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Michel Galiana, 2 july 2015
Peniun (Breaking off)
I: in Motreff
1. The young man declared one day
As his house he was leaving
- I will go round to Motreff,
It will be entertaining:
For I am going on my way
To pass where Sweetheart should stay.
My heart pounds and my thoughts stray
At her silver glances! (twice)
2. - Good day, good day, my sweetheart
Good day to you I'm saying
I have seen your door afar,
That I cannot help cheering.
- Sir, you carry along with you,
Loads of compliments, you do!
Pretty speech is a thing to
Which I never object! (twice)
3. - When I was staying at home
I did visit you daily.
More faithful than I was none
But you would make fun of me.
I was as faithful to you as
Is the nightingale that has
Its perch on the branch of haw-
Thorn and sings its ditty. (twice)
4. - Chaffinch, and nightingale
Are birds that stay most freely
Amongst the leaves of mount and dale,
Each of them a homebody,
But if you care to have a look
At all the birds in a book,
No one as seriously took,
As the dove, loyalty. (twice)
5. For no one is half as faith-
ful, as the turtledove is
Who, when of its mate bereft,
At short notice deceases.
- O, this is the way I would fare
Most certainly in despair,
Should once my sweetheart so fair
Break my heart to pieces (twice)
6. - How could it be, say, young man
That with me you were angry?
Would you not come to Melan,
To Melan to be with me?
- To Melan, for sure, I would go,
But not to tell you "hello!"
Since, my lass, so far I know,
We shall never marry. (twice)
7. - What grounds, tell me, have you got
For such foolish assumption?
No reason why you should not
Come and see me in Melan.
- I'll go to Melan, certainly
But I shall return quickly
You may choose anybody
To be your companion. - (twice)
II: in Caraix
8. 'T was on Nativity day
Of the Virgin Saint Mary;
To the Pardon on my way
I saw her quite abruptly,
I edged my way to her side
I had no reason to hide,
And whatever might betide,
We were to speak frankly. (twice)
9. - What a surprise, our young man
Made up his mind to see me!
That you did bother to come
About that I'm uneasy:
Because I am not allowed to
Marry this year, so that you,
In case you had come to woo
Should give up the idea. (twice)
10. - Why should I give up an i-
dea that's but your own notion;
Chains of love that used to tie
My heart to yours are broken.
That's why I have come back again
For a walk in your domain:
Just a lily shall remain
There, and it's you, maiden! -(twice)
11. First time when I said "adieu"
To a lass, was in Carhaix.
Down her cheeks tiny tears flew,
Lost joy in darkest array,
The time for parting had come now,
For regret did not allow.
Which the lass refused to know
Before I flew away.
Translated from the Breton
Michel Galiana, 1 july 2015
Karantez (Love)
The young man
1. I chose a charming lover,
And she was my next neighbour,
How fine!
I had decided to go and visit her
In the night!
She was asleep, as I came: a dreadful plight! -
The girl
2. - At my door who is knocking?
There is no such awful thing
As noise!
Resting at night is a thing a girl enjoys! -
The young man
3. - "Your wooer and your suitor,
Your most passionate lover,
Is here
Who wants to be by your side tonight, my dear."
(Then, ashamed of his own words:)
4. Quickly, off I have taken
My cap. Inside an oven
I've hid.
Did she see me? I doubt that she could know me
If she did:
This her great amount of suitors should forbid!
5. Off I ran to the river
The path was altogether
Narrow,
Further downward was a bridge that was awkward,
And so low!
Heels over head I fell! The place was shallow.
6. A nightingale that gazed
At me, and had a blaze
On its brow!
Many a word it said, but the saucy bird
On the bough,
It did not help me, but it scoffed at me now! -
The nightingale
7. - A girl under a bed sheet
That you fondle is great treat,
It's true!
Flirting with eels in the brook is great fun too!
8. Should come round Willie the wolf,
Whom would he care to engulf,
But you?
Not a rest cure, to go wenching or to woo! -
The young man
9. - The stars that high up twinkle
They wait for your chant, fickle
Fellow!
Pay court to them, leave me alone here below! -
The nightingale
10. - Unfortunate bird, never
Did I harm whomsoever ,
In life,
Nor shall I do! Don't tell me your tale of woe!
11. You'll spend a good night, I'm sure!
To meet you was a pleasure,
For me!
I am like a fisher woman who prays the
Rosary
When fishing, always on the alert to be. -
Translated from the Breton
Michel Galiana, 7 january 2015
Quelvénic Grove
1. - As I did rove Quelvénic Grove
My toil was well rewarded:
I saw a doe wearing a blue
Cover that two stags guarded.
Both of them clerks, I dare remark.
Get up, Lord, you must withstand!
Hunt them at least, none of these beasts
Should desecrate your woodland! -
2. The three poor beasts, as noise increased
Fled the grove early that day,
Took up abode near the highroad,
Till a baker came that way.
- Give us some bread. It will be paid.
For this young girl is hungry.
She followed us. 'Twas perilous
To leave her room, most surely.
3. No one allows that she follows
Her own heart. She escaped.
Her kith and kin will call it sin
That her own life she shaped.
And, the poor thing, she may now sing,
Tonight she will cry sadly;
When tears are shed and all is said,
She'll die tomorrow, early. -
Translated from the Breton
Michel Galiana, 9 august 2014
Passing-by women
1. To all the women that you love
For a while - they don't know thereof -
This ditty is a tribute paid;
To passers-by you hardly know
Whom the whims of destiny draw
Along streams you shall never wade.
2. To the girl at the window pane
Who peeps and disappears again,
A lovable but fleeting sight
Of a graceful and slim body
Outlined surreptitiously
That makes you feel gay and look bright.
3. To the fair fellow traveller
Whose bright eyes, a charming picture,
Will make time go by and clock stand
You did understand her, maybe,
And yet you let her go freely
And did not even touch her hand.
4. To the woman in wedding bonds
With one who by no way responds
To her hopes and expectation;
And she gave, a useless nonsense,
To her despair shy utterance
And hinted at her frustration.
5. Ye, endearing glimpses caught,
Short-lived hopes with forgetting fraught,
You shall not survive tomorrow!
If only happiness occurs,
It wipes out or at least it blurs
The transient spells of sorrow.
6. But if you have wasted your life
You think, at the end of the strife,
Of happiness that grows and dies;
Of the kisses you durst not claim,
Of the hearts somewhere still aflame,
Of the never forgotten eyes.
7. And in evenings of weariness
You fill up your lonely recess
With phantoms from your memories,
And you bemoan the absent lips
Of those passers-by on their trips
You failed to stop. These fair fairies!
(Translated from the French poem by Antoine Pol)
Michel Galiana, 25 march 2014
His Lordship and Her Ladyship
1. His Lordship and her Ladyship were both
Very young when they took a wedding oath.
2. She was twelve and he was only thirteen.
Soon a baby boy appeared on the scene.
