L'odore d'i nostri mesi
L'odore d'i nostri mesi by Canta u populu corsu.
(Lyrics: Ghjàcumu Fusina; Music: Ghjuvan'Pàulu Poletti)
Ottobre sente e castagne
in paese fumicosu
quand'u celu nebbiacosu
fala nant'à le muntagne
pare tutt'avvene chjosu
è finite le cuccagne.Dicembre sente l'aranciu
chì fiurisce per sse piaghje
ma quandi lu ventu traghje
piglia inguernu lu sbilanciu
tempu d'acque è di nivaghje
affannosu è pocu danciu.Maghju sente la ghjinestra
chì sbuccia per lu pughjale
inzeppisce fiuminale
verdiceghja la campestra
l'acelli spàrghjenu l'ale
si spalanca la finestra.Aostu sente a filetta
calpighjata à merendella
a notte s'empie di stelle
di dulcezza benedetta
in core di le zitelle
c’hè un fiore chì l'aspetta.Chì senteranu li mesi
di la prussima stagione?
Duve pianterà viaghjone
cù le so sperenze appese?
È basteranu e canzone
per guarì tutte l'offese?
posted by Skylark at 8:56 PM
2 Comments:
I can't understand Italian but it looks lovely. Tell me about the place and the song in English, my dear. (please)
The picture was taken on the road of Nipozzano, in the Tuscan countryside near Florence. These vineyards will produce excellent Chianti Rufina.
The lyrics are in Corsican language, which, although related to medieval Tuscan, is clearly distinct from Modern Standard Italian.
What follows is my own translation into English. I hope you appreciate.
The Scent Of Our Days
October is scented of chestnuts
In a landscape dense of vapours
When the sky covered of fog
Fades across the mountains
It seems like everything is secluded
The days of partying are over.
December is scented of orange trees
Blossoming along the coast
But when the wind blows
Wintertime takes the lead
A time of rains and snow
Laborious and not plentiful.
May is scented of broom flowers
Who open on the hillside
Rivers are swelling
Meadows are verdant
Birds spread their wings
Windows are burst open.
August is scented of fern
Crushed underfoot during a picnic
Nights are filled of stars
Of blessed sweetness
In the heart of maids
A flower is waiting for them.
What will the days ahead
Be scented of?
Where will this long journey lead us
With all its hopes?
And will a song be enough
To forget all the offences?
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