I picked up a poetry book from the Mallorcan theologian, Bartomeu Bennàssar Vicenç. Here is a poem of his I like:
Jesús
Jesús no morí al llit ni de mort natural
Tampoc s'hi mor qui crida i lluita ni el poble pobre ni el just vençut ni el marginat
S'hi mor aquell qui no s'exposa ni mai s'oposa i bé es reserva tip pel demà
Jesús no morí al llit ni de mort natural
Jesus did not die in bed Nor did he die a natural death.
Likewise, they do not die a natural death The one who shouts and fights back The wretched People The just person who has been brought low The marginalised
The ones who die a natural death are Those who do not expose themselves Those who never oppose Those who hold themselves back Because they are satisfied for the morrow
Jesus did not die in bed Nor did he die a natural death.
Libertad sin ira, from the band Jarcha, is a classic Spanish song from 1976, during the Democratic Transition from the Franco dictatorship to democracy. It is, in a way, the 'anthem' of the Transition. The idea that there are two Spains is still an idea that exists today among many Spaniards, many many decades after the end of the Civil War. I might add that the 'old people' who Jarcha talk about, like Franco himself, passed away peacefully in their beds...the Transition granted large amnesty to these Francoists. The risk of violence, they say, was too great. Spain bought its democracy and peace from the dictatorship and the price they asked for in exchange was shutting up and forgetting about the bad stuff.
I was having this conversation with a Mallorcan taxi driver on the weekend. I wanted to get to a town, Deià but the buses had shut down. So at the bus stop, I met two English hikers who wanted to travel the same way. We agreed to flag down a taxi and split the costs. Just as we said that, a taxi came along. And I'm glad we got it because it really changed my day. The women sat in the back and I sat up the front with the driver who turned out to be a Mallorcan. We ended up talking in Mallorcan freely the whole ride. In hindsight it was a kind of dick move not letting the hikers into our conversation, but it also gave him the freedom to honeslty express what he thought of Mallorca. He was the one that brought up the fact that there are mass graves all over the island, something I had read about, but which is of course different when a native brings it up in a bitter tone.
It felt darkly ironic to talk about this as we weaved through the stunning mountains on this bright, sunny winter's day. The same mountains that the hikers were going to hike for over 4 days, and which attracts thousands of other hikers from around the world, also saw the summary execution of the others - the communists, the republicans, the anarchists etc. It's hard to balance at the same time the beauty and the horror of this island.
Dicen los viejos que en este país Hubo una guerra Que hay dos Españas que guardan aún El rencor de viejas deudas Dicen los viejos que este país necesita Palo largo y mano dura Para evitar lo peor Pero yo sólo he visto gente Que sufre y calla, dolor y miedo Gente que sólo desea Su pan, su hembra y la fiesta en paz
The old people say that in this country There was a war That there are still two Spains, that retain The hatred of old debts The old people say that this country needs A long stick and a strong hand To stave off the worst But I have only seen people Who suffer and are silent, pain and fear People who only want Their bread, their woman and their fun in peace.
Libertad, libertad Sin ira libertad Guárdate tu miedo y tu ira Porque hay libertad Sin ira libertad Y si no la hay sin duda la habrá
Freedom, freedom! Freedom without anger Keep it to yourself, your fear and your rage Because there is freedom Freedom without anger And if there is not, there will be!
Dicen los viejos que hacemos Lo que nos da la gana Y no es posible que así pueda haber Gobierno que gobierne nada Dicen los viejos que no se nos dé rienda suelta Que todos aquí llevamos La violencia a flor de piel Pero yo sólo he visto gente Muy obediente, hasta en la cama Gente que tan sólo pide Vivir su vida, sin más mentiras y en paz
The old people say that we do Whatever the hell we feel like And that it is not possible to have a government That governs nothing The old people say that we should not be given free rein Because we all have violence Just under the skin But I have only seen people Very obedient, even in their bed People who only ask To live their life, without any more lies and in peace.
Chicho Sánchez Ferlosio wrote this song in the 60s as an allegory for the Spanish Civil War. He was arrested twice during the Franco dictatorship for being a committed leftist. His father on the other hand was a noted Falangist. This version of the song is by the Uruguayan duo Los Olimareños, who were also committed activists in the 60s, when Uruguay was ruled by a military dictatorship.
Cuando canta el gallo negro es que ya se acaba el día. Si cantara el gallo rojo otro gallo cantaría.
When the black cock sings It means that the day is already at an end But if the red cock were to sing Another cock would crow Otro gallo cantaría - a Spanish idiom, literally ‘another rooster would sing’, means that it would have been a different story (in a counterfactual situation where the black rooster didn’t win).