3. And he was as fair as the rising sun
His beauty could be compared to none.
4. His Lordship the Count asked on that day
The Countess his wife, when in bed she lay:
5. "O Countess, my wife, tell me what I should
Hunt, what kind of game in the nearby wood?"
6. "I'd prefer, by far, some fowl meat to eat.
Partridge flesh is rare of late, such a treat!"
7. His Lordship the Count, on hearing her speech,
Shouldered his gun which he kept within reach.
8. When he had come to the mid of the grove
Whom should he encounter but a white dove.
9. "Lord, I am so pleased to wish you good day;
Was waiting long for you to come my way.
10. Now the hour has rung, did you hear it ring?,
The hour has rung when you must be dying.
11. Now, do you prefer rapidly to die
Or seven long years sick in bed to lie?"
12. "I'd rather, for sure, decede speedily
Than seven years lie in bed languidly."
13. "Your Lordship the Count, now back home you go
And have them make you the best bed they know,
14. Have them make your bed quickly. You know why:
Or you would risk being sick before you die."
15. "O my mother dear, if you love your son
Please order that my bed quickly be done.
16. Have my bed be made and made rapidly
Before I should die of a malady."
17. "O please tell the Lady Countess, my wife
That her Count has left for an armed strife,
18. That he left to fight out on the frontier
And that he will be back home in a year."
19. "O tell me what happened here overnight
That all in this house with dismay did smite?"
20. "An old beggar man who asked for food
Whom from dying here we could not preclude."
21. "My mother I beg you to keep my keys
Let me have my best bed sheets, if you please.
22. Let me have my best bed sheets. All but one
For my husband, when he comes, it was spun."
23. "My daughter, you should put on your black dress
We are leaving to Mur town to hear Mass."
24. "Mother tell me the truth. No lie or sham!
Why must I be clad in black, as I am?
25. "Did it come in current use to impose
On girls to be sent to church in black clothes?"
26. When they came to Mur where mass would be sung,
The church was all over with black veils hung.
27. "O Mother tell me, no pretence or lie,
The church is hung with black veils, tell me why!"
28. "O Countess, my daughter I do not know.
The bell ringer might have heard of it, though."
29. "O bell ringer tell me the truth,. Don't lie
The church is hung with black veils, tell me why!"
30. "Your ladyship, I do not know, for sure
But the curate could an answer procure."
31. "O Reverend father, tell me no lie,
The church is hung with black veils, tell me why!"
32. "Your Ladyship, for sure , I do not know.
The parson himself could answer it, though."
33. "O Reverend father, tell me no lie,
The church is hung with black veils, tell me why!"
34. "Countess, it's a thing I cannot deny,
The Count, your husband on the trestles lie"
35. "My mother I beg you to keep my keys
You may dispose of my goods as you please.
36. I have brought into the world a fair son
And he is as fair as the rising sun,
37. O he is as the rising sun as fair
And his beauty is, aye, beyond compare.
38. You shall for his education provide.
Let the Christian Faith in life be his guide.
39. If ever his wealth should happen to wane
Let him serve the king and defend his reign.
40. In my husband's grave now I shall be laid
As both of us have slept in the same bed."
Translated from a Breton song
Michel Galiana, 6 september 2013
An unhappy young man
1. An unhappy young man, forsaken and alone
Was by his parents' death left to live on his own;
Now, since he was so young, go begging could he dare?
Compassionate folks came and of him they took care.
2. A man in these parts heard of his destitution.
Hastened to make the best of the situation.
"That you work on my estate is what I propose;"
The young man said "I can't. I have no working clothes"
3. "To be sure, I would be able to drive a plough,
But I am so poor that I have no spade or hoe"
And the four crowns they cost I never could afford.
Lend them to me, I shall pay you back, on my word."
4. The farmer hired him on a very long term;
A farmhand he had found, reliable and firm.
Yet one day the lad failed to report to his boss,
Leaving the latter to ponder over his loss.
5. Sometime later he was, upon a handful straw,
Found dead in the far slum where he used to withdraw.
His employer, alas, whose heart was hard as stone
When the corpse was removed from there was heard to moan:
6. "To heaven he shan't go as long as I'm not paid,
For he owes me four crowns I have lent him ahead."
And barely three days after, a young lad required
Employment in this very farm and he was hired.
7. Upon the fields he worked as hard as the best three.
But when lunch time was rung the young lad used to flee.
The others wondered and did their best to retain
Him, asking him to eat and drink with them. In vain.
8. He stayed out of the way, as if he was in pain,
Threw himself on his knees, as in wait of being slain.
And the cruel-hearted man, with disapproving frown,
Went and asked for advice the parson of the town.
9. "Over there is a man, as hard as three working,
But curiously enough, with neither food nor drink."
"Sir, you may return home, don't tell them that you came.
I shall call tomorrow. The hour will be the same."
10. Overnight the divine was informed by God's grace,
That it was a dead soul who was haunting the place.
"What are you looking for? Say, what is your demand?
- Four crowns I owe this man, I received from his hand."
11. "The master of this farm lent me once those four crowns:
To pay them back in work now I have been sent down.
And I won't be admitted to heaven's delight
As long as my angel did not tell me I might."
12. When the reverend priest came the four crowns to pay,
The heartless man was punished in a dreadful way:
When to seize the money he had proffered his hand,
His whole right arm from the shoulder fell to the ground!
13. "In Heaven, both of us will meet again, parson,
Of which I was made worthy by your compassion.
The farmer you did pay and all is in good trim.
Instead of casting blame, let's pray to God for him!"
Translated from the Breton (original title:"Un den yaouank, siwazh!")
Michel Galiana, 9 september 2012
Kenavo d'ar yaouankiz
Early that Sunday I rose, had my repast for the day (twice)
had my repast for the day,
And to my yard I went
Oié tra la la la dira la dira
And to my yard I went
There among its bowers to stray.
A nightingale I heard. In the bush she sang an air.
Her sweet chant caused my heart to lie full lowly in its lair.
- O, young man, young man, tell me, Say, is your mind in pain?
Neither my mind, nor my soul! Neither of them is in pain!
But woe is me for my youth
Oié tra la la la dira la dira
But woe is me for my youth
And all my time spent in vain.
For youth is like a rose, best thing in this lesser world
Old age is sure to cause the fair rose soon to wilt.
Youth, akin to the rose, you'll never last for long!
Once your grace is disclosed, with the wind it is gone along!
When a proud bachelor I was, happy, lucky, free of care,
The money in my pocket, never would stay for long there.
But woe betide me when I made up my mind to wed!
My youth would not endure it, soon away from me it fled.
Farewell my youth that by pleasure-seeking was always led!
If like a wren I had wings, if I had wings like a wren,
I would chase after it, soon it would be back to my den.
- A nightingale if you were, that's a thing I can teach,
Never would you capture it, it's far and out of your reach!
