Texts of the Poems

Texts of the Vocal Works

On this page you can consult the texts of the works for voice and piano performed in the closing concert of La Viñenale, La Vie antérieure en quatre parts, on 24 September 2026 at 20.30 at the Seu Vella de Lleida.

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Part II

Jesús Guridi — Gabon Jaikoak

Traditional Basque text

Gabon, Jainkoak dizuela agur,
etxekoak, agur etxekoak,
eta auzo guztikoak,
agur, agur bereziki
maizterrenekoak.

Ohea jantzirik dago
buruko birekin,
buruko birekin
eta maindire berriekin,
bi giretan hirun iko
hari sendozkoekin.

English translation

Good evening, may God watch over you,
those of the house, greetings to those of the house,
and also to all the neighbours,
greetings, greetings especially
to those who live as tenants.

The bed is made
with two pillows,
with two pillows
and with new sheets,
with strong threads
spun in two turns.

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Joan Magrané — Combat del somni: Tot deu ser blanc

Poem by Josep Janés

Tot deu ser blanc

Tot deu ser blanc,
com ho era el món entorn de tu,
quan despullaves la neu al pit
i reposaves les roses del teu cos.

On són les roses nues del teu flanc?
Les esfullava una mirada?

Tot resplendia de rosada
en ta nuesa.

Així, tan blanc, deu ser l’oreig,
fi com un glavi,
que fan les roses del teu cel.

Si pogués ser, pur com l’anhel
del teu cel,
que tremolava en llavi,
quan eres nua al cel i al mar
que foren nostres!

English translation

Everything must be white,
as the world around you once was,
when you uncovered the snow upon your breast
and laid to rest the roses of your body.

Where are the naked roses of your side?
Did a gaze strip them of their petals?

Everything shone with dew
in your nakedness.

So white must be the breeze,
fine as a blade,
made by the roses of your sky.

If I could be, pure as the longing
of your sky,
that trembled upon your lips,
when you were naked before the sky and sea
that once were ours!

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Maurice Ravel — Histoires naturelles: Le Martin-pêcheur

Original text by Jules Renard

Ça n’a pas mordu, ce soir,
mais je rapporte une rare émotion.

Comme je tenais ma perche de ligne tendue,
un martin-pêcheur est venu s’y poser.

Nous n’avons pas d’oiseau plus éclatant.
Il semblait une grosse fleur bleue
au bout d’une longue tige.
La perche pliait sous le poids.
Je ne respirais plus, tout fier d’être pris
pour un arbre par un martin-pêcheur.

Et je suis sûr qu’il ne s’est pas envolé de peur,
mais qu’il a cru qu’il ne faisait que passer
d’une branche à une autre.

English translation

Nothing bit this evening,
but I return with a rare emotion.

As I held out my fishing rod,
a kingfisher came and perched upon it.

We have no bird more brilliant.
It looked like a large blue flower
at the end of a long stem.
The rod bent beneath its weight.
I hardly breathed, proud to be mistaken
for a tree by a kingfisher.

And I am sure it did not fly away in fear,
but simply thought it was passing
from one branch to another.

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Marc Migó — Canviar de cel: Ero i Oreneta

Poems by Adrià Targa

Ero

Sento el cant d’un ocell. El vull seguir.
Abandono els companys del monestir.

És a l’alba d’un dia blau i fred.
L’ocell em mena, sol, fins a un hortet,

i allà m’embadalexo uns quants minuts,
pels dolors de la vida, més aguts

que la teva cançó, ocell benaurat;
m’estaria aquí amb tu una eternitat,

però jo tinc companys al monestir.
Adéu, ocellet meu, he de partir!

Torno per un camí potser més verd.
Així camina una ànima que es perd.

Arribo i ja no reconec, misteri,
la porta ni la font ni el presbiteri,

i uns monjos, que no són els meus companys,
em diuen que, fa més de tres-cents anys,

un home —com n’ets, diuen, de semblant—
es va endinsar en el bosc seguint un cant

i no se’l va tornar a veure mai més,
seguint un cant, seguint un cant només.

