Occitan poetry 980-2006 by Joan-Frederic Brun
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A T R A V E R S R E G A S | |||||
Jonhèm nòstres còsses coma los meus jonhián lors parelhs pacientosament e sens espers de meissons immediatas. Lauram - semenam. Nòstres ventres son mostes coma las aradas de novembre. Pr' aquò, ni fumarlas ni aubieiradas - puslèu -, la pluèja cauda d'agost - Calimasses. Desrastolham. Relha benfasenta dins la gleba tebesa. Nòstras mans aponhadan lo gran de las semenadas estèrlas. Cossí nos carram nosautres dins la tèrra umorosa de nòstras cubèrtas personalas! |
We unite our bodies as mine used to bind their oxen, patiently and with no hope of immediate harvests. We plow - we sow. Our bellies are wet like ploughings of November. However, neither fogs, nor hoar frosts. But rather the hot rain of August. Heat waves. We plough the stubble. Salutary ploughshare in the tepid ground. Our hands take by handles the grain of sterile sowing. We're so happy in the ground more and more wetted by our own ploughing and sowing. |
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