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Four Poems of Leo Latil
Song Cycle by Darius Milhaud (1892 - 1974)
View original-language texts alone: Quatre Poèmes de Léo Latil
1. L'abandon
Language: French (Français)
Pourquoi, pourquoi m'avez vous abandonné? Il fait nuit et le grand vent de la fin de l'hiver souffle. Il siffle dans la cheminée et sous les portes, et m'entoure de froid. Dehors il doit secouer les arbres follement, s'élancer dans les rues, contournant les maisons, et bondir dans les campagnes au dessus des collines et des bruyères mortes. Pourquoi m'avez vous abandonné, mon amie? Les nuages d'un noir de suie mouvementés et soulevés, laissant voir le ciel d'un bleu nocturne, s'étendent au dessus des sombres campagnes. Et tout le ciel abaissé se meut sur la terre. Je vous aime avec mes larmes et je vous donne la douleur de mon coeur. Que m'importe, que vous m'ayez abandonné, ô trop heureuse, trop joyeuse et trop douce! Que m'importe... car si votre amour adoucissait mon coeur ce soir, je ne sentirais pas mon âme épouvantée emportée sur les ailes du vent dans les sombres campagnes.
by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
1. Abandonment
Language: English
Why, why have you abandoned me? It's night, and a late-winter wind is raging. It's blowing down the chimney and under the door, blanketing me with cold. Outside it's shaking the trees, darting into the street, running around houses and bounding through the countryside over the hills and the dead heather. Why did you abandon me, Love? The soot-black clouds move and rise, giving glimpses of a midnight sky far above the somber fields. The lowered sky throws itself at the earth. I love you with my tears and I give you my heart's pain. What it to me that you abandoned me, you who are too happy, too joyous, too sweet! What does it matter to me - for if your love softened my heart tonight, I would not feel my terrified soul swept off on the wings of the wind over the somber fields.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2002 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 21
Word count: 146
Translation © by Faith J. Cormier
2. Ma douleur et sa compagne
Language: French (Français)
Quand vous avez laissé dans cette fin du jour les larmes inonder votre visage las, une tempête dans mon coeur s'est levée et je me suis enfui, vous abandonnant à la nuit. Maintenant la vaste mer nocturne déroule ses vagues lentes et lourdes, et fait monter sa plainte grandissante vers le firmament sombre. Où êtes-vous, solitaire qui pleurez dans la nuit? Sur les flots je vois ma douleur qui se lève au devant de moi, si pâle et penchante, et cette autre à ses côtés, sa compagne, si pâle et plus penchée, c'est la douleur de votre coeur, mon amie. Le vent qui souffle de la terre les pousse, et toutes deux cheminent vers cette étoile embrumée qui flotte à l'horizon, si près des flots. Ah! douce nuit!
by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
2. My pain and its mistress
Language: English
When at day's end you let the tears flood your weary face, a storm arose in my heart and I fled, abandoning you to the night. Now the slow and heavy waves of the vast nocturnal sea lift their rising plea to the somber firmament. Where are you, lonely weeper of the night? On the waves I see my pain rise before me, pale and drooping, and this other one at its side, its mistress, paler and drooping farther, is the pain of your heart, my love. The wind from the land pushes both of them toward this cloudy star floating on the horizon, barely above the waves. Oh, sweet night!
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2002 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 16
Word count: 111
Translation © by Faith J. Cormier
3. Le rossignol
Language: French (Français)
Nous sommes aux portes du printemps, voici la merveilleuse nuit si douce appesantie sur les campagnes, ô campagnes qui vous étendez mollement inclinées au devant de moi, soulevées par les collines et cheminant jusqu'au lointain horizon courbe vers les dernières clartés du jour. Nous sommes aux portes du printemps; la terre humide des labours, la jeune herbe de blés, la trèfle, la luzerne et les fleurs endormies exhalent leur parfum. La terre douce, meuble et mouillée, sillonnée par le murmure des eaux, animée par le murmure des eaux et par le chant confus des grillons, s'étend sous le firmament des étoiles. Je suis au milieu des campagnes, arrêté, debout, les yeux fermés pour m'abandonner mieux à la nuit. Mon coeur est animé d'amour. La source de larmes et de prières s'ouvre dans mon coeur. Je voudrais parler et que ma voix s'entende et soit portée comme une chose vivante au dessus du murmure des eaux. Je voudrais chanter l'amour de mon coeur et répéter le nom de mon amie. Mais qui est mon amie, qui est mon amie? Où êtes-vous, merveilleuse et douce qui m'aimerez, vous inclinant devant moi, et qui me donnerez votre coeur pour enrichir le mien et votre douleur? Où êtes-vous? Je ne sais pas le nom de mon amie et je dirai seulement "Amour, ô amour, tristesse amère." Tout cela, la douceur de cette terre chaude et ces étoiles, cette longue nuit calme, c'est le printemps; nous sommes aux portes du printemps, le silence est aussi vaste que la nuit. Maintenant commence à chanter son chant grave et pur le rossignol.
