Lorsque mes doigts caressent à loisir
Ta tête et ton dos élastique,
Et que ma main s'enivre du plaisir
De palper ton corps électrique,

Je vois ma femme en esprit. Son regard,
Comme le tien, aimable bête
Profond et froid, coupe et fend comme un dard,

Et, des pieds jusques à la tête,
Un air subtil, un dangereux parfum
Nagent autour de son corps brun.

And the only word there spoken
Was the whispered word, "Lenore!"
This I whispered, and an echo
Murmured back the word, "Lenore!"
Merely this, and nothing more.

 

Leben
 das ist die Wärme
 des Wassers in meinem Bad.

 

Leben
 das ist mein Mund
 an deinem offenen Schoß.

 

Leben
 das ist der Zorn
 auf das Unrecht in unseren Ländern.

 

Die Wärme des Wassers
 genügt nicht
 ich muss auch darin Plätschern.

 

Mein Mund an deinem Schoß
 genügt nicht
 auch muss ihn auch küssen.

 

Der Zorn auf das Unrecht
 genügt nicht
 Wir müssen es auch ergründen

 

und etwas
 gegen es tun.

Das ist Leben!

Estando na ermida, ant’ o altar,
 cercaron-mi-as ondas grandes do mar.
 Eu atenden[d’o meu amigu’! E verrá?]

E cercaron-mi-as ondas que grandes son:
 non ei [i] barqueiro nen remador.
 Eu [atendend’o meu amigu’! E verrá?]

E cercaron-mi-as ondas do alto mar:
 non ei [i] barqueiro nen sei remar.
 Eu aten[dend’o meu amigu’! E verrá?]

Non ei i barqueiro nen remador:
 morrerei [eu], fremosa, no mar maior.
 Eu aten[dend’o meu amigu’! E verrá?]

Non ei [i] barqueiro nen sei remar:
 morrerei eu, fremosa, no alto mar.
 Eu [atendend’o meu amigu’! E verrá?]

Mise Éire:
 Sine mé ná an Chailleach Bhéarra

Mór mo ghlóir:
 Mé a rug Cú Chulainn cróga.

Mór mo náir:
 Mo chlann féin a dhíol a máthair.

Mór mo phian:
 Bithnaimhde do mo shíorchiapadh.

Mór mo bhrón:
 D’éag an dream inar chuireas dóchas.

Mise Éire:
 Uaigní mé ná an Chailleach Bhéarra.

--
(Son) Eu Irlanda:
  Máis vella que a meiga de Beara.

Grande (é) a miña gloria:
  Eu que din a luz ao bravo Cú Culainn.

Grande (é) a miña vergoña:
  A miña propia familia vendeu a súa nai.

Grande (é) a miña dor:
  O acoso perpetuo do inimigo incansábel.

Grande (é) a miña tristura:
  Morreu a xente na que depositara as miñas espranzas.

(Son) Eu Irlanda:
  (Estou) Máis soíña* cá Meiga de Beara.


N.d.T: máis soa, e con máis soidade...

In the forests of the night; 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Could frame thy fearful symmetry? 

In what distant deeps or skies. 

Burnt the fire of thine eyes? 

On what wings dare he aspire? 

What the hand, dare seize the fire? 

And what shoulder, & what art, 

Could twist the sinews of thy heart? 

And when thy heart began to beat, 

What dread hand? & what dread feet? 

What the hammer? what the chain, 

In what furnace was thy brain? 

What the anvil? what dread grasp, 

Dare its deadly terrors clasp! 

When the stars threw down their spears 

And water'd heaven with their tears: 

Did he smile his work to see? 

Did he who made the Lamb make thee? 

Tyger Tyger burning bright, 

In the forests of the night: 

What immortal hand or eye, 

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The pigeon was wrong

She was wrong

To go North, she went South

She believed that the wheat was water

She was wrong.

She believed that the sea was the sky

that the night the morning

She was wrong.

That the stars, the dew

that the heat, the snowfall

She was wrong.

That your skirt was your blouse

that your heart was her home

She was wrong.

She fell asleep on the shore

You on top of a branch.

 

Chus B1-Burela

The people upstairs all practise ballet

Their living room is a bowling alley

Their bedroom is full of conducted tours.

Their radio is louder than yours,

They celebrate week-ends all the week.

When they take a shower, your ceilings leak.

They try to get their parties to mix

By supplying their guests with Pogo sticks,

And when their fun at last abates,

They go to the bathroom on roller skates.

I might love the people upstairs more

If only they lived on another floor. 

 
Chus B1-Burela

And you are the murmur of the river

And you are the night and the dawn

you are in everything and you are everything,

for me in myself you dwell,

you will never leave me,

shadow that always amazes me"

Pamela B1-Burela