II CONFINS

A ces confins où se tait la cantilène
Une voix te dira le mot et l'accord.
La nuit tombera, mais sa paix serait vaine
S'il n'y retentissait le brame et le cor.

A ces confins où toute parole cesse
Les seuls sentiers seront le vol et le chant,
Mais le marcheur ne connaïtra la sagesse
S'il ne devient route, appel, désir et champ.

A ces confins où s'abolit la vitesse
(Le bonheur bat sous la toile et le carton
Quand au jardin la plainte de la Comtesse
De sang vrai remplit le masque de coton)

-Pour un seul chant dont je ne brise le charme,
Pour un seul mot qui n'aurait sens ni pays,
J'aurais donné Paris la grand'ville et Parme,
Pour un seul bonheur qui n'ait jamais trahi-

Car le joyau repose au fond de ta mine
(Par le portrait, par la flûte, le rameau,
Vers leur clarté montent le Prince et Pamine
Qu'un choeur proclame issus du chant et du mot-

Forêt plus sonore et grotte plus profonde
Que peuplent le mage, le monstre, la peur,
Où règne l'enfant que le rythme seconde)
Et diamant tu connaîtras ta splendeur.

A ces confins où débute le silence
Les lueurs dorment aux sous-bois assoupis,
Des bourdonnements, des vols troués de lances
Bruissent sur les sommeils en toi tapis

Et tu n'entends au delà même du rêve
Dont le cour n'a jamais tari sous le jour
Que la marche qui ne connaît heurt ni trêve,
Que le coeur du temps qui cogne, sûr et sourd.

Michel Galiana (c) 1991

II BOUNDARIES

On those vague boundaries where ceases song and strain
A voice shall to your ear repeat the word, the chord.
The night will be falling whose quietness is vain,
Since it is disturbed by stag and hunting horde.

On those vague boundaries where any word has ceased
There is no thoroughfare but flight and rising chant.
Of his weight of folly the rover won't be eased
Unless he turned himself to road, call, urge and land.

On those vague boundaries where ceases all quickness
(It's happiness that beats under theatre fraud
When in the mock garden the moan of the Countess
Drenches the cotton mask with her genuine blood)

- For one song whose spell I could never have broken,
For one word whose meaning no ear would understand,
The cities of Paris, Parma I had given,
For this sole happiness that is free of treason -

There are jewels in your hoard hiding in concealment
(Thanks to the portrait, thanks to olive branch and flute,
The Prince and Pamina rise to enlightenment
They have, so states the choir, in song and word their root,

Rise to a louder wood and a deeper grotto
Which are the dwellings of magus, monster and fear,
That a child holds in sway helped by brisk tempo)
The diamond you are in splendour shall appear.

And on those boundaries where begins the silence,
Below the drowsy wood faint light is still aglow;
There are spear-pierced flights humming in the distance.
They are heard in slumbers that are benumbing you

And all you hear even beyond the dream that rose,
Whose flow never runs dry in the most scorching days
Is the march that goes on without jolt, without pause,
It is the heart of time which is beating always