To the birds…
All that is bird is not stupid
All that is stupid is not bird…
The earth is earth
Birds are birds
Man is man
Donkey is donkey…
People love categories
And their model is the red chain of blood
They dream of birds
And they never stop trying to capture them
With freedom as their excuse
And venison as their aim
Freedom of speech
And weeping cages.
They build great walls
To cram in prisoners
As for me, it is the bird I loved
Why? What for? I don’t know
But I loved him
The nightingale who sings the summer
Who could know if he is distracting people
Or mocking them
We think he is talking to us
What vanity!
We make thousand faces at him
But what he says escapes us
As for me, it is the bird that I loved…
The eagle, king of the mountains
Hovers as a virtuoso
We admire him
But what does he care
If we put him on our flags
With him how many battles
Have been won
To also establish a power
How many burnt lands
But never has an eagle
Become rich
As for me, however,
it is the bird that I loved…
The dove of peace
Sweet and pacific
Came back from war
But never unarmed
Woodpigeon with your grey feathers
You are going towards Beyrie
You are beautiful when you fly
And even more beautiful on a table.
Why is there so much enthusiasm :
The animal is beautiful when it is free
And even more beautiful when it subdued
I have often asked him
“Where are you going to, white woodpigeon?”
But its answer is cheeky
“Further away if you don’t kill me”
As for me, however,
it is the bird that I loved…
The blackbird has lost his mind
Yes, its mind, poor him.
How can he sing, how can he whistle
He who has no mind
Does not risk losing it.
SONG LIST:
- In the morning at dawn
Etxahun Iruri/Arr: Manolo Espelet
In the morning at dawn
A bird lands on my window
And sings a high-pitched tune
Beautiful bird, so merry
When I hear you
The sadness in my heart flies away
My most beloved bird
Why did you come to me?
You woke me up from my most beautiful dream
You came so early you thought
That I had something wrong
You had better go and comfort he who is more afflicted
2-Where are you going to little bird?
Folksong
Where are you going to little bird with your wings spread out
It is snowing on the Spanish mountain
We shall go together when it melts
Saint Joseph’s chapel stands up there recluse
It is where I rest on the road to Spain
And often sigh looking back at where I come from
Sigh, go to my beloved’s door
Go and tell him I come on your behalf
Go into his heart as his did into mine
3-Iraola’s Hole
Angel Unzu
4-Fly
François Rossé / Lyrics: Migel Mari Luze Elosegi
Your song radiates with joy
Spring’s instinct is awake inside of you
Ah! If only I could move the way you can
And quench my thirst from drops of clouds
Ah! If only I could move the way you can
To fly away free to the horizon
Flying. Free ourselves from this solid rope that binds us to the earth, and fly, what a dream! Seeing our earth from as high as possible whilst playing with the wind. Rising up with airstreams and going down like an arrow. How I wish I could do it! And it is possible, of course! But to do that you need to be light. As light as a bird.
Swallows. So be it!
5-Alpine chough
Folksong
6-the bird on the hand
François Rossé
Txakolium I
(dedicated to Xabier Aldalur and Aitor Arregi’s flavours)
An ocean’s turn
An earthly face
Under the passionate eye
Of a high rock
The vastness of a vigorous language is born
With immaculate roots.
The giant stroke of a sculptor
Draws this intense land
On the follies of an untamed ocean.
To Bidarte, you keep coming to calm the vertigo of an inevitable glance.
In Getaria, a magnificent sea artist
Opens its palace to its maritime work.
Here, the grape wine combines with the waves
A slight shivering gives life in this ephemeral glass of txakoli
Whilst waiting for a happy fight
Between the earth movements and the ocean’s verbs
A turn on the ocean of earth
An earthly face for an ocean…
A Master amongst the birds
The nightingale is the master among the birds.
He sings dawn so well
His beautiful melody has enchanted me
Yes, master is the nightingale among the birds
I have often listened to its sweet voice
Fresh out of bed near my bedroom window
A hawk has followed him
He might catch him because of his charming voice
Let’s warn him so he can be more discreet
Txakolium II
A bright landscape in its roots
A wine, a word to slip into it
To the faraway shadows
Of unconscious times
The earthly sap
Mountains in its eyes
Mountains in its voice
Mountains in its gestures
The origin seizes from the gods
A long ancient way
To the point of consciousness that one day
Ours among others
An intense descent
Temporary eternity
To have always been strangers
The earthly blood
Of unconscious horizons
The ocean in its movement
The ocean in its voice
The ocean in its eyes
Huge circle from a sky
Large and powerful ritual of a vulture
Geometry of the language sculpted
In the ocean’s voice
The mountain’s movements
A country drawn from the origins of time
These roots have no border
Their immutable flows
Become entrenched to impressive rivers
Beings bound by the secrets
Of unspoilt origins
Txakolium III (nov.2014)
The last few steps
Tracing the emptiness of the street
The step of the void
Of the town already questioned
By an unwanted sunrise
Orient towards Lannemezan
A range woven under the horizon
Of the long line of mountains
Under the sweet fulness of the red babarruna beans of Tolosa
The intense fumes of the bertsulari between the Oria river and the Orhi.
7- Afrika
Juantxo Zeberio
8- Onirika
José Antonio San Miguel
9-L’hiver
Mikel Laboa/Inaki Salvador/Arr:Juantxo Zeberio/Lyrics:Mixel Etxekopar