by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
3. The nightingale
Language: English
We're on the brink of spring. The wondrously sweet night weighs on the countryside spread out limply before me, raised by the hills and stretching toward the distant horizon curving toward the last glimmers of daylight. We're on the brink of spring. The damp, fresh-ploughed earth, the shoots of wheat, the clover, the alfalfa and the sleeping flowers breath their perfume. The sweet, moving, damp earth, crossed by the murmur of streams animated by the murmur of streams and the confused song of the cricket, stretches out under the firmament of stars. I'm standing in the middle of a field, eyes closed, better to abandon myself to the night. My heart is full of love. The source of tears and prayers opens in my heart. I would speak, and my voice would be heard and spread like a living thing above the waters' murmurings. I want to sing the love in my heart and repeat the name of my beloved. But who is my beloved, who is my beloved? Where are you, marvelous sweet one who will love me, bend before me and give me your heart to enrich mine and your pain? Where are you? I don't know the name of my beloved, and I can only say, "Love, oh love, bitter sadness." All that, the sweetness of this warm earth and these stars, this long, calm night. It is spring. We are on the brink of spring. The silence is as broad as the night. Now the nightingale begins its pure, solemn song.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2002 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 37
Word count: 256
Translation © by Faith J. Cormier
4. La tourterelle
Language: French (Français)
Ma colombe, ô ma tourterelle, est-ce vous dont j'entends la voix plaintive qui gémit dans les ramaux de ces ormaux qui s'assombrissent? Dans cette fin du jour l'air du soir était caressé par vos ailes, et maintenant, dans l'arbre balancé votre voix chante grave et pure, se mêlant au confus murmure des eaux. Ah! quelles tempêtes et quels orages vous ont emporté dans leur vaste univers mon bel oiseau si fier, conduisant votre course avec celle des grands nuages vagabonds. Qu'il est pure le ciel à son zenith! Se peut-il que les vents calmés vous aient abandonné dans les rameaux de ces grands arbres? Leur feuillage hautain est confus sur le firmament. Que vous vous plaignez tristement! Quelle flèche vous a blessé, mon bel oiseau si doux? C'est ici la vallée de mes larmes. Voici ces tendres coteaux, ces fleurs jamais cueillies, ces rives nébuleuses qui cheminent vers l'horizon. Le soleil a laissé ses rayons dans le ciel, dans un ciel pur où palpite le vol d'autres colombes invisibles. Vous chantez sur cette arbre au pied duquel je pleure. Ma colombe, ô ma tourterelle, demeurez avec moi, dans ma vallée.
by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
4. The turtledove
Language: English
My dove, my turtledove, is it your plaintive voice I hear moaning in the gathering shadows of the elm trees' branches? Day is dying, and your wings caressed the evening air. Now, swaying in the tree, your pure, solemn singing is mingled with the murmur of the waters. What tempests and storms have borne you in their vast universe, my fine proud bird, hurrying you along with the wandering clouds? The highest heaven is so pure. Have the winds died down and abandoned you in the branches of these mighty trees? Their haughty leaves mingle with the firmament. Your song is so sad. What arrow has wounded you, sweet and beauteous bird? This is the valley of my tears. See these tender hillsides, these unpicked flowers, these uncertain banks leading toward the horizon. The sun has left its rays in the sky, a pure sky palpitating with the flight of other invisible doves. You sing in this tree; I weep at its roots. Oh my dove, my turtledove, stay with me in my valley.
Text Authorship:
- Translation from French (Français) to English copyright © 2002 by Faith J. Cormier, (re)printed on this website with kind permission. To reprint and distribute this author's work for concert programs, CD booklets, etc., you may ask the copyright-holder(s) directly or ask us; we are authorized to grant permission on their behalf. Please provide the translator's name when contacting us.
Contact: licenses@email.lieder.example.net
Based on:
- a text in French (Français) by Léo Latil (1890 - 1915)
Go to the general single-text view
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 29
Word count: 175
Translation © by Faith J. Cormier