Non so dove i gabbiani abbiano il nido, ove trovino pace. Io son come loro, in perpetuo volo. La vita la sfioro com'essi l'acqua ad acciuffare il cibo. E come forse anch'essi amo la quiete, la gran quiete marina, ma il mio destino è vivere balenando in burrasca.
Mouettes
Song Cycle by Jacqueline Fontyn (b. 1930)
Word count: 322
1. Gabbiani [sung text not yet checked]
Authorship
- by Nazzareno Cardarelli (1887 - 1959), as Vincenzo Cardarelli [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
2. Möwenlied [sung text not yet checked]
Die Möwen sehen alle aus, als ob sie Emma hießen. Sie tragen einen weißen Flaus und sind mit Schrot zu schießen. Ich schieße keine Möwe tot, Ich laß sie lieber leben -- und füttre sie mit Roggenbrot und rötlichen Zibeben. O Mensch, du wirst nie nebenbei der Möwe Flug erreichen. Wofern du Emma heißest, sei zufrieden, ihr zu gleichen.
Authorship
- by Christian Morgenstern (1871 - 1914), "Möwenlied", appears in Galgenlieder [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , "Le chant des mouettes", copyright © 2011, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
3. A visit from the sea [sung text checked 1 time]
Far from the loud sea beaches
Where he goes fishing and crying,
Here in the inland garden
Why is the sea-gull flying?
Here are no fish to dive for;
Here is the corn and lea;
Here are the green trees rustling.
Hie away home to sea!
Fresh is the river water
And quiet among the rushes;
This is no home for the sea-gull
But for the rooks and thrushes.
Pity the bird that has wandered!
Pity the sailor ashore!
Hurry him home to the ocean,
Let him come here no more!
[ ... ]
Authorship
- by Robert Louis Stevenson (1850 - 1894), "A visit from the sea" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
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First published in Magazine of Art, November 1885Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
4. À une mouette [sung text checked 1 time]
Qui donc aura souffert, pauvre mouette prise ton grand essor capté? Tu tremblais dans mes mains, doucement blanche et grise, toute chaude de liberté. Esclave, je t'avais achetée au passage à ces mauvais garçons Et ce geste me plut d'aller jusqu'à la plage te rendre à tes quatre horizons. Les plumes de ta tête étaient lisses et belles sous mon baiser fervent ; Puis j'ouvris mes deux mains, tu ouvris tes deux ailes et partis librement dans le vent. Emporte sans le savoir le baiser du poète au large inapaisé C'était toute la mer, Ô chère sœur mouette que j'embrassais en ce baiser.
Authorship
Researcher for this text: Guy Laffaille [Guest Editor]