The Coming of Imbolc

« Aoife Ní Fhearraigh – Gabhaim Molta Bríghde (I Give Praise to Saint Brigid). A beautiful song sung in Irish by Aoife Ní Fhearraigh which gives praise to Saint Brigid of Kildare, one of the three patron saints of Ireland. The lyrics are below, along with the phonetic and English translation. Bain sult a chairde ! »


Morpheus Ravenna a partagé cette chanson irlandaise que je trouve, hum, planante, porteuse, apaisante, et en même temps il y a un je ne sais quoi d’amer… Une introduction pour quelques pensées fragmentaires sur la période que nous traversons. Alors oui, c’est en anglais, tandis que ce blog est censé être uniquement en français…. tant pis. Ils viennent toujours ainsi. Je me suis demandée, mais c’était soit ça soit rien, alors bon.

***

Impressions.
Shapes.
Patterns.
Light.

Drops of blood on a coat of snow
An icy pool of water reflecting the blue gray sky
Swirls of vapours turning into cristals
The warmth of our breath being swallowed away.

I feel my skin being battered away
By the sharp teeth of biting winds
Scratching, itching
My being is shaken, attacked and pierced

I hear the snow is melting
And I wish I could peel off my skin as I peel off my clothes
That I could step away for the pain
Enter in and be envelopped by the frozen water
Water that could kill me

Where is the fire
That enflammes the water and make it sacred?
It’s a time of labour
It’s a time of pain
Where is the fire of purification?

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2 réflexions sur “The Coming of Imbolc

  1. A reblogué ceci sur Valiel's Notes In Englishet a ajouté:

    A few words for Imbolc.

  2. Vincent dit :

    I like it. It’s beautiful. A few words are strong and brutal, but so true. As a rude awakening.
    Thank you Valiel.

    Now, it’s my turn to share an English song to help us to « wake up » :

    « You think you own whatever land you land on
    The Earth is just a dead thing you can claim
    But I know every rock and tree and creature
    Has a life, has a spirit, has a name

    You think the only people who are people
    Are the people who look and think like you
    But if you walk the footsteps of a stranger
    You’ll learn things you never knew you never knew

    Have you ever heard the wolf cry to the blue corn moon
    Or asked the grinning bobcat why he grinned?
    Can you sing with all the voices of the mountains?
    Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?
    Can you paint with all the colors of the wind?

    Come run the hidden pine trails of the forest
    Come taste the sunsweet berries of the Earth
    Come roll in all the riches all around you
    And for once, never wonder what they’re worth

    The rainstorm and the river are my brothers
    The heron and the otter are my friends
    And we are all connected to each other
    In a circle, in a hoop that never ends

    How high will the sycamore grow?
    If you cut it down, then you’ll never know
    And you’ll never hear the wolf cry to the blue corn moon

    For whether we are white or copper skinned
    We need to sing with all the voices of the mountains
    We need to paint with all the colors of the wind

    You can own the Earth and still
    All you’ll own is Earth until
    You can paint with all the colors of the wind »

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