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Occitan poetry 980-2006 by Joan-Frederic Brun
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Ò mon amor tras l'amaror dau temps t'espeliriás dins la grisor mofleta coma lo fugidís rodam dels ivèrns tinda en l'espessor fernissenta la suauda mauvolença de l'aiganha lo viure encimerlat d'abséncia se reflectís dins la tafa de la nèu
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- Oh! my love, beyond the taste of bitterness of time, you would spread out in the soft greyness, like the fleeing wheel of winters. In the quivering thickness tinkles the suave perversity of dew. Life, capped with absence, is mirrored in the whiteness of snow. |
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Lo mistèri de las fadas es tanben mistèri de l'imois au mitan de la sequièira. Pus naut que los pendisses de ròcas blanquinosas, país de la set sens escapa, i a de tèrras roginèlas ont l'aiga demòra longtemps quand a plogut. Aicí butan d'autras èrbas, aicí bresilha l'insectona, aicí cantan los aucèls. Aicí dançan elas quand lo temps es incèrt e marca la tronada. Dança miraclosa que totescàs se vei dins la lutz leugièira, coma un fremiment de nivolina. |
The mystery of fairies is also a mystery of moisture in the heart of dryness. Higher than cliffs of bleached rocks, the country of inescapable thirst, lay reddish soils where water remains for a long time after rain. There other grasses grow, insects buzz, birds sing. There they whirl, when the weather becomes uncertain and announces storms. An amazing dance that one can imperceptibly make out in the gentle daylight, like a quivering of mist. | ||||||
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Lo bèl estiu sens finida ni tèrme se resclaus sus son ànsia d'existir ges d'endeman ne despampa la brelha tot es silenci tosc e bleuja
abséncia! çai vòle demorar
sus la margina dau temps crudèl que chapa los espèrs e rosega lo frau de la jovença çai vòle estar enchichorlat de lutz lo caumanhàs descamina los crèires e dissòuv l'immanéncia dau voler sola remanh l'impossibla oblidança dins lo clarum immobil de la set se refai lo silenci embelinaire ont tot i trai, lo rire e la
dolor. |
The
beautiful and totally endless summer, is
closed again over its anguish of being, and
there is no future unfoiling its fibers, all
is moist silence and dazzling absence!
Here
I want to remain, on the margin of
the cruel time devourer of hopes
and
corrode the proud dash of youth, Here
do I wish to stay, inebriated of light.
Hot
summer days make dubious the ways of belief and
dissolve the immanence of will: only
remains the impossible forgetting in
the motionless limpidity of thirst is
rebuilt the bewitching silence, and
all leads there, laughter, as well as pain.
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