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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.



  1. 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?


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


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


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


Mikel Laboa/Inaki Salvador/Arr:Juantxo Zeberio/Lyrics:Mixel Etxekopar