(Translation of a Breton song titled "Farewell to youth")
Michel Galiana, 20 july 2012
REMED AN AMOUROUS KLAÑV
It's not good, so wise people say
To let nature sway her own way;
It is wise to control nature:
Be not tender beyond measure!
No rain ever that did not cease,
No wind that time did not appease;
Tenderness may unite two fools:
As time goes by, tenderness cools.
And yet a handful of fondness,
Is more worth than wealth, quite doubtless!
While fondness brings your heart comfort,
Riches have double-edged import.
My girl's beauty I highly prize:
With her pink cheeks, with her blue eyes,
With her mouth fair beyond compare,
About her, aye, she has an air!
Her eyes illuminate her face,
They are limpid and full of grace,
Her brow, a half-moon as it were...
With all my heart I do love her.
Like nutmeg is her darling heart:
The highest delight, for my part;
Nutmeg is a treat of fragrance.
Love holds the pain in abeyance.
If I lie sick upon my bed,
Let come my sweetheart near my head,
Is health not restored presently?
No use of any remedy!
Whenever she passes my door,
These four things bother me no more:
World-weariness, despondency,
Aching pain and melancholy.
(Translated from the Breton)
Michel Galiana, 11 june 2012
Young Widow
THE YOUNG MAN
- O listen my darling widow!
It's about time for you to know
What you should leave, what you should do.
So I came to your house to woo.
THE WIDOW
- This year I don't think of marrying
Nor shall I come out of mourning.
I'll enter a convent instead
To God that's the promise I made.
THE YOUNG MAN
- To a convent why should you go?
My town is the place for you, though.
It's the rose's and fine herbs' doom
That in the garden they should bloom.
.
THE WIDOW
- The roses may thrive in a yard
The yew trees prefer the churchyard.
The Husband Whom I have chosen
Has created Earth and Heaven.
THE YOUNG MAN
- Take, that silver ring, fair widow!
And your hand upon me bestow!
Put it right now on your finger.
I'll do it if you like better.
THE WIDOW
- There is no ring, whatsoever,
That I would put on my finger
Except the ring that God bestows
On whoever will take their vows.
THE YOUNG MAN
- Then you have decided that I,
Without further delay, should die!
THE WIDOW
- Young man, I shall make good to you
For the time you have spent to woo;
For the time you wasted in vain
Hoping a wedding ring to gain:
I shall pray to God, day and night
He might us in Heaven unite. -
Translated from the Breton
***********************************
LA JEUNE VEUVE
LE JEUNE HOMME
- Ma douce veuve, cher amour
Je suis venu faire ma cour;
Car, voyez-vous, il est grand temps
De prendre un parti maintenant.
LA VEUVE
- Me marier cette année? Jamais!
Jamais mon deuil ne quitterai.
Sachez que je vais au couvent.
C'est là que le bon Dieu m'attend...
LE JEUNE HOMME
- Vous n'irez point dans ce couvent
Mais dans mon village, vraiment.
La rose, le lis, le jasmin
Sont faits pour orner les jardins.
LA VEUVE
- Si la rose au jardin prospère
L'if ne se plait qu'au cimetière.
Le seul époux cher à mon cœur
N'est autre que mon créateur.
LE JEUNE HOMME
- Recevez, ma douce, en présent,
Recevez cet anneau d'argent!
Passez-le donc à votre doigt.
Ou me faut-il le passer, moi?
LA VEUVE
- Jamais d'anneau je ne prendrai
Ni d'alliance ne passerai
Si ce n'est l'anneau d'or que Dieu;
Donne à qui prononce ses vœux.
LE JEUNE HOMME
- C'est donc ma mort que vous voulez,
Me voir sans retard expirer!
LA VEUVE
- Je compenserai, c'est certain,
Ce temps que vous perdez en soins
Pour moi. Tous ces espoirs futiles,
Cet anneau de noce inutile.
Et je prierai Dieu, jour et nuit,
Qu'il nous unisse au paradis.
Traduit du breton
Michel Galiana, 11 april 2012
Little Louise
I wear holes in my stockings
And I wore out my clogs,
And I wore out my clogs,
Since I started a-wooing,
Gay gay gay fonladondennig
Since I started a-wooing,
Chasing Lou through meads and bogs.
Everyone begs her graces
When Louise to church walks
In her dress trimmed with laces,
About her are all the talks.
In her dress trimmed with laces,
With roses in her hair,
The lads give backward glances,
Every lass an angry glare.
As she goes by, the lasses
To one another tell:
"I guess, no one surpasses
Her in beauty: she's the belle."
All the town dwellers whisper
In one another's ear:
"You're in fashion and proper
Now if you wear jet-black gear."
"I'm unaware of fashion
And I do not speak French.
A noble who hears Breton,
Will keep as dumb as a tench.
Now, to speak French, if needed,
I'll have a little maid
And if I get confused
I shall summon her for aid.
She shall dress and undress me
Help me off with my shoes
And to bed she shall see me
Where I'll sleep with whom I'll choose."
Neither rain, nor hail ever,
Nor the snow on the ground,
Should discourage a lover
Once a soul mate he has found.
Translated from the Breton
Michel Galiana, 1 march 2012
Renée Le Glas
I
O listen all attentively
I'll sing you a new melody!
A song about little Renée
Whom her parents married away
This year Renée the Pale was wed
But loved another one, instead.
Everything started when Renée
Has asked her mother one day:
- Pray, what is in our house afoot,
Hearth fire and three caldrons to boot?
One of them red-hot already,
The big and the small, presently?
- I am surprised by your question:
It's to celebrate your union!
- If tomorrow I'm to marry
I'll go to bed immediately.
I'll go immediately to bed
And I'll rise at daybreak, she said.
I'll rise at daybreak tomorrow:
My wedding dress I must narrow. -
Renée the Pale then has addressed
Her little maid with a request:
- My friend, concerning my lover,
Would you do me a small favour?
To my clerk's with this letter go!
His eyes with tears must overflow.
- O my young mistress, this moment
For you I shall go on errand. -
At Kervalbrey's the little maid-
Servant arrived soon and she said:
- My greeting to all everyone!
Tell me where is your eldest son?
- He is in bed, sick and aching
Since he heard of Renée's wedding.
His bed is in the library.
Go, you won't miss him, certainly! -
- Young Clerk, I wish you good morning!
- Good morning, maid who's so charming!
- Here is a note for you to read:
You should peruse it. Go ahead!
- This letter, if it tells the truth,
My anxious mind never will soothe
She has but three days to live! Still
I'll die before. I am so ill! -
II
Renée the Pale said, one morning
At her bedroom's window leaning:
- Over there I see a party
That will cross Diez Wood presently.
Yves Sellar rides ahead of all:
A special curse on him I call!
And on my father and mother,
And all such as raised a daughter
And all such as a daughter raised
Just to decide all in her stead. -
To the church when they all did stroll
They heared the bell for the clerk toll...
Three times the poor girl swooned and fell.
Yves helped her up. Ominous bell!
