Nadau - Qu'em d'aqueth pais (English translation)

Occitan

Qu'em d'aqueth pais

En aqueste moment
Que i a un òmi fatigat
A l'aute cap deu monde
En America m'ai pensat
Qu'es tot sol e dret ens ua gara
Que cerca un aire de guitara
Que lo ha saunejar mei luenh
Que barra los ueis un cop encuera
Tà sentir l'aulor leugèra
De la regain dens lo vent
 
Un corn de carrera
Un camin de terra
Aqueth paradis perdut au hons de noste cap
Ua simple cabana
Ua caravana
Qu'em d'aqueth pais deus qui nos an aimat
 
La-baish en terra plana
Que i a un pais de pais
Tà aqueth praube monde
Qui de casa son partits
Qu'eus an bastit ua estranha villa
Shens memoria, shens ahida,
Shens arriu e shens casal
A cops qu'es embedent entà viver
Qu'an fostut lo huec aus libes
Deus marchands d'universal
 
Un corn de carrera
Un camin de terra
Aqueth paradis perdut au hons de noste cap
Ua simple cabana
Ua caravana
Qu'em d'aqueth pais deus qui nos an aimat
 
La montanha qu'es clara
E Bordèu qu'es un drin escur
Tà doman que sera la neu
O ploja de segur
Las hemnas que van tà lo cemitèri
E n'on pas han nat mistèri
Deus couers qui an marteror hat
Que s'entend lo brut d'ua estroncadera
Lo paire que ha la lenhera
Tà l'ivern qui a començat
 
Un corn de carrera
Un camin de terra
Aqueth paradis perdut au hons de noste cap
Ua simple cabana
Ua caravana
Qu'em d'aqueth pais deus qui nos an aimat
 
Submitted by multilangsing on Tue, 18/02/2014 - 00:16
Last edited by Metodius on Sun, 03/12/2017 - 11:33
Align paragraphs
English translation

We're from This Country

At this very moment
There is a tired man
On the other side of the world
In America, I thought
He’s all alone and standing in a station
Searching for the tune of a guitar
To make him dream of far away
He closes his once eyes once more
To smell the light scent
Of dinner on the wind
 
A street corner
A dirt path
This lost paradise right under our feet1
A simple cabin
A caravan
We’re from this country of those that have loved us
 
Down there on the flat plains
There is a country’s country
For these sorry people
That have left their homes
A strange city was built for them
Without memory, without hope,
Without river and without garden
At times it’s not easy to live
They set fire to the books
Of the sellers of the universal
 
A street corner
A dirt path
This lost paradise right under our feet
A simple cabin
A caravan
We’re from this country of those that have loved us
 
The mountain is bright
And Bordeaux is a bit dark
Tomorrow it’ll be snow
Or rain, for sure
The women are going to the cemetery
Without making a great mystery
Of the hearts that have become chrysanthemums
You can hear the noise of a chainsaw
The father is cutting wood
For winter which has begun
 
A street corner
A dirt path
This lost paradise right under our feet
A simple cabin
A caravan
We’re from this country of those that have loved us
 
  • 1. Literally, at the bottom of our head
Submitted by tdwarms on Sun, 03/12/2017 - 11:21
Last edited by tdwarms on Mon, 04/12/2017 - 13:21
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Comments
tdwarms    Sun, 03/12/2017 - 21:09

Many thanks, my friend. Regular smile