DE L'EMPORDÀ A LA SERRA DE TRAMUNTANA: d’agost 2012

Aquest estiu i aquest capítol ens porta molt lluny de l'Empordà i de la Serra de Tramuntana...

Ens parla d'una illa que amaga els seus acantilats enmig la boira, que escalfa la seva gent amb turba asecada, cervesa negra i velles cançons cèltiques..

Jo no sabia que el meu viatge a Itaca passava pel mar dels vickings, per llacs que enmirallen els Twelve Bens de Connemara i pels majestuosos Cliffs de Moher..

Una terra sembrada de castells en ruines, abadies i creus cèltiques de pedra, que amagen històries de sang i de misèria, històries de doncelles i de fantasmes, històries d'amor..

No sabia que m'embriagaria la fusió del bodhrán, l'arpa celta, la gaita i el violí irlandès. De l'elegant taconeig de la dança irlandesa..

No sabia que m'enamoraria dels carrers estrets de Galgaw o Dublin, dels seus ports llunyans, de la seva gent..

La veritat és que no se si ho he somniat...

Mna Na h'Eireann (Woman of Ireland)

Tá bean in Éirinn a phronnfadh séad domh is mo sháith le n-ól
Is tá bean in Éirinn is ba bhinne léithe mo ráfla ceoil
Ná seinm théad; atá bean in Éirinn is níorbh fhearr léi beo
Mise ag léimnigh nó leagtha i gcré is mo thárr faoi fhód

Tá bean in Éirinn a bheadh ag éad liom mur' bhfaighfinn ach póg
Ó bhean ar aonach, nach ait an scéala, is mo dháimh féin leo;
Tá bean ab fhearr liom nó cath is céad dhíobh nach bhfagham go deo
Is tá cailín spéiriúil ag fear gan Bhéarla, dubhghránna cróin.

Tá bean a déarfadh dá siulfainn léi go bhfaighinn an t-ór,
Is tá bean 'na léine is is fearr a méin ná na táinte bó
Le bean a bhuairfeadh Baile an Mhaoir is clár Thír Eoghain,
Is ní fheicim leigheas ar mo ghalar féin ach scaird a dh'ól

The Fields of Athenry

By a lonely prison wall

I heard a young girl calling

Micheal they are taking you away

For you stole Trevelyn's corn

So the young might see the morn.

Now a prison ship lies waiting in the bay.

Low lie the Fields of Athenry

Where once we watched the small free birds fly.

Our love was on the wing we had dreams and songs to sing

It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

By a lonely prison wall
I heard a young man calling
Nothing matters Mary when you're free,
Against the Famine and the Crown
I rebelled they ran me down
Now you must raise our child with dignity.

Low lie the Fields of Athenry
Where once we watched the small free birds fly.
Our love was on the wing we had dreams and songs to sing

It's so lonely 'round the Fields of Athenry.

Kylemore Abbey

Danny Boy

Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen, and down the mountain side

The summer’s gone, and the roses falling

‘Tis you, ’tis you must go and I must bide.

But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow

Or when the valley’s hushed and white with snow

‘Tis I’ll be here in sunshine or in shadow

Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

And when you come, and all the leaves are dying

If I am dead, as dead I well may be

You’ll come and find the place where I am lying

And kneel and say an “Ave” there for me.

And I shall hear, tho’ soft you tread above me

And all my grave will warmer, sweeter be

For you will bend and tell me that you love me

And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.

Whiskey in the jar

As I was going' over the Cork and Kerry mountains
I saw Captain Farrell and his money he was counting
I first produced my pistol and I then produced my rapier
I said stand or deliver or the devil he may take ya

Musha ring dum a do dum a da.
Whack for my daddy-o,
Whack for my daddy-o
There's whiskey in the jar-o

I took all of his money and it was a pretty penny.
I took all of his money and I brought it home to Molly
She swore that she loved me never would she leave me
But the devil take that woman for you know she tricked me easy

Isle of Inisfree

I've met some folks who say that I'm a dreamer,

And I've no doubt there's truth in what they say,

But sure a body's bound to be a dreamer,

When all the things he loves are far away.

And precious things are dreams unto an exile.

They take him o'er the land across the sea

Especially when it happens he's an exile,

From that dear lovely Isle of Inisfree.

And when the moonlight peeps across the rooftops,

Of this great city, wondrous though it be,

I scarcely feel it's wonder or it's laughter...

I'm once again back home in Inisfree.

I wander o'er green hills through dreamy valleys,

And find a peace no other land would know.

I hear the birds make music fit for angels,

And watch the rivers laughing as they flow.

And then into a humble shack I wander

My dear old home -- and tenderly behold,

The folks I love around the turf fire, gathered.

On bended knees, their rosary is told.

But dreams don't last

Though dreams are not forgotten

And soon I'm back to stern reality.

But though they pave the footways here with gold dust,

I still would choose the Isle of Inisfree.

Aran Islands

Inishmore (Inis Mór) la més gran de les Aran Islands (Galway Bay, Ireland)

Molly Malone

In Dublin's fair city, where the girls are so pretty
I first set my eyes on sweet Molly Malone
As she wheeled her wheelbarrow through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O!

A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O!

She was a fishmonger and sure it was no wonder
For so were her father and mother before
And they both wheeled their barrows through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O!

A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O!

She died of a fever and no one could save her
And that was the end of sweet Molly Malone
Now her ghost wheels her barrow through streets broad and narrow
Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O!

A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O!
A-live a-live O! A-live a-live O!
Crying cockles and mussels alive a-live O!