Renée the Pale told the parson
Who celebrated the union:
- Quick, hurry up! Or I shall pass
Away before you said the mass. -
III
Renée said on entering the house
Where lived the mother of her spouse:
- To your daughter-in-law don't frown,
But show her a bench to sit down!
- I am surprised you should be tired.
Had you not a fine horse to ride?.
- I would have come on foot, for sure,
If this had been a pleasant tour.
If I am your daughter-in-law,
Show me my bed. I will withdraw.
- Over there: in the library.
- My son Yves keep her company!
And in God's name, cheer her up, please!
She did not eat. Make her at ease!
- My beloved one, good day to you.
- Young widower, I greet you, too.
I do not mistake you for such
But soon the word won't be too much! -
She arranged for herself a chair,
And for him, with the greatest care.
- My poor husband, if you love me,
Let me go to the wake, briefly.
To the wake, briefly, let me go.
- To the funeral wake? Oh no!
Since tonight is your wedding night.
But to the interment you might.
- My friend, I'd like, with your consent,
To make my will and testament:
In the pouch of my wedding gown
There's a sum of five hundred crowns:
This will be for you, my husband,
For the expense you had to stand.
The same with the apron I did:
Another fifty crowns are hid.
Please, give them to the little maid:
I bothered her to get her aid
And aimless letters to convey
From Manor Glas to Kervalbrey.
Further, within my cotillion
Are sixty crowns in addition:
Part of it should be for the poor.
But for the priests you'll keep a score,
That they may once for us both pray
Whom in the cold glebe they will lay. -
Upon her lap his head she bent.
Now her life had come to an end.
O God, grant pardon to the dead!
Upon the trestles they were laid.
Their souls to heaven they took flight
They wed before God the same night.
They did not sleep in the same bed,
In the same grave they lie instead
By one another they took stand
To be united by God's hand
Translated from the Breton
Michel Galiana, 4 february 2012
A Ballad
The wonderful Autumn blew its horns at my pane
Where are the silver horns? Is the hunting over?
They must have lost my scent. The barks are on the wane.
I wail in vain, a mocked lover
Whose years shall not last for ever.
What you sowed in May you must reap in September.
But my seedlings that sprout and diamond-like sparkle
Are dead. Aged wines shan't fill your casks, Vintager!
On twin towers the loving couple
Hail eternally each other.
Thirty three snow white swans that overflew my head.
Thirty three black ravens that shall never fly home.
My legend, a short-lived rose, flourished in my stead
And the loves of the years bygone
Are bewailing the loves to come.
The wonderful Autumn heralds Winter that sounds.
Grooms and whips shall hunt down the doe through the heather.
Barren for evermore shall remain my own grounds
But I shall never get over
Rose nor wheat I didn't gather.
L'automne merveilleux sonnait à ma fenêtre.
Où sont les clés d'argent? Où sont les abois sourds?
La chasse m'oubliait que je vis disparaître.
Je pleure en vain mes faux amours
Mes ans ne seront pas toujours.
Les vendanges de mai s'achèvent en septembre.
Les plans que j'ai semés germent en diamants -
Morts. Le vin qui vieillit n'emplira pas ma tonne.
Sur la tour l'amante et l'amant
S'apellent éternellement.
Trente trois cygnes blancs ont cinglé sur ma tête.
Trente-trois noirs corbeaux. Vous ne reviendrez plus.
Ma légende fleurit comme aux rosiers la fête.
Les amours disparues
Pleurent aux avenues.
L'automne merveilleux est un hiver qui sonne.
Les chasseurs traqueront le faon nu par les prés.
Le champ qu'on me donna jamais ne se moissonne.
Je n'ai pas oublié
La rose ni les blés.
Michel Galiana, 9 january 2012
The hawk
Hawk who shake, off your wings, comets and falling stars,
A brass plate now freezes your fits of wrath, a nail,
Red hearted bead supposed to cast on wolves a spell,
Confined in a showcase, your preyless pounce can't start.
Which etching fluid did drench your claws in keen impulse?
Which rage towards rivals? Was it the ring, the chain?
Which stainless blood your wing to other blood did strain?
Which feast did in your flesh flare up such revivals?
Since the hood is removed, in full light, you're blinded
By a blue sky that is, like the night, dark, endless.
You are lift up by fear, by hunger or by death
Which are of more divine essence than mock hatred.
Your soaring by your feast's squirting blood besmirched:
Is your fate an image of a self-gnawing heart?
Epervier, ébrouant étoiles et comètes,
Un blason figera tes colères, un clou,
Astre au poitrail rougi envoûtera le loup.
Sous vitrine brisés, tes vols sans vols s'émettent.
Quel acide nimbait tes crocs d'instincts jaloux?
Quelle rage vers tes rivaux, bague, non chaîne?
Quel sang inaltéré vers outre sang s'empenne?
Quel festin dans tes chairs qui se ranime et joue?
Le corselet ravi t'aveugle, clarté pleine,
L'azur qui semble nuit, nuit qui n'aura de fin.
Te soulèvent la peur, ou la mort, ou la faim,
Comme un bord plus divin que prétexte ta haine.
Le sang de ton festin constelle ton essor.
D'un coeur qui se rongea, figures-tu le sort?
Michel Galiana, 3 january 2012
Beauty
...luggage nor -on the shore they'd left the ship behind
And carried on their way - they were cast out, could be
Present, as they had guessed the word, and they would find
The temple that had surged in their dream. As for me
I have encountered you there where the storms would roar
Obsessively amidst the infernal orchards.
Our blood started to flow back where neither age nor
Body could quench their thirst. Insensitive strangers
To anything except terror, our sole refuge,
A shiver has seized us and we were like the slave
Whom the white man's cudgel with showering abuse
And hails of hits drives towards his prison-grave.
One morning you were born in the shine of a rose -
"Love is bare". But this was beyond understanding
For voyagers who had, to better plead their cause
At the King's judgment seat, loaded with precious things
Their bark - To unforgotten womb, we went back then
To ponderous silence and blood that ever spouts
And twenty walking days later, 't was in the den
Of Sibyl that the fire at last spoke and without
Luggage...
***
Like the stars that high up sparkle above our heads,
Rumbling escorted us restlessly, all the way,
Over valleys and hills and stood me in good stead
Since I have found at last the gleam that once took me
To this strange universe of snow, of ice, of storm;
And when awakening is nigh, a melody
Ruthlessly assails me and, stubborn, I return
To be reborn in you, ever remote - beauty!
BEAUTE
...bagages ni - laissant la nef sur la rive
Ils poursuivirent leur chemin - rejetés,
Présents, ayant percé le mot et arrivèrent
Au temple en songe surgi. Je t'ai
Rencontrée quand brasillaient les orages
Et les obsessions au coeur des vergers
Infernaux. Notre sang reflua où l'âge
Ni le corps ne s'abreuvèrent. Etrangers
A tout hors la terreur qui fut notre unique
Refuge, un tremblement nous saisit et nous
Fûmes pareils à l'esclave que la trique
Du blanc vers l'ergastule pousse à grands coups.