English translation

I hear the song of a bird. I want to follow it.
I leave my companions at the monastery.

It is dawn on a cold blue day.
The bird leads me, alone, to a small garden,

and there I lose myself for a few minutes,
for the pains of life, sharper

than your song, blessed bird;
I could stay here with you for eternity,

but I have companions at the monastery.
Farewell, little bird, I must leave!

I return by a path perhaps greener than before.
So walks a soul that loses its way.

I arrive and no longer recognise, what mystery,
the door, the fountain or the presbytery,

and monks who are not my companions
tell me that more than three hundred years ago

a man — how much you resemble him, they say —
went deep into the forest following a song

and was never seen again,
following a song, following only a song.

Oreneta

Avui he vist, al meu balcó,
una oreneta perduda,
negra com un pensament,
petita com una espurna.

D’un lloc a l’altre del cel,
com l’insecte contra el vidre,
sembla que vulgui sortir
d’una gàbia que té a dintre.

I així, desorientada,
s’allunya enllà del meu pati.
Qui està així pres, no crec pas
que escapi.

English translation

Today I saw, on my balcony,
a lost swallow,
black as a thought,
small as a spark.

From one side of the sky to the other,
like an insect against the glass,
it seems to want to escape
from a cage it carries within.

And so, disoriented,
it flies away beyond my courtyard.
One who is imprisoned like this, I do not think
can escape.

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Part IV

Frederic Mompou — Combat del somni: Damunt de tu, només les flors

Poem by Josep Janés

Damunt de tu només les flors
eren com una ofrena blanca:
la llum que daven al teu cos
mai més seria de la branca;

tota una vida de perfum
amb el seu bes t’era donada.
Tu resplendies de la llum
per l’esguard clos atresorada.

Si hagués pogut ésser sospir
de flor! Donar-me, com un llir,
a tu, perquè la meva vida
s’anés marcint sobre el teu pit.

I no saber mai més la nit,
que al teu costat fóra esvaïda.

English translation

Above you only the flowers
were like a white offering:
the light they gave your body
would never again belong to the branch;

a whole life of fragrance
was given to you with their kiss.
You shone with the light
treasured by your closed gaze.

If only I could have been a sigh
of a flower! To give myself, like a lily,
to you, so that my life
might slowly wither upon your breast.

And never know the night again,
which beside you would fade away.

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Ricard Viñes — La Vie antérieure

Poem by Charles Baudelaire

J’ai longtemps habité sous de vastes portiques
Que les soleils marins teignaient de mille feux,
Et que leurs grands piliers, droits et majestueux,
Rendaient pareils, le soir, aux grottes basaltiques.

Les houles, en roulant les images des cieux,
Mêlaient d’une façon solennelle et mystique
Les tout-puissants accords de leur riche musique
Aux couleurs du couchant reflété par mes yeux.

C’est là que j’ai vécu dans les voluptés calmes,
Au milieu de l’azur, des vagues, des splendeurs
Et des esclaves nus, tout imprégnés d’odeurs,
Qui me rafraîchissaient le front avec des palmes,

Et dont l’unique soin était d’approfondir
Le secret douloureux qui me faisait languir.

English translation

For a long time I lived beneath vast porticoes
that the sea-born suns coloured with a thousand fires,
and whose great pillars, straight and majestic,
made them seem, at evening, like basalt caves.

The waves, carrying the images of the skies,
mingled in a solemn and mystical way
the all-powerful chords of their rich music
with the colours of the sunset reflected in my eyes.

There I lived amid tranquil pleasures,
surrounded by blue, by waves, by splendour,
and by naked slaves, steeped in fragrance,
who cooled my brow with palm leaves,

and whose only care was to fathom
the painful secret that made me languish.

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Joan Magrané — Combat del somni: Els murs que t’isolen del cel i el mar

Poem by Josep Janés

Els murs que t’isolen del cel i el mar
t’atresoren, gelosos, de tota mirada.

