Archives de catégorie : Yeats (W.B.)

Branduardi Angelo, CANTOPOÈME, CANTOPOÈTES, CHANTS D’INTERPRÈTES : TEXTES CHANTÉS PAR D’AUTRES QUE LEURS AUTEURS, POÉSIE, CANTOPOÉSIE ET CANTOLOGIE ANGLOPHONES, Yeats (W.B.), [PAR NOMS DE POÈTES]

W.B. Yeats par Branduardi | The fiddler of Dooney

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The Fiddler of Dooney

WHEN I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea ;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Moharabuiee.

I passed my brother and cousin :
They read in their books of prayer ;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.

When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate ;

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle
And the merry love to dance :

And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With Here is the fiddler of Dooney !
And dance like a wave of the sea.

William Butler Yeats, The Collected Poems of W.B. Yeats, The Wind Among the Reeds, Introduction by Cedric Watts, Wordsworth Poetry Library, 2000, p.60.

Auteur :William Butler Yeats
Traducteur, compositeur, interprète : Angelo Branduardi

 

 

CHANTS D’INTERPRÈTES : TEXTES CHANTÉS PAR D’AUTRES QUE LEURS AUTEURS, Donovan, POÉSIE, CANTOPOÉSIE ET CANTOLOGIE ANGLOPHONES, Yeats (W.B.), [PAR NOMS DE POÈTES]

Yeats par Donovan | The Song Of Wandering Aengus

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The Song of Wandering Aengus

I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream
And caught a little silver trout.

When I had laid it on the floor
I went to blow the fire a-flame,
But something rustled on the floor,
And someone called me by my name:
It had become a glimmering girl
With apple blossom in her hair
Who called me by my name and ran
And faded through the brightening air.

Though I am old with wandering
Through hollow lands and hilly lands,
I will find out where she has gone,
And kiss her lips and take her hands;
And walk among long dappled grass,
And pluck till time and times are done,
The silver apples of the moon,
The golden apples of the sun.

William Butler Yeats, The Wind Among the Reeds (1899)

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donovan

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