Ay, si es que yo miento, que el cantar que yo canto lo borre el viento. Ay, qué desencanto si me borrara el viento lo que yo canto.
Oh! If I lie Let the wind carry away The song I am singing. Oh! What a disappointment If the wind were to take away What I am singing
Se encontraron en la arena los dos gallos frente a frente. El gallo negro era grande pero el rojo era valiente.
They met in the arena The two cocks face to face The black one was bigger But the red one was brave
Se miraron a la cara y atacó el negro primero. El gallo rojo es valiente pero el negro es traicionero.
They looked at each other And the black one struck first. The red one is brave But the black one is treacherous
Gallo negro, gallo negro, gallo negro, te lo advierto: no se rinde un gallo rojo mas que cuando está ya muerto.
Black cock, black cock I am warning you A red cock never surrenders Until it is dead
It's always impressive to meet someone who came to Mallorca as a child and speaks Tarifit (Riffiya), Arabic, Catalan, Spanish, French and English. Casual polyglots are a dime and dozen here. Watch out, they walk among us! They may even look like you or me?
I met quite fortuitously a Mallorcan teacher of German. She works in a school in my town. When I expressed my interest in the language, she gave me - for free- a couple of textbooks (A1-A2 level) and some German young adult short stories to read. Now it's been absolute yonks since I've studied the language, which was only for reading purposes because you know, German philosophers, but I suppose I have to now, if only because she will check in with my progress. I haven't been put under this much pressure in years.
Are you bored of me saying this over and over? Sorry. I'll say it again. If want to have a good, long chat with a local here in Mallorca, speak Catalan. It opens ears (people listen to you) and mouths (people talk to you) like no other language.
An unexpected product of my learning Catalan is that I have totally integrated it into my life. I barely speak any Spanish...ever. When I have to, I have to chew on my words, ruminate and slowly consider the words I'm saying, because otherwise se me cola una paraula catalana. I'm very happy about my Catalan interfering with my Spanish though. It means I'm doing something right. Eventually, I'll find a balance like the natives, but for now, Catalan all the way!
Una sola cançó que reuneix algunes de ses meves llengües preferides? M'he de pessigar per comprovar que no somnii! Però si, vos duc una cançó ben guapa, rica de quatre llengües...inclosa la llengua asturiana. Dakidarria és una banda gallega d'estil ska.
Dakidarria is a Galician band. This song has three of my favourite languages in one, Catalan, Galician and Basque and the last verse is in Asturian.
Asturian is a seriously endangered Asturleonese language, in a much worse demographic and legal situation than Catalan, Galician or Basque. But thanks to the decades long work of Asturians who want to save their language, the call for officiality is becoming more and more loud. There is a good chance that Asturian can become the sixth official language of Spain (after Catalan, Galician, Basque, Aranese and Spanish).
If Asturian does not get officiality in its autonomous community of Asturias, with all that means for its introduction in education and media and government, it will probably die. This is why it is critical for oficialidá AGORA!
Saim can tell you more about Asturian though, as he learned Asturian.
Por qué imos permitir que cambien a nosa cor, ante o avance da imposición usa a túa voz. Algo vai ben cando ladran os cans por medo á cultura popular.
Se nos censuran as rúas falarán, non nos poden silenciar
Why are we gonna allow them to change our heart In the face of creeping imposition, use your voice. We're doing something right if the dogs are barking, they're afraid of popular culture.
If they censor us, the streets will talk. They can't silence us
Linguas ceives!! Llengues lliures!! Hizkuntz askatuak!! Lenguas libres!!
Parlem de respecte, parlem de llibertat parlem de pau, dignitat y justícia, parlem d'avançar parlem de tu, parlem de mi, parlem de sumar parlem de viure, d'aprendre i créixer entre pobles germans.
We speak of respect, we speak of freedom We speak of peace, dignity and justice, we speak of moving forward We speak of you, we speak of me, we speak of adding up (me and you) We speak of living, of learning and growing between sibilng peoples.
Mai no serà cap llengua un impediment per compartir el futur que construirem. Amb la revolta als ulls i la tendresa als llavis, sempre amb el cap ben alt, sempre cap endavant!
No language will ever be an impediment To sharing the future that we will build. With revolution in our eyes and tenderness on our lips Always with the head up high Always forward!
Potereak nahi baditu, hizkuntzak akatu Herriak zutik herriak tinko, babestuko ditu Gure ahoetan gure eskuetan, geroa daukagu gure oihua entzun dezatela, mundu osoan!
