(no subject)
For wandering Stephen
Untitled, from the Catalan
Sol, i de dol, i amb vetusta gonella,
em veig sovint per fosques solituds,
En prats ignots i munts de llicorella
I gorgs pregons que m'aturen, astuts.
I dic: On só? Per quina terra vella,
-Per quin cel mort-, o pasturatges muts,
Deleges foll? Vers quina meravella
D'astre ignorat m'adreç passos retuts?
Sol, sóc etern. M'és present el paisatge
De fa mil anys, l'estrany no m'és estrany:
Jo m'hi sent nat; i en desert sense estany
O en tuc de neu, jo retrob el paratge
On ja vaguí, i, de Déu, el parany
Per heure'm tot. O del diable engany.
*****
Alone, and in mourning, garbed in black,
I have these visions of myself in dark solitudes,
in pastures unknown or on slopes of stone,
stopped in my tracks beside pools whose depths astound.
Where am I? I ask myself. What ancient landscape,
what dead sky, which silent meads,
do I foolishly seek? Towards which miracle
of a long-lost star do my familiar steps lead?
Alone, I am eternal. A thousand-year old terrain
entices me, what was strange is no longer strange,
I was born to this place; desert without oasis
or snow-capped peak, here I rediscover where
I have wandered already, and, from God, a legacy
I can make mine. Or, how to fall to the devil's design.
--J.V. Foix
Untitled, from the Catalan
Sol, i de dol, i amb vetusta gonella,
em veig sovint per fosques solituds,
En prats ignots i munts de llicorella
I gorgs pregons que m'aturen, astuts.
I dic: On só? Per quina terra vella,
-Per quin cel mort-, o pasturatges muts,
Deleges foll? Vers quina meravella
D'astre ignorat m'adreç passos retuts?
Sol, sóc etern. M'és present el paisatge
De fa mil anys, l'estrany no m'és estrany:
Jo m'hi sent nat; i en desert sense estany
O en tuc de neu, jo retrob el paratge
On ja vaguí, i, de Déu, el parany
Per heure'm tot. O del diable engany.
*****
Alone, and in mourning, garbed in black,
I have these visions of myself in dark solitudes,
in pastures unknown or on slopes of stone,
stopped in my tracks beside pools whose depths astound.
Where am I? I ask myself. What ancient landscape,
what dead sky, which silent meads,
do I foolishly seek? Towards which miracle
of a long-lost star do my familiar steps lead?
Alone, I am eternal. A thousand-year old terrain
entices me, what was strange is no longer strange,
I was born to this place; desert without oasis
or snow-capped peak, here I rediscover where
I have wandered already, and, from God, a legacy
I can make mine. Or, how to fall to the devil's design.
--J.V. Foix