aie peur de cela, Partout où sera ta demeure, Mon ciel, jusqu'à tant que je meure, Et mon paradis sera là.

(I'll try to translate not word by word, but feeling by feeling. – K.K.) Kiss When your neck is inclining – slowly – to be caressed and your look is languishing, for more ... the eyelids half closed My soul is getting mellow, and desire hits me fervently : I want you! and can't stand, neither understand this pleasure's pain, this hard pain's pleasure And when I'm bringing down my lips to yours, and am so near that I could pick up easily the flower of your sweet breath, dear Ah!, when the sighs and all these scents where our tongues begin to join playing, connecting, answering ... You make ..., I mean: You make me crazy I feel like becoming a bird beginning to take off as if there's healing shadow for all sunny sorrows above, so glad am I that happiness is almost perfect now. But why, my dear, don't you allow to go on, just a tiny little more ... a little further ... make it real? Are you afraid then that the coming joy would be too much for me, would change me, pity man, into a god flying up to neverending bliss without you? Oh beauty, mine! please don't you fear this, please! The only sky I know is where you are                           and everywhere you are until I die I'll be with you and paradise will come