If the powers-that-be want to kill our languages The people on their feet, a strong people will defend them. We have the future in our mouths, in our hands, May our shout be heard through the entire world!
Ye la mía una llengua popular marxinada por un gobiernu caciquil. Cuantes veces mas vamos a esixir l'asturianu llingua oficial!
My language is a language of the people Marginalised by a corrupt government How many more times are we going to demand That Asturian be the official language!
I showed this clip to my Russian friend and she said, oh, we used to watch this film (Ирония судьбы) every Christmas. The poem is by Marina Tsvetaeva.
Мне нравится, что Вы больны не мной, Мне нравится, что я больна не Вами, Что никогда тяжелый шар земной Не уплывет под нашими ногами.
Мне нравится, что можно быть смешной – Распущенной - и не играть словами, И не краснеть удушливой волной, Слегка соприкоснувшись рукавами.
Мне нравится еще, что Вы при мне Спокойно обнимаете другую, Не прочите мне в адовом огне Гореть за то, что я не Вас целую.
Что имя нежное мое, мой нежный, не Упоминаете ни днем ни ночью - всуе… Что никогда в церковной тишине Не пропоют над нами: аллилуйя!
Спасибо Вам и сердцем и рукой За то, что вы меня - не зная сами! – Так любите: за мой ночной покой, За редкость встреч закатными часами,
За наши не-гулянья под луной, За солнце не у нас над головами, За то, что Вы больны - увы! - не мной, За то, что я больна - увы! - не Вами.
I like that you are burning But it’s not for me I like that it’s not you I’m burning for And that this heavy sphere Of a planet Will never turn under our feet Together
I like the way I am around you Funny, unabashed and wild That there’s no need to Play the silly games Nor to be careful with The words I’m choosing No need to blush, drowning In a wave of sensations When our hands are touching Lightly
I like that right before my eyes You’ll calmly hug and smile At another That you don’t curse me To the flames of hell For kissing someone else Who isn’t you
That my name will never Tenderly escape your lips By day nor night Nor will it ever even Cross your mind, my dear That in the silence of a temple No one will ever sing Over our union Hallelujah
Thank you, with all my heart And all my mind, that, Unbeknownst to you, This is the way you love me
Thank you For all my peaceful nights And for how rare are our Meetings in the sunset hours For us not walking Hand in hand under the moon For the same sun rays Never lighting both our faces
For being crazy, but alas, It being not for me And that, alas, it’s not for you I’m burning.
Dice la razón: Busquemos la verdad. Y el corazón: Vanidad. La verdad ya la tenemos. La razón: ¡Ay, quién alcanza la verdad! El corazón: Vanidad. La verdad es la esperanza. Dice la razón: Tú mientes. Y contesta el corazón: Quien miente eres tú, razón. que dices lo que no sientes. La razón: Jamás podremos entendernos, corazón. El corazón: Lo veremos.
Reason says: Let’s look for the truth. And the Heart: Vanity. we already possess the truth. Reason: Ah, who can obtain the truth! The Heart: Vanity. The truth is hope. Says Reason: You lie. And the Heart replies: The liar is you, Reason. You say what you don’t feel. Reason: We will never understand each other, Heart. The Heart: We shall see.
Nicht die Wahrheit, in deren Besitz irgendein Mensch ist oder zu sein vermeinet, sondern die aufrichtige Mühe, die er angewandt hat, hinter die Wahrheit zu kommen, macht den Wert des Menschen. Denn nicht durch den Besitz, sondern durch die Nachforschung der Wahrheit erweitern sich seine Kräfte, worin allein seine immer wachsende Vollkommenheit bestehet. Der Besitz macht ruhig, träge, stolz. -
Wenn Gott in seiner Rechten alle Wahrheit und in seiner Linken den einzigen immer regen Trieb nach Wahrheit, obschon mit dem Zusatze, mich immer und ewig zu irren, verschlossen hielte und spräche zu mir: “Wähle!” - ich fiele ihm mit Demut in seine Linke und sagte: “Vater, gib! Die reine Wahrheit ist ja doch nur für dich allein!”
It is not the truth which a man is in possession of, or supposes he is, but rather the sincere efforts which he has taken up to get to the bottom of the truth, that is what makes the worth of men.
For it’s not through the possession of truth, but through the search for it, that his powers grow, and therein alone exists his ever growing perfection. The possession of the truth makes one quietist, lazy, proud.
If God held closed in his right hand all truth, and in his left the one and ongoing striving after the truth, albeit with the condition that I would always and forever make mistakes, and he said to me, “Choose!”, I would fall humbly before his left hand and say ‘Father, grant it to me! The pure truth is for you alone!”
