Our Speech- Noriega Varela

The mountain man is coming now.
Why?  Oh beloved!  He is blind-
The one who can’t see past the veil:
He is coming to speak Gallego
He is coming so that Gallego can live.

Our language is a little bird
That normally the child sees
In the sky of the shaggy mountain;
Whether on a wild rose branch
Or the border of a fountain.

It is a flower you can’t take
From the heath, and well tricks
The one who goes after it
If, amongst the mountain gorse
Collecting, he gets pricked.

It is a rivulet running
Sheltered through the shade
Of some dense pine wood:
Take this cover and it dies
Before it can reach the valley.

It’s what dawn’s lustre breaks
Lit by trembling light;
And Our Lady sings to Jesus
in Gallego when he cries,
Lulling him to sleep.

Gallego is a whispering-
The most magical thing there is!
It is the loving language
In which to hear, “My son!”
From the lips of your mother.

It is a speech that illumines,
Moving  our hearts
To take the shortest route
To the sighs of the poor
With the grace of charity.

It is such a restless language
That it manages to overcome
The yearning sorrows
Of the replete star
And the moonlit night.

May devotion and pain
Be always on your side
I revere you deeply, believe
That only in heaven
Could there be a better tongue.

 

About Jason Preater

Working on Projects
This entry was posted in Mondoñedo, Pre-War and tagged , . Bookmark the permalink.

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