A Poem for Every Occasion

Yesterday we walked in the hills near Montornès. I was still struggling to clear my head after the journey back from Cornwall – is it age that makes this transition so much harder?
It was incredibly muggy and then at last the sun came out and we were walking downhill and there was birdsong, butterflies and this amazing yellow flowering plant with a strong heady scent.

Pep started reciting this poem,
La Ginesta, by Joan Maragall

La ginesta altra vegada                                  The Ginesta again
la ginesta amb tanta olor,                               The Ginesta with such a scent,
És la meva enamorada                                    Is my lover
que ve al temps de la calor.                            Who comes when it is hot.
Per a fer-li una abraçada                                To embrace her I climbed up the hill
he pujat dalt del serrat:
de la primera besada                                      And from the first kiss
m’ha deixat tot perfumat.                               I was left totally perfumed
Feia un vent que enarborava,                         There was a wind shaking the trees
feia un sol molt resplendent:                          The sun was very bright
la ginesta es regirava                                      The Ginesta was turning furiously
furiosa al sol rient.                                          As the sun laughed
Jo la prenc per la cintura:                               I took her for my belt
l’estisora va en renou                                     The scissors yet again
desflorant tanta hermosura                             Deflowering such beauty
fins que el cor me n’ha dit prou.                    Until my heart told me it was enough
Amb un vímet que creixia                              With a Willow which grew
innocent a vora seu                                         Innocently alongside
he lligat la dolça aimia                                   I tied the sweet soul mate
ben estreta en un pom breu.                           Into a tight bunch
Quan l’he tinguda lligada                              And when I had finished tying her
m’he girat de cara al mar…                            I turned my face to the sea
M’he girat al mar de cara,                             I turned to the sea my face
que brillava com cristall;                              Which shone brilliantly like crystal
he aixecat el pom enlaire                              And raising the bunch high in the air
i he arrencat a córrer avall.                           I started to run down the hill.

Here are some students putting it to music – budding Manels?