Née un matin à la lueur d'une rose-
"Amour est nu". Les voyageurs ne comprirent
Pas. Ils avaient pour appuyer leur cause
Auprès du roi, chargé d'étoffes de prix
Leur barque - Nous avons regagné le ventre
Inoublié, le silence lourd, le sang -
Après vingt jours de marche ce fut dans l'antre
De Sibylle que le feu parla et sans...
****
Comme des astres scintillant sur nos têtes,
Le grondement qui nous aura poursuivis,
Par vals et monts jusqu'à nos dernières fêtes.
J'ai retrouvé la lueur qui m'a ravi
Dans un univers de blizzards et de glace.
Sur le seuil de l'éveil je reviens, hanté
D'une musique sans pitié pour tenace
Renaître en toi l'inaccessible - beauté.
Michel Galiana, 27 december 2011
Slumbering peaks
Slumbering peaks deep in our hearts,
Crystals that no flights ever touch,
You are impassable hindrance.
And storms raised by far histories
Do not roar on these boundaries
Where music is supreme silence.
But if the temples' crashing down,
And for a love lost wail and moan
Sometimes furrow this silent spell
Never may they eagles compel
Their silent hovering to bend
That no arrow ever attained.
I have dived where your image slept
And crunched underfoot clinkers left
By happiness. And the remorse
At having failed to seize my bliss
And left smile vanish from your lips
Subsided as did memories
Of you. But I shall never wean
My throat off the now dried up stream.
Les cimes dorment
Les cimes dorment au fond du coeur
Cristal que n'effleurent pas les fuites
Inaccessibles,
Et les tornades des histoires lointaines
Ne retentissent pas à ces confins
Où la musique est suprême silence.
Mais si le fracas des temples écroulés
Et la plainte de l'amour perdu
Sillonnent parfois ces silences,
Ils n'effleurent pas même la paix.
L'aigle plane, inaccédé,
Et nulle flêche ne trouble
Son vertige.
J'ai plongé où dormait ton image.
Les scories du bonheur s'écrasaient sous mes pieds,
Le remord de n'avoir su être heureux,
Celui de ton sourire éteint
S'effaçaient à leur tour come ton souvenir.
Mais rien ne pourra apaiser la soif
De cette coupe où nous ne sumes boire.
Michel Galiana, 10 december 2011
Alphabet
A brightly coloured day encouraging freely
Great hordes in joyfully knowable lavishness
May not order people queer rogues so to undress
Without xenophobic yesterday's zealotry.
Astres, brutes chaussées d'effrois, frêles granules,
Hautains, incendiez, joyaux, kriss lumineux,
Mais n'osez pas que rois souterrains, ténébreux,
Ululant vers wadi, xènes y zinzinulent!
Michel Galiana, 9 december 2011
Crystal body
To become a mirror. New meanings to contrive.
May the song that you raised become both source and path;
A flawed Aldebaran of closing walls deprived;
A boundless flight sketching in the face of the wraith
Who surrounded your rest, your sense, with your own fire.
A sphere changed to hub distorts your memory.
Can the wing be the point whence tears itself the cry?
Inmost depths where the scroll unrolls transparency,
A forbidden knowledge where the world is inscribed.
Stubbornly breaking waves shall dispose of your spears,
And your beacon's glitter shall sink into this jail,
Sheer radiance, your final display at last appears.
A diamond shall tip the restless, wobbling scales.
Sparkles shall blind your eyes. Silence shall numb your ears.
Corps de cristal
Devenir le miroir. Réinventer le sens.
Le chant que tu levas deviendra source, sente,
Aldebaran fautive où les murs sont absents.
Un vol illimité dessinera l'absente
Qui cerne de tes feux tes haltes et tes sens.
Une sphère en moyeux agence ta mémoire.
L'aile est-elle le point d'où s'arrache le cri?
Transparence, au tréfonds déroule le grimoire.
Un savoir interdit où le monde s'inscrit.
L'onde en bris renoué dispersera ta lance
Et lueur, en l'éclat englouti, ton fanal,
Le seul rayonnement formera ton final.
Le diamant immobilisera la balance.
Eblouissement. Scintillation. Silence.
Michel Galiana, 8 december 2011
Stone slab
I was caught in a whirl, with loud shouts and drum rolls,
Flags streaming in the wind, delirious prophecies,
Squirting blood... Suddenly, from their feasts I was torn
And fell into rest which ignores time and worries.
I shut a crystal door on my new peacefulness.
Once the tumult had ceased, I was god, though vanquished
I saw how wings fluttered high above my recess,
But nothing would upset now my secluded bliss.
And a stubborn repose limits my violence.
I don't know if I am a dream or a soldier,
Nor the place of the fight causing my hesitance,
Nor shall I know under whose standard and order
I fought, the day I'll throw away helmet, shield, lance
And flee this rubbish fray for a bed of silence.
Stele
Un tourbillon m'a pris. Eclats, tambours battants,
Pavillons claquetant, délires de prophètes,
Sang giclant, quand soudain arraché à leur fêtes
Je chus dans ce repos qui ne connaît de temps.
Le cristal sur ma paix referma ses battants.
Le tumulte apaisé, je fus ciel et défaite.
Je voyais s'agiter des ailes sur mes faîtes,
Mais rien ne dérangeait mes lointains éclatants.
Un sommeil obstiné borne ma violence.
J'ignore si je suis le songe ou le soudard,
Où se tient ce conflit qui m'habite et balance
Et je n'aurai connu quel fut mon étendard
Quand je déserterai, jetant casque, écu, lance,
Ce combat de copeaux sur un lit de silence.
Michel Galiana, 2 december 2011
Plea of darkness
Your face, mirrored, shows you what my own face is like,
But hides your secret pain, and what for in my night
I exude and secrete my chant and my venom.
On the quiet looking glass my mould will hold and shape
The shadow you fancied was there your self to ape
And it proved the ghost right whom you called a demon.
When you'll set to decline a storm will be rising,
A last whirlwind will shake the uppermost roofing
Of the stronghold which you imagined to have built.
Crushed timber, ruined pillars will your decay proclaim.
As a harsh usurer, I'll insist on my claim.
No one may go to court who ignores law and bill.
I bought your eloquence from taciturnity,
Taught you the dawning day, the flowers, the dainty
Dance of the little girl in her garden who sprouts:
Which judge could then deny that you're to me in debt?
In night nuggets the weight of feasts must be repaid
And once judgment is passed, appeal must be shut out.
Over yonder, heralds shall proclaim the sentence.
Onto the trees bailiffs shall nail the penitence
And to escape from gibe and from your punishment,
Hunted by alien glee, rejected from all dance,
You shall take refuge in my preserve of silence
Where your days may be spent as a mere entombment.
