Recently, I translated some of the poetry of Ignace, a 4th century Cartesian poet who wrote on themes of lost love and betrayal.  I chose Iganace due to his obscurity.  It is my view that the obscurity of the poets in whom I choose to translate only adds to my image as a really smart person.  Ignace was very popular among the Yupers, known to most of us simply as the residents of the upper peninsula of Michigan.  They decreed Ignace a saint, and the city of St. Ignace, Michigan stands today as a testimony to this most obscure little Cartesian.  Ignace wrote of Beatrice, the object of his affection, who unfortunately, did not objectify him in kind.  As these poems take place in a time many thousands of years ago, I have taken the liberty of changing some of the names of key locations to Minnesota locations.  For example, the University of Cartesia is now the University of Minnesota for the purposes of this exercise.  Also, this was a most difficult time period for the Cartesians due to the Carpathian occupation.  The Carpathians were an extremely ruthless people, but worse yet, they were extremely rude.  A final note is that the Cartesian language, Cartesian, is a very complicated language, utilizing only two vowels and six consonants.  Additionally, they use a lot of those annoying accent marks and umlades (sp?)--you know, those two little dots Germans use all the time.  Well, without further ado and waste of time, here are a few choice translations of Ignace.

Chapter 1, Book 1:

I saw the fair Beatrice upon a Carpathian horse, riding like a silly bitch with no sense of whom she hurts when she opens her cunt to another man. 

Chapter 1, Book 2:

What do I see in Beatrice, really?  She has an incredibly fat ass.  Now personally, I just adore the fat ass bitches.  A fatted ass for my poker is better than a fatted calf for my belly, I always say.  As no one else I know likes fat ass bitches, I can use Beatrice's fat ass against her, although I secretly want it right fucking now!

Chapter 2, Book 6:

(Note: I chose to use the form of a limerick in the translation of this passage.  As you may notice, I was most unsuccessful)

A wonderful thing is Beatrice/ She holds more fat in her ass than a beaker of lard/ She is most prissy/ Her new boyfriend is a fag sissy/ And his dick could fit into one of those small beakers (with room to spare)

Chapter 2, Book 3:

Bury my heart at wounded knee.  Really love your pomegranates, Beatrice.  Want to shake your tree.

Chapter 3, Book 2:

(Note: At times, Ignace refers to another woman of his desire, Paula.  Paula is regarded by most Ignace and Cartesian scholars as laid back, desireable, and generally not the fat ass bitch that Beatrice was.  Still, Ignace's social ineptitude forbade him from any intercourse with the lovely Paula, for as she says in another selection "I just can't see myself fucking that guy."  Notice the lack of confidence Ignace displays when talking to Paula.  In general, there is less contempt in his voice than when he is speaking to Beatrice.)

Hey Paula!  I want to m-m-m-m-m-marry you!  Hey Paula!  I didn't mean to sc-sc-sc-sc-sc-scare-ee you!

Chapter 12, Book 17

(Note:  Around chapter 12, we are introduced to another character, a Carpathian general known as Whitey.  Whitey is a bad man, but of the most stupid kind.  In certain ways, he is almost likeable.  Ignace, however, does most certainly not have any kind words for Whitey!)

Kill Whitey!  Kill Whitey!  Down with the Carpathian dogs!  What do they do?  They come into this country, my beloved Cartesia-oh!  And they plunder our resources and steal our women-oh!  Beatrice!  Beatrice, you fucking bitch, come back!  Only a Carpathian would think to woo a fat ass bitch like you from a lonely Cartesian soul like me.  Kill Whitey!

Chapter 41, Book 64

(Note:  Many of the poems and sayings of Igance remind me of the writings of Dorothy Parker, who is [or should I say 'was'] a very funny bitch.)

Carpathians seldom make passes at Cartesians with fat asses.  Unless it's Beatrice!  Kill Whitey!

Chapter 64, Book 41

I saw Paula at the market t-t-t-t-t-t-today.  Oh!  God damn, my Cartesian d-d-d-d-d-d-dick is just a-a-a-a-a-a-aching for some play!

Chapter 2, Book 1137

(Note:  Eventually, General Whitey is killed in the Polish Horsey War.  Ignace, in usual hilarity of fashion, and also greatest contempt, eulogizes General Whitey.  Bearing in mind what I mentioned before about certain location name changes, please enjoy this wonderful passage!)

It does not take a Ph.D. from the University of Min-ah-so-tah to know that this Whitey was a very bad man.  He broke every tree-tee he ever signed with the Da-koh-tah, and his death in battle is a fate which serves him...white.

Chapter 22456, Book 7

(Note:  I chose to end with this passage, though only on Book 7, because I feel it encapsulates the true whole of obscure Cartesian writing during the Carpathian occupation.)

I need to stop masturbating about Beatrice.  Surely, she does not like wise autoerotocize herself in regards to me.  I need to masturbate more about Paula.  Sure, she won't fuck me, but she also won't say "eew, gross!" if she finds out that I am dehydrating myself whilst thinking of her.  God, I wish she had a big ass.

FINAL THOUGHT

The final epitaph on Ignace's seminal work is widely regarded to have been written by one of his followers, you know, someone who came after Ignace.  This is the general consensus of most Ignacian scholars, of which I make up 50%.  The other 50%, Ms. Josephine Campbell, has often commented that she feels Ignace wrote the final epitaph himself as a joke.  I think she says this to make herself feel better, perhaps.  Here, then, is the final epitaph of Ignace the Cartesian from Chapter 1164 of Book 20394875:

It is the wish of the author of this seminal work, the Great Ignace of Cartesia, that no one shall ever translate this work in whole or part.  Surely, it would bore the living bejesus out of anyone who attempted to read it.  Ignace the Great is great only in his own mind.  He is aware that he is an obscure poet who will never have a large following, despite the efforts of morons with too much time on their moronic hands.  There is a reason, friends, why some poets remain obscure.  Thank you and good day.

No part of this translation, whole or otherwise, may be retranslated into Cartesian without the written permission of the translator.