Posts Tagged ‘Joaquín Rodrigo’

SANT FRANCESC I LA CIGALA / SAINT FRANCIS AND THE CICADA (JOAQUÍN RODRIGO)

Abril 11, 2010

Text de: Jacint Verdaguer

Original Català

Lo convent és tan petit
que una serment l’engarlanda,
on un dia al pic del sol
s’ou cantar una cigala.
Zigaluzet.

Ja li crida San Francesc:
— Vine, vine, oh ma germana;
vine i canta una cançó
al bon Déu que t’ha criada.
Zigaluzet.

La cigala no fa el sort,
sobre sos dits se posava,
I canta que cantarás
la cançó de l’estiuada.
Zigaluzet.

Cada dia al dematí
brunzidora redevalla.
Quan vuit dies són passats
ja li diu tot amoixant-la.
Zigaluzet.

Cigaló, bon cigaló,
t’hem sentit una vuitada;
on Déu te vulla ara ves
a puntejar la guitarra.
Zigaluzet.

Traducció a l’anglès – English Translation

The monastery is so small
that a single vine engarlands it,
there, in the heat of midday
the song of a cicada could be heard.
Zigaluzet.

Saint Francis begged to it:
— Come, come, oh my sister;
come and sing a song
to the good Lord that created you.
Zigaluzet.

The cicada didn’t turn a deaf ear
alighted on his fingers,
and sang incessantly
the song of summer
Zigaluzet.

Every morning,
whirring, returns.
When, after eight days passed
praising it, he says.
Zigaluzet.

Cicada, good cicada,
for an octave, we have heard you;
now go where the Lord wishes
to pluck the guitar.
Zigaluzet.

 

Per escoltar la cançó aneu a l’enllaç:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mh4O2oktEmw

Anuncis

CANCÓ DEL TEULADÍ / SONG OF THE SPARROW (Joaquín Rodrigo)

gener 12, 2010

 

 Text de: Teodoro Llorente

Original Català

Joyos cassador, passa;
Busca mes brava cassa
I deixam quiet a mí,
Jo soch l’amich de casa,
Jo soch lo teuladí.

Jo no tinch la ploma de la cadernera
Que d’or i de grana tiny la primavera;
No tinch la veu dolça que te ‘l rossinyol;
Ni de l’oroneta joliva i lleugera
Les ales que creuen la mar d’un sol vol.
De parda estamenya, sens flors, sense llistes,
Vestit pobre duch;
Mes penes i glories, alegres o tristes,
Les cante com puch.

Les aligues niuen damunt de la roca
Del gorch qu’entre timbes aizampla la boca;
En branca fullosa lo viu passarell;
La tórtora en l’arbre que ja obrí la soca,
La gralla en els runes d’enfonsat castell.
Jo al home confie la meua niuada,
I pobre i panruch,
Entre la familia, baix de la teulada,
M’ampare com puch.

Les fruits del bosch busca la torcac; la griva,
Janglots entre’ls pampols; l’estornell, la oliva;
A serps verinoses, los vistós flamench;
La llántia del temple, la óvila furtiva,
I anyells l’aborrívol condor famolench.
Jo visc de l’almoyna que al humil mai falla;
I em sent benastruch;
Lo grá qu’en les eres se perd entre palla,
Replegue com puch.

 

Traducció a l’anglès – English Translation

Joyful hunter, go past;
seek for fiercer prey
and leave me alone,
I am the friend of the house,
I am the sparrow.

I do not have the plumage of the goldfinch
which tinges spring with gold and scarlet;
nor the gentle voice of the nightingale;
nor the wings of the pretty, swift swallow
that cross the ocean in a single flight.
In grey serge, with no colour, no stripes,
in poor clothing I am dressed;
my sorrows and glories, be joyful or sad,
I sing them as best as I can.

Eagles nest on the rocks
between cliffs, in the gorge that widens its mouth;
among leafy branches, the lively linnet;
turtledove in the tree that split its trunk,
the crow in the crumbling castle ruin.
To man I entrust my brood,
humble and simple,
Among the family, under the roof,
I shelter as best as I can.

The ringdove seeks fruit in the forest; the thrush
grapes from the vine, the starling, the olive;
to poisonous snakes, the graceful flamingo;
the temple’s lamplight, the furtive owl,
and, lambs, the ravenous condor plunders.
And I live from begging, what to the poor never fails;
feeling fortunate;
the grains lost on the farm-yard between the straw,
I gather as best as I can.

 

Per escoltar la cançó aneu a l’enllaç:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGdCx4EfgCo

L’HARPA SAGRADA/THE SACRED HARP (Joaquín Rodrigo)

Novembre 27, 2009

 Text de: Jacint Verdaguer

Original Català

A l’ Arbre diví
Penjada n’és l’ Harpa
L’ Harpa de David,
en Sion amada.

Son clavier és d’or,
ses cordes de plata,
Mes, com algun temps,
Ja l’amor no hi canta,
que hi fa set gemecs
de dol i enyorança.

S’obrien los cels,
l’infern se tancava,
I al cor de son Déu
La terra és lligada.

A l’últim gemec
lo dia s’apaga,
I es trenquen los rocs
Topant l’un amb l’altre.

També es trenca el cor
d’una Verge Mare
que, escoltant los sons,
a l’ombra plorava:

– Angelets del cel,
despenjau-me l’Harpa,
que de tan amunt
no puc abastar-la;

Baixa-la si us plau,
mes de branca en branca,
no s’esfloren pas
ses cordes ni caixa.

Posau-la en mon pit,
que puga tocar-la;
si ha perdut lo so,
li tornaré encara:

Si no l’ha perdut,
moriré abraçant-la
la meva Harpa d’or
que el món alegrava!.

Traducció a l’anglès – English Translation

On the divine Tree
the Harp is hanged.
It is David’s Harp,
cherished in Sion.

Its peg is made of gold,
its strings of silver,
yet, in it,
love is no longer chanted
only seven laments
of grief and longing.

Heaven was opening,
while hell was closing itself
and, to the heart of its God
the Earth is attached.

With a final wail
the day comes to an end,
and stones break themselves
colliding with each other.

Likewise, breaks the heart
of a Virgin Mother
that, hearing those sounds,
cried in the shadow:

– Angels of Heaven,
take the Harp down,
it is hanged so high
that I cannot reach to it;

Please, bring it down for me,
yet careful that, from branch to
branch, its case and strings
don’t get brushed.

Place it on my bosom,
so that I can play it;
in case it lost its sound,
I will give it back:

If it hasn’t lost it,
I will die embracing
my golden Harp
that once rejoiced the world!

 

Per escoltar la cançó aneu a l’enllaç:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jAcbHR_8oCc