L’estel de l’alba i els vents deleroses
t’ignoren.

La llum i el mar no et saben.
La nit, les estrelles, es fonen en tu.

Quin atzar duria les meves parpelles obertes
al so o l’estel que ets?

O serien en anhel
o ram de silenci,
o perfum que mai no es marceix?

Somni i llum som teus
en la nit estelada.

Tu, com una immensa mirada...

English translation

The walls that isolate you from sky and sea
treasure you jealously, hidden from every gaze.

The morning star and the yearning winds
do not know you.

Light and sea do not know you.
Night and stars melt into you.

What chance would bring my open eyelids
to the sound or the star that you are?

Or would they become a longing,
a branch of silence,
or a fragrance that never fades?

Dream and light are yours
in the starry night.

You, like an immense gaze...

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Ricard Viñes — Tears, Idle Tears

Poem by Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,
Tears from the depth of some divine despair
Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,
In looking on the happy Autumn-fields,
And thinking of the days that are no more.

Fresh as the first beam glittering on a sail,
That brings our friends up from the underworld,
Sad as the last which reddens over one
That sinks with all we love below the verge;
So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.

Ah, sad and strange as in dark summer dawns
The earliest pipe of half-awakened birds
To dying ears, when unto dying eyes
The casement slowly grows a glimmering square;
So sad, so strange, the days that are no more.

Dear as remembered kisses after death,
And sweet as those by hopeless fancy feigned
On lips that are for others; deep as love,
Deep as first love, and wild with all regret;
O Death in Life, the days that are no more!

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Marc Migó — Canviar de cel: Mig i Fum

Poems by Adrià Targa

Mig

He buscat més enllà d’aquesta mar.
Quan la finestra bufa entre juntures

el vent de fora, i és dolent amar,
me n’he volgut anar. Però perdures

sempre, ànima meva, en les obscures
habitacions. Finestres: no n’hi ha.

Quin cel, des d’aquí dins? I encara jures
que hi ha algun lloc on podries anar.

A dintre teu, un cel i tots els núvols.
Caminaràs, navegaràs, veuràs,

i a la teva butxaca hi haurà núvols.
Canviar de cel per canviar d’esperança.

Però l’ànima sempre, sempre al ras.
Potser és aquí. Potser és aquí. Descansa.

English translation

I have searched beyond this sea.
When through the cracks of the window

the wind blows in from outside, and love is painful,
I have wanted to leave. Yet you remain,

always, my soul, in the dark
rooms. There are no windows.

What sky can there be from in here? And still you swear
that there is somewhere you could go.

Within you, a sky and all the clouds.
You will walk, you will sail, you will see,

and in your pocket there will be clouds.
To change the sky in order to change hope.

But the soul is always, always exposed.
Perhaps it is here. Perhaps it is here. Rest.

Fum

Diguin els altres: «Quina meravella
aquella terra on sempre bat el sol

damunt del romaní i la llicorella.
En aquell lloc és impossible el dol».

Amic, ja no t’escau la terra aquella.
Vas ser feliç seguint un breu estol

d’ocells. Avui dibuixa’t una anella
damunt la copa. Troba-hi un consol.

A la vora del foc, del mar salvatge,
atura un breu moment el teu viatge

entre els vaixells varats com qui no pensa.
El mariner fuma amb la pipa i fa

lletres de fum. Demà podrem tornar
a fer camí damunt la mar immensa.

English translation

Let others say: “What a wonder,
that land where the sun always shines

upon the rosemary and slate.
In that place sorrow is impossible.”

Friend, that land no longer suits you.
You were happy following a small flock

of birds. Today draw yourself a ring
upon the glass. Find consolation there.

Beside the fire, beside the wild sea,
pause your journey for a brief moment

among the stranded ships, as one who does not think.
The sailor smokes his pipe and makes

letters of smoke. Tomorrow we can once again
set out across the immense sea.