Plaidoyer de l'ombre
Tes visages mirés t'enseignent mon visage,
Mais non ton mal secret, mais non pour quel usage
Je distille en ma nuit mes chants et mes poisons.
Ma forme au tain qui dort hèle, fixe et façonne
Le reflet que tu crus ton compagnon et donne
Au fantôme que tu nommais larve, raison.
Lorsque sur ton déclin montera la tempête,
Un dernier tourbillon ébranlera le faîte
Du palais que pour toi tu crus bâtir. Les bois
Rompus, les piliers chus diront ta déchéance.
Tenace usurier, j'invoque ma créance.
Or, nul ne peut plaider s'il ignore les lois.
Pour avoir acheté ta parole au silence,
Pour t'avoir enseigné, l'aube, les fleurs, la danse
De la fille au jardin lorsque germe le sang,
Quel juge à mon égard pourra nier ta dette?
En pépites de nuits, je veux le poids des fêtes
Et que l'arrêt rendu, l'appel soit impuissant.
Outre rive, un héraut clamera la sentence.
Aux arbres le recors clouera ta pénitence
Et pour n'ouïr ta peine et le rire qui ment,
Traqué par tout bonheur, chassé de toute danse,
Tu gagneras mon fief encerclé de silence
Pour que tes jours ne soient qu'un engloutissement.
Michel Galiana, 30 november 2011
The Moray
Under the old fort's walls flashes past the moray.
Its fair body is tanned by the salt and the sun.
Did sun light upset you where reaches no more ray
Or some fit of fever prompt you to this rash run?
Buccaneers once looted there where dwelt the moray.
One might the craggy cliffs climb up to their fortress.
But to sap walls of hate who would go on foray,
With a kiss force open this white enamelled mass?
Oblivion now covers the realm of the moray
And mere silt ebbs and flows watched by rusty bombards.
A skull on a pale in no mood for amore
Challenges my banners, my flags and my standards.
LA MURENE
Sous les remparts -éclair- cingle la murène,
Beau corps bruni par le sel et le soleil.
Est-ce au soleil faute si je te mus reine
Ou d'un appel à quelque fièvre pareil.
Le boucanier pillait où fut la murène
De ses fortins escalader les redans.
Mais quel piton pour jeter bas ce mur haine,
Planter la langue au blanc massif de ces dents?
A pris l'oubli la cité de la murène.
La vase bat sous la garde des canons.
Au pic brandi tournoie un chef, hure haine,
Pour remplacer mes bannières et pennons.
Michel Galiana, 29 november 2011
Age
You have surged from my deepest night
But it's night that swells your bosom
An echo follows the faint light
Are you that star that took to flight
Or the herdsman who goads it on
The Ports of the Levant of love
Are the marks on my roundabout
Way to mystery. I must rove
Endlessly but I shall disclose
The sunny side of the dark route
Unswerving like a torpedo
Or a sword pointing to the breast
Well you know the straight way to go
And you topple in vertigo
What lying lips strove to erect
Lost with all arms lost with all hands
I sunk in this Sargasso sea
And was left fully despondent
In long uncalled-for retirement
And ever interrupted sleep
My fair angel and conqueress
You have pierced my heart with your lance
I fell with helmet, and fight dress
And on my bare loneliness
Opens the thick gate of silence
Vieillesse
Tu me viens du fond de ma nuit
Mais la nuit gonfle ta poitrine
Echo poursuit lueur qui fuit
Es-tu cette étoile qui luit
Ou le bouvier qui l'assassine
Par les échelles de l'amour
Je connaîtrai l'autre mystère
La sentence est de non retour
Les ténèbres sont-elles jour
De l'autre côté de la terre
Comme la mine vers l'aimant
Comme l'épée vers la poitrine
Tu sais le chemin qui ne ment
Et couronnes d'ébranlement
Le choc des lèvres assassines
A corps battant à corps perdu
J'ai sombré aux flots des Sargasses
Et désormais rien ne m'est plus
Qu'un long repos inattendu
Qu'un sommeil qui ne soit fugace
Le bel ange qui m'a vaincu
M'a percé le coeur de sa lance
J'ai roulé casque arçon écu
Et sur moi s'ouvre seul et nu
La lourde porte du silence
Michel Galiana, 28 november 2011
Memory
As years go by my tongue refrains
But unscathed is my memory.
One stem, hundred redundant drains
That drive on the sap it contains
Keep reviving my history
To the rock shrivelled by old age
Abandoned to love I was tied
And felt pains nothing could assuage
Till contemptible past was chased
Out by magic spells of a child
Phoenix who dies when you revive
Be alternately weal and woe
Blood-red flowers be hoards for hives
And may, rekindled, soar and thrive
The captive fire that's still aglow
A fire with no outset nor end
Keeps ablaze our innermost dreams
It would be a swindler's attempt
To set a limit to our trend
On shores that are but empty scenes
Smouldering flames be encouraged
They're wings that will once take away
The birds striving from age to age
To swap their abject caged bondage
For the hazards of liberty
Souvenir
Si les ans ont glacé les mots
Ils n'ont aboli ma mémoire
Un seul tronc pour mille rameaux
Et la sève en essors gémeaux
A réanimé mon histoire
Sur le vieux rocher racorni
A l'amour livré sans défense
D'où tous repos furent bannis
Ont chassé le passé honni
Les sortilèges de l'enfance
Phénix qui meure en renaissant
Sois tour à tour bonheur et peine
Ouvre l'abeille aux fleurs de sang
Et que surgisse plus puissant
Le feu qui dormait sous le pêne
Un feu qui n'a germe ni fin
Habite aux gîtes de nos rêves
Et ce sont ruses d'aigrefin
De renommer termes et fins
Ces vains pays que sont nos grèves
Flamme couvant aux coeurs tapis
Est aile pour la délivrance
De l'oiseau qui n'a de répits
Qu'il n'ait d'âge en âge repris
Sa liberté dans la souffrance
Michel Galiana, 26 november 2011
Passion
Safe shipwreck body lithe and fair
Is there a ship that would not stray
In the placid net of her hair
In the still maelstrom of her glare
Or on the mouth of my moray
A cry bursts forth whence rises flesh
And it exposed solitude
A choicer and wilier dish
Than were the dead men and the fish
On which used to feed her quietude
Subtle eater you should follow
Me and be my hail and my woe
Recall to me the ancient law
Of which I'll stand anew in awe
To be fully present to you
Passion
Naufrage sûr corps onduleux
Est-il vaisseau qui ne se prenne
Au rets serein de ses cheveux
Au maelström calme de ses yeux
A la bouche de ma murène
Le cri jailli d'où naît le corps
A révélé la solitude
Mets plus suave et plus retors
Que les poissons ou que les morts
Qui nourrissaient sa quiétude
Subtil mangeur retrouve moi
Sois mon salut et mon supplice
Rappelle moi l'antique loi
Et que redevienne effroi
Où ma présence s'accomplisse
Michel Galiana, 20 november 2011
Fear
This place where instant does not cease
Is an unchanging stage setting
Made up of rock of pearl of freeze
