The Émigré

I'm going to start off this blog with a poem by Catalan poet Jacint Verdaguer of the mid-19th century, called "L'Emigrant", in English "The Émigré".


Dolça Catalunya,
pàtria del meu cor,
quan de tu s'allunya
d'enyorança es mor.

I

Hermosa vall, bressol de ma infantessa,
blanc Pirineu
marges i rius, ermita al cels suspesa,
per sempre adéu!
Arpes del bosc, pinsans i caderneres,
cantau, cantau,
Jo dic plorant a boscos i riberes:
adéu-siau!

II

¿On trobaré tos sanitosos climes,
ton cel daurat?
mes ai, mes ai! ¿on trobaré tes cimes,
bell Montserrat?
Enlloc veuré, ciutat de Barcelona,
ta hermosa Seu,
ni eixos turons, joiells de la corona
que et posà Déu.

III

Adéu, germans; adéu-siau, mon pare,
no us veuré més!
oh! si al fossar on jau ma dolça mare,
jo el llit tingués!
Oh mariners, el vent que me'n desterra
que en fa sofrir!
Estic malalt, mes ai! tornau-me a terra
que hi vull morir!*



I feel that the beauty of this poem is not just in the language (Catalan is my third language, yet I don't have too many difficulties working through the older versions, pre-Pompeu Fabra), which it is partly, but also in the elegies of Catalonia and the city of Barcelona itself.  That first stanza: "Sweet Catalonia / my heart's homeland / when away from you / one dies of longing" is heart-wrenchingly beautiful.  I think one of the reasons I'm so fascinated with Catalonia and Catalan culture is their sense of national pride.  Not just in their language and history but in their country.  The geographical features that make it up are nothing but beautiful to them.

I find the title of the poem rather telling as well: "The Émigré", which tells of one who is leaving his country, leaving his homeland and going somewhere else.  Yet the entire poem, short as it may be, only mentions the author's home, his country, his homeland.  That is where he wishes to carry out his days.  Not traveling, not wandering.  At home.  There is, after all, no place like home.

*Translation after the jump


Sweet Catalonia,
my heart's homeland,
when away from you
one dies of longing.

I
Beautiful valley, seat of my infancy,
white Pyrenees
Margins and rivers, hermitage suspended in the heavens,
forevermore farewell!
Harps of the forest, finches and robins,
sing, sing,
I say, crying, to the forests and riverbends:
farewell!

II
Where will I find your healthy climes,
your golden sky?
But oh, oh!  Where will I find your peaks,
lovely Montserrat?
Nowhere will I see, city of Barcelona,
your beautiful See,
nor those hills, crown jewels
given to you by God.

III
Good-bye, brothers; farewell, my father,
I won't see you again!
Oh! If in the graveyard of my sweet mother,
I only had a bed!
Oh sailors, the wind that uproots me
how it makes me suffer!
I am ill, but oh!  Return me to land
for I want to die there!