Translation from Catalan of Miquel Costa i Llobera’s “El pi de Formentor” by Brett Hetherington and Antoni Cardona
The pine tree of Formentor Miquel Costa i Llobera (1875)
My heart loves a tree! Older than the olive tree,
more powerful than the oak, greener than the orange tree,
holding onto eternal spring in its leaves,
and fighting against the heavy wind that pounds the shore
like a giant warrior.
From its leaves it doesn’t survey the flower in love;
the little fountain isn’t going to kiss the pine’s shadows;
but God anointed with aroma its consecrated head
and gave the tree rough mountain-range ground,
the immense sea for a fountain.
When far away, over the waves, a divine light is reborn,
the captured bird doesn’t sing through its branches;
it listens to the sublime cry of a sea eagle,
or hears the gigantic wing of a vulture that ascends
stirring the foliage.
The mud of this land cannot sustain the pine’s life;
climbing out of the rocks – its powerful root;
bearing dew and rains and winds and burning light,
like an old prophet, receiving life and nourishing itself
from the sky’s love.
Sublime tree! From the genie it is the living image:
dominating the mountains and gazing into infinity;
for it, the earth is hard, although its foliage is kissed by the sky,
who it enchants, while having lightning and storm
for glory and delight.
Oh! Yes: when winds freely roar
and it almost seems the rock is made to tumble into the foam,
then the tree laughs and sings stronger than the waves,
and the winner shakes out its royal locks
over the sea spray.
Tree, my heart envies you. Across the impure earth
I will bring your memory as a sacred pledge.
Constantly struggling and winning, reigning from on high,
feeding yourself, living from the sky and pure light…
Oh life! Oh noble fortune!
Arise, powerful soul! Pierce through the mist
and spread your roots across the heights like the rocky mountain tree,
you’ll see the raging world’s sea fall down on your feet
And quietly your songs will make their way into a gale
like a bird in a storm.
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El pi de Formentor Mon cor estima un arbre! Més vell que l’olivera, més poderós que el roure, més verd que el taronger, conserva de ses fulles l’eterna primavera, i lluita amb les ventades que atupen la ribera, com un gegant guerrer. No guaita per ses fulles la flor enamorada; no va la fontanella ses ombres a besar; mes Déu ungí d’aroma sa testa consagrada i li donà per terra l’esquerpa serralada, per font la immensa mar. Quan lluny, damunt les ones, renaix la llum divina, no canta per ses branques l’aucell que encativam; el crit sublim escolta de l’àguila marina, o del voltor qui puja sent l’ala gegantina remoure son fullam. Del llim d’aquesta terra sa vida no sustenta; revincla per les roques sa poderosa rel, té pluges i rosades i vents i llum ardenta, i, com un vell profeta, rep vida i s’alimenta de les amors del cel. Arbre sublim! Del geni n’és ell la viva imatge: domina les muntanyes i aguaita l’infinit; per ell la terra és dura, mes besa son ramatge el cel qui l’enamora, i té el llamp i l’oratge per glòria i per delit. Oh! sí: que quan a lloure bramulen les ventades i sembla entre l’escuma que tombi el seu penyal, llavors ell riu i canta més fort que les onades, i vencedor espolsa damunt les nuvolades sa cabellera real. Arbre, mon cor t’enveja. Sobre la terra impura, com a penyora santa duré jo el teu record. Lluitar constant i vèncer, reinar sobre l’altura i alimentar-se i viure de cel i de llum pura… oh vida! oh noble sort! Amunt, ànima forta! Traspassa la boirada i arrela dins l’altura com l’arbre dels penyals. Veuràs caure a tes plantes la mar del món irada, i tes cançons tranquil·les ‘niran per la ventada com l’au dels temporals. MIQUEL COSTA I LLOBERA, 1875
Brett Hetherington 