I wish I could say why. I have my suspicions, of course, yet prefer not to face them. Yet somehow this piece evokes in me a sense of loss. Of time that has gone, never to return. Of opportunities that shall not come again. I listened to it one day, and felt tears welling in my eyes, despite the fact that I cannot understand the Breton language.
Perhaps one day someone shall come and translate this for me, and I will learn that it has nothing to do with time at all. Or loss. Perhaps one day someone will come and set my mind at ease. Confirming that time is far from past. And that this life–a convergence of lines and voices and hearts–has as much relevance now as before. As much potential as ever. As much hope as man may know.
Infinite hope. I know I have used these words recently. And I believe them to be true. I have greater conviction now than at any point in my life that love can be true and enduring and yes–even pure. Yet these words, this voice of infinite hope cringes at this pervasive sense of loss.
For all of our efforts to “live in the moment,” we are creatures of time, and we exist in the past, present, and future. All of us. Yet my greatest weakness is perhaps that my spirit dwells far too much in times gone by.
[I see YouTube has managed to block viewing here on WordPress, but at least the link is still active to take you to this piece at YouTube.]
I have just discovered this song and found a partial translation breton to french ; you are perfectly right : it is about a man coming back home to marry a girl but she answers that it is too late ,she is already married…
Sad indeed. Thank you for explaining this, Christine.
Je me permets une incursion pour un apport
Christine a expliqué et Eowyn a traduit :
“Bonjour à vous jeune fille j’entre dans vôtre maison,
j’ai reçu de votre main une lettre,
depêchez vous de vous préparer
car je suis venu à la maison (revenu chez moi) pour vous épouser.
Par un autre jeune homme , j’ai le regret de vous avouer,
passé est le temps où je pouvais vous consoler
voilà ce qu’il y a :ne faites pas ce que j’ai fait
choisissez une autre bien-aimée car je suis mariée.
Il vient à moi comme à un pélican
dont le coeur est ouvert pour tous dans ce monde
dont le coeur est ouvert pour tous les oiseaux
aimer le monde entier et n’être aimé de personne.”
Belle suite à vous
le temps et l’espace n’ont que le sens que l’on leurs attribuent ?
Bien au delà de la lande
La pierre de granit de mes aieux
Cette présence inouïe lumineuse
Que je devine
Je n’ose l’imaginer
Jusqu’à ce que mon âme ne l’épouse
An taol lagad
It is, perhaps, even more poignant, if as in my case you are born Breton and feel this even though your parents did not speak their own language (we spoke French only at home) and emigrated at the age of 5 never to return. I listen to many Breton songs and have found translations for most of them, but it’s not in knowing the words, it’s in feelings too deep to understand that I “know myself” as a Celt. Possibly a gene thing.
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My apologies for such a late reply, Sha’Tara. I have been away, but I do appreciate your sharing your own experience in this way. You are much closer to your Celtic roots than I am, but I sympathize. There is something so very compelling in the desire to know myself, to define myself rather than allow myself to be defined by others. The passion and longing of these Gaelic roots speak to me so very persistently.