Winds of Change
texts & translations

Sumptuous Planet
text by Richard Dawkins
from Unweaving the Rainbow: Science, Delusion and the Appetite for Wonder

After sleeping through a hundred million centuries we have finally opened our eyes on a sumptuous planet, sparkling with color, bountiful with life. Within decades we must close our eyes again.


Señal del Viento
Warning of the Wind
text by Las Áñes

Spanish original text
​
Si yo estuviera triste, encendería una vela
Para soplar los miedos, para curar las penas
Temor y sombra oscura que bienvenidos sean
De ahora en adelante por la puerta trasera.

Que se vaya esa sombra oscura
Que sera, ay de mi alma si no encuentra calma?

Que sera lo que me pasa
Que vengo pensando desde la casa
De donde proviene ese sufrimiento,
Será que no oigo la señal del viento que dice
Que no lo ensucie, que cuide su aire
Que no lo abuse que si nos falta respiración
Es que nos falta mas corazón
Para entender que la sensación de nube gris
Tiene explicación:

Cada vasija que no reciclo
Cada desecho que rompe el ciclo
Adquisiciones innecesarias 
Dicen que el exceso es nuestra malaria!

No es por el encierro que tenga penas
No es por la muerte nuestra condena
Es que a la muerte quiero matar
Pero también la suelo buscar;

Matando agua, matando peces
Montando en buses que pintan gris

No hay cielo que nos perdone esos trancones
No queda mas tierra que nos perdone
Respiro mejor por la ventana
Y todo el temor sirve para nada 

La sombra oscura de mi cultura
​La sopló cual vela si tiene cura.
​

​English translation
​
If I were sad, I’d light a candle
So I could blow away all fear and cure all suffering.
From now on, fear and its dark shadow
are no longer welcome at my front door.

Go away dark shadow
For what will become of my soul if it doesn’t find peace?

What am I doing
here in my home
wondering what causes all our suffering?
Could it be that I can't hear the cry of the wind telling me
not to pollute it and abuse it, but rather care for it?
For if we feel that we cannot breathe
It is due to our lack of compassion and understanding
that the gray skies around us
have a clear explanation:

Every container that we don't recycle
Every piece of waste that halts the earth’s natural cycle
and every unnecessary purchase
They say that excess is our new plague!

I can’t just feel bad because of the lockdown
or the death all around us
I wish I could end death
however I realize I’ve brought it upon myself;

By killing water, killing fish
riding buses that paint the world gray

There is no sky that can tolerate our rush hours,
no earth left to forgive us
I want to open a window so I can breathe better
and all this fear is doing nothing

​I would blow out a candle
if it promised a cure for humankind’s shadow.
​

The New Colossus
text by Emma Lazarus

​[Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips]

“Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”


Clean Air and Clean Water
text by Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez
from a meeting of the U.S. House Committee on Financial Services on 27 March 2019

This is not an elitist issue.
This is a quality of life issue.
You want to tell people that
their concern and their desire
for clean air and clean water is elitist?

People are dying.
This is about our lives -
American lives,
and it should not be partisan.
Science should not be partisan.

We talk about cost -
We’re going to pay for this
Whether we pass a Green New Deal or not.
Because towns and cities go underwater,
as wildfires ravage our communities,
we are going to pay.
​
We are facing a national crisis.
And if we do not ascend to that crisis…
then I don’t know what we’re doing.


Trois Chansons
II. Trois beaux oiseaux du Paradis
​text by Maurice Ravel

​French original text​

Trois beaux oiseaux du Paradis
Mon ami z-il est à la guerre
Trois beaux oiseaux du Paradis
Ont passé par ici.

Le premier était plus bleu que le ciel,
(Mon ami z-il est à la guerre)
Le second était couleur de neige,
Le troisième rouge vermeil.

"Beaux oiselets du Paradis,
(Mon ami z-il est à la guerre)
Beaux oiselets du Paradis,
Qu'apportez par ici?"