Where a deathless drama proceeds
Titled refusal of living
Where lily knows not of decay
Of perfume of bees of struggle
That ends when all is charred away
Of hunger's wondrous display
Of ponderousness and tumble
Into a rock is turned the stream
And for having scorned to travel
The tale prince who preferred to dream
Was laid alive as dead he seemed
Forever on bier and trestles
To dig out the grotto of song
There's no need of killing all pains
Of letting the god run among
Fields that he'll make barren and wrong
Worse than wealth that from trance refrains
Any fire is doomed to be gem
Henceforth anyone's lip is dead
Whose wandering has reached its term
And his tear to pearl shall be turned
That could be raging gale instead
HANTISE
L'instant n'aborde pas ce port
Mais le roc la perle le givre
Dressent l'immuable décor
Où jouer le drame sans mort
Dont le titre est refus de vivre
Le lys ignore le déclin
Le parfum l'abeille la lutte
L'envol qui fut flammes et fin
Les sortilèges de la faim
L'abandon grave de la chute
En rocher se fige le vent
Et par son dédain du voyage
Gagne le prince au bois rêvant
Le lit grabat du mort vivant
Où ne saurait l'éveiller l'âge
Pour forer la grotte du chant
Faut-il tuer toute souffrance
Faut-il au dieu livrer le champ
Stérile plus et plus méchant
Que l'or où se fige la transe
Etre gemme est destin du feu
Désormais toute lèvre est morte
Pour qui gagne le port de dieu
Et son pleur sera perle au lieu
D'être le vent brisant la porte
Michel Galiana, 19 november 2011
Silence
We lived together hours that know
Of nothing but words and semblance
We told of things of long ago
The word that surged from far below
Shunned even cautious utterance
T' was with love a deceitful game
Whereby silence was our joker
We felt on our hearts rise a flame
Forgetful of bond and of shame
That lust stirred up like a poker
Teeth are an enamelled barrier
Protecting better than a host
The hoard where words fit together
We were to twin stars similar,
To each other so near but lost
To reach the point where the nights spring
And bore the well where rises pain
Our silence was both drill and sink
Unsated lust from us fleeing
Opened to us wood and fountain
And opened the cradle of silt
That leaves an escapist hopeless
For nowhere there but on the hill
Does seed sprout in the soil we till
When sowing grains of loneliness
SILENCE
Nous n'avons connu que le temps
Des paroles et des visages
Nos souvenirs furent d'antan
Mais le mot qui nous fut latent
Déserta nos lèvres trop sages
Au poker de l'amour trompeur
Le joker fut notre silence
Par delà la berge et la peur
Le soleil montait sur nos coeurs
Où le désir plongeait sa lance
Une barricade d'émaux
Garde mieux que char et cornettes
La grotte où s'agencent les mots
Nous fumes ces astres jumeaux
Qui se guettent et ne se quêtent
Pour gagner la source des nuits
Pour forer la source des peines
Le silence fut pic et puits
Et le long désir qui nous fuit
Ouvrit le bois et la fontaine
Ouvrit le berceau des limons
D'où ne s'évadera Latude
Car ne germera que le mont
Sur cette terre où nous semons
La semence des solitudes
Michel Galiana, 14 november 2011
Wooing dispute in Brittany
- To you all in this house, good day!
I'm glad you are so gay
And clothed so fashionably.
My beating heart has said to me
I could by no means pass by here
Without a word of cheer. (twice)
- Your greetings be requited to
Your relatives and you!
Your honest words and, as we spy,
The mischievous gleam in your eye
Are a harbinger of good news.
Don't protest! It's no use!
- We look for a dove we had got.
Hurt by a hunter's shot,
That has torn her left wing so white
She could not afford a long flight
And we were told that it was here
That fell our dove so dear.
- If you are in quest of a dove,
To the manor do rove!
For our fields here will not disclose
Other birds than magpies and crows.
I suspect a lie of some kind:
You've something else in mind.
- That's a fine herb I'm looking for
To plant before my door.
'Gainst injuries a remedy
Caused by Love's archery
I was advised yesterday night:
To search here. Is that right?
- The bloom you covet, the lily
Now has left. Woe is me!
In a convent in Quimperlé,
It glorifies God, night and day,
Heaven's roses are not so fair.
It is beyond compare.
- You lie again. That is not true.
God created the yew
To decorate a cemetery.
For flower beds is the lily,
And Nancy was made to rejoice
The man of her own choice.
- Like the dewdrops upon the sprig
Are the words of a prig!
And they are oozing through the door,
Honey on a throat that is sore!
Fulfill your task, we break the ban.
Now, come right in, young man!
Dispute pour demander une jeune fille en mariage
- Bonjour à vous en ce logis!
Je vous vois l'air réjoui,
Vêtus de vos plus beaux atours.
Mon coeur qui bat dit qu'à mon tour
Je ne pourrai passer ici
Sans saluer mes amis. (bis)
- Nous vous saluons pareillement,
Ainsi que vos parents.
Ces mots polis à notre égard,
Le doux éclair de vos regards:
La nouvelle est bonne, je crois
Que vous avez pour moi.
- Notre blanche colombe, hélas,
Blessée ne revient pas.
Son aile gauche est fracassée.
Elle ne peut voler, blessée.
On l'a vue, c'est ce qu'on nous dit,
Venir tomber ici.
- Des colombes? Allez-donc voir
S'il en est au manoir!
Sur nos terres et nos coteaux,
Il n'y a que pies et corbeaux.
Mais, m'est avis que vous mentez
Sur ce vous cherchez.
- Je cherche une herbe pour planter
Dedans mon jardinet.
Un remède contre des plaies
Qu'Amour et son arc ont causées.
J'en trouverai, m'assure-t-on,
Ici, dans la maison.
- La fleur de lys tant convoitée
Hélas! s'en est-allée!
On dit qu'elle est à Quimperlé
Et loue Dieu dans un prieuré.
Plus belle que la rose qui
Fleurit au Paradis.
- Je ne crois rien de tout cela.
Je sais que Dieu créa
L'if pour orner le cimetière,
Le lis pour orner les parterres,
Annette pour que soit réjoui
Le cœur d'un bon mari.
Comme les prés sont, de rosée,
Vos paroles perlées,
Elles passent à travers l'huis
Comme le miel dans du pain-bis...
Venez finir votre mission!
Entrez, mais entrez-donc!"
Both the French and the English version are translated from a Breton folk song
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Michel Galiana, 9 november 2011
A prince
I am the fallen Prince of a haughty kingdom.
Deprived of my song, not of my memory,
Books read by candlelight, that's how my days drag on
And I recall the dawn of my proud ancestry.
Where my shadow has passed I claim to have my gods.
All I performed in dream makes up my history
I shall not swap my void for your shimmering words,
Being flesh does not prevent your lapse of memory.
