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Louisa Paulin was born in Réalmont on December 2, 1888 and
became in October 1904, a student in the training school of teachers at
Albi. This quiet girl, somewhat secret, started thus to teach in
1907, in modest rural schools of the Tarn. In 1908, an enthusiastic
marriage is followed soon by a divorce.
She will remain 18 years teacher in the Limousin, leaving to her pupils an imperishable memory. After she retired, while she was only 44 years old, she went back to Réalmont, rediscovering the magic paths of her childhood. And that was the time she started writing in Occitan... “Occitan, she said, allows a new form of culture... I know Occitan by instinct, since I have spoken it until I was 7 years old. It's a superb language, with an incredible richness and flexibility. It's the very language of poetry”
Most of her literary creation was thus performed in the period 1934 - 1944, before she deceased from a dreadful disease, which at its beginning stoled her the ability to see... and then, for several years, with her mind only open to invisible reality, she dictated poems to her friends... Her poems, full of exquisite sensitivity, seem nothing else. They are short, full of lightness and emotion. They are most of the time forgotten by all academic overlooks of modern Occcitan poetry. Yet, their popularity among lovers of Occitan language has never decreased, and Loïsa is still one of the most famous and beloved Occitan poets of the XXth century...
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| Joana d'Aimé! Anuèit, me cantes pas, anuèit, Loïsa Paulin, Direm pas a la nòstra nena,
Enèrgas, ed. Vent Terral, 1984 (segonda edicion 1992). |
Aimé's
daughter Jean
Tonight, don't sing for me, tonight, Loïsa Paulin.
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| Rossinholet Rossinholet,
Loïsa Paulin, Direm pas a la nòstra nena,
Enèrgas, ed. Vent Terral, 1984 (segonda edicion 1992). |
Little nightingale
Little nightingale, Loïsa Paulin. |
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Fuèlha perduda Res es trist al treslús coma una fulhòta perduda, Loïsa Paulin, Direm pas a la nòstra nena, Enèrgas, ed. Vent Terral, 1984 (segonda edicion 1992). |
Lost leaf Nothing is
so sad at twilight as a little Loïsa Paulin.
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Fum
Non, non, anuèit vòli fugir l'ostal !
Vòli lo fial de fum que s'estira suls
camps
quand lo lauraire aluca un fuòc d'erbassas.
Ò fial de fum, vèni ligar un raive,
un raive que m'escapa
- coma tu, fial de fum -
per fugir cap a las estelas.
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Smoke No, no, tonight I want to flee the house ! Loïsa Paulin.
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Airolet
Cantoneja
l'aigueta,
l'aigueta
risoleta,
perque
sap pas ony va.
O
podèm pas li dire,
que
l'ausiriàm mai rire,
mai
rire e mai cantar.
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The
running water’s singing
It’s
laughing water, running
Away
it knows not where.
We
mustn’t ever tell it
Or
we’d no longer hear it
Laughing
without a
Loïsa Paulin.
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Cançon
del silenci
Vèni, ausirem, anuèit, la Cançon del
silenci,
la cançon que comença,
quand s'escantís, la nuèit, lo cant
del rossinhòl;
la cançon que s'ausís al doç cresc de
l'erbeta,
la cançon de l'aigueta
que se pausa, un moment, al rebat d'un
ramèl;
la cançon de la branca
que fernís e que dança
desliurada del pes amorós d'un aucèl;
la secrèta cançon breçant l'ombra
blavenca
del liri còrfondut de promessa maienca,
qu'espèra, per florir, un signe de
l'azur.
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The song of the silence
Come, we'll listen tonight to the song of the silence
the song that begins
when the nightingale's singing fades
into the dark
the song that we hear in the grass's
soft growing
the song of the flowing
of water that pauses to mirror a twig
the song of the branch
as it quivers and dances
once freed from the amorous weight of a
lark;
the secret song rocking the blue shadow
cast
by the lily so full of spring promise it
swoons
as it waits for a sign from the clear
sky, to bloom
Loïsa Paulin. .
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Silenci
de l'auton
Silenci de l'auton quand lo vent s'es
pausat
doç coma una pluma de palomba
escapada de la negra man del caçaire.
Silenci saure de l'auton
ont s'ausís la darrièra vèspa
e lo mai escondut al plus prigond del còr.
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Autumn silence Autumn silence when the wind has dropped
as soft as a dove's feather
fluttering out of the huntsman's black
hand
Blond autumn silence
when the last wasp can be heard,
and the deepest secrets of the heart.
Loïsa Paulin.
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| see the website specially devoted to Loïsa | |||||
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