If I sometimes regret, on my lonely errands,
That I may no longer lead with cross and banners
From illusive Ilium to Thule glorious bands,
Absence and refusal are my sole blazoners,
I'm proud never to have yielded to conquerors
And my fame is spreading over thriving moorlands.
LE PRINCE
Je suis prince, déchu d'un royaume orgueilleux.
Exilé de mon chant, mais non de ma mémoire,
Je prolonge mes jours en clarté de grimoire
Et garde en souvenir l'aube de mes aîeux.
Où mon ombre passa, je tiens que sont mes dieux.
Mon seul rêve accompli compose mon histoire,
N'abdiquant mon néant pour vos reflets de moire,
Vous qui pour être chair pensez n'être oublieux.
Si le regret parfois m'obsède sur mes landes
De ne plus entraîner avec croix et pennon
D'illusoire Ilion en Thulé gloire et bandes,
En absence et refus je place mon renom,
Mon orgueil au vainqueur d'avoir fait le grand non-
Et ma légende règne où fleurissent les brandes.
Michel Galiana, 6 november 2011
Watchman's song
If my horn keeps hailing the woods, the brooks, the heights,
Loftier elation my soul illuminates:
I lead, shaking themselves, the horsemen of the wind.
Riding, I consider the run of the living.
Begone, chunks of plaster and ancillary mobs!
Come on, crush the living, their towns, ignore their sobs!
No more ivy my brow, no more shackle shall snare
My feet! May endless night engulf my fiery mares!
With ladder and echo the horn extends its range.
Yet whispered words are winged when into nights they plunge.
To bend a studious brow when too great are the odds?
I despise such designs as parody the gods.
Dream, where, of all my jails, I chose to be immured.
The heavier ball and chain, the keener my pleasure.
Who, but you, has lulled me and freed me from the laws
Which, as the blinded days go by, pile up their flaws?
Night, your opacity be to me but a dirge.
I call for the Circe whose soul with my soul merge.
Your bulk engulfs me in a maze of stars, of strains.
I'm intoxicated. Sing guitars! Horn, refrain!
LE CHANT DU GARDIEN
Mon cor hèle les bois, les sources et les cimes,
Mais mon âme plus haut s'enivre, s'illumine.
Je mène s'ébrouer les cavaliers du vent.
Je chevauche et connais la course des vivants.
Ni la cour de plâtras, ni la troupe servile!
Ecrasez les vivants! Annihilez les villes!
Plus de lierre à mon front! Plus de fer à mes pieds!
La nuit, l'inépuisable, engouffre mes coursiers!
Par l'échelle et l'écho, le bois se renouvelle.
Le verbe sans héraut aux nuits se plonge et s'aile.
Qui pèsera son vol sur un front studieux?
Non! Plus de ces desseins parodiant des dieux!
Rêve, je t'ai choisi parmi toutes mes chaînes,
Car, plus lourd, ton boulet me ravit et m'entraîne.
N'est-ce toi qui me berces et m'abstrais des lois
Dont les jours aveuglés accumulent le poids?
Nuit, l'opaque, pour moi ne sois plus rien qu'un thrène.
J'appelle la Circé dont mon âme s'éprenne.
La masse m'engloutit d'étoiles et d'accords.
Je suis ivre. Chantez, guitares! Flambe, cor!
Michel Galiana, 5 november 2011
Cat and bird
The flight which you suspend haunts your quivering fur,
Echo of wings by some caprice strayed from the sky.
As you feel you could not follow the flight you spy,
Your buried bound is dream, expectation, anger.
Block similar to rest, rock wherein hides the claw
And that mirrors the bird through a golden window,
Stubborn death on the watch that is your death's fellow.
A spring will suddenly dash the hook on the flight.
Wedding, where love was crowned by a subtle lover.
It's in vain that the bird strives the day to regain.
A paw of lead caresses it and will retain
In its wing such a keen and tenacious pleasure
That its soaring, crushed, ends in a grave of feather.
LE CHAT ET L'OISEAU
Le vol que tu suspends habite ton pelage,
Echo d'aile qu'au sol un caprice égara,
Et ne pouvant suivre l'essor que tu flairas
Ton jet enseveli est songe, attente, rage.
Bloc pareil au repos, pierre où la griffe dort,
Miroir mimant l'oiseau par sa lucarne d'or,
Mort à guetter tenace et semblable à ta mort,
Un ressort abattra le croc sur le volage.
Noces! L'amant subtil a couronné l'amour.
C'est en vain que l'oiseau veut regagner le jour.
Une patte de plomb le caresse et allume
En son aile un plaisir si tenace et si lourd
Que son envol brisé revêt tombeau de plumes.
Michel Galiana, 4 november 2011
Persephone
Your dream throughout the room where a honey bee hums
Progresses. And time sleeps. An apple that perfumes
Of dozing orchards in willow baskets gathers.
The carpet is designed by the unspoiled summers.
You sing. On your forehead, playfully, shade and shine.
Pass and rhythm and peace their numbers intertwine.
In your voice two rival realms compete and unite,
Persephone, who knows of awe-inspiring woods,
Of terror of midday, of dismal sets of roots...
In silence my forehead bends, benumbed with night.
Ton songe par la chambre où bourdonne une abeille
Avance. Le temps dort. Une pomme, aux corbeilles
Recueille les parfums du verger assoupi.
L'été, l'incorrompu, compose le tapis.
Tu chantes. Sur ton front jouent et passent les ombres.
Le rythme et le repos entrelacent leurs nombres.
Deux royaumes rivaux s'unissent en ta voix,
Perséphone, et tu sais, l'obsession des bois,
La terreur de midi, les racines funèbres.
Mon front sourdement ploie, alourdi de ténèbres.
Latest comments:
27 april 2024
kb
hm tutaj pokazano niejako wprost sprawcę światła.
27 april 2024
sufit, uśmiech i barany... no tak to jest, sama
27 april 2024
"wszystkie modlitwy wymyślili grzesznicy"
27 april 2024
social-real. bardzo fajnie ujęte
26 april 2024
jeśli tylko
właśnie :)
26 april 2024
Adam Pietras (Barry Kant)
Dzięki, Violetta!
25 april 2024
violetta
Dziękuję:)
25 april 2024
Bociany są takie ufne:)
25 april 2024
Yaro
Bardzo kobiecy wiersz:) Pozdrawiam:)
25 april 2024
Bardzo prawdziwe słowa.
25 april 2024
eyesOFsoul
A nawet mniej.
25 april 2024
Piękne:)
27 april 2024
Satish Verma
26 april 2024
wiesiek
26 april 2024
Satish Verma
25 april 2024
wiesiek
25 april 2024
Satish Verma
24 april 2024
Satish Verma
23 april 2024
Adam Pietras (Barry Kant)
22 april 2024
Satish Verma
21 april 2024
sam53
21 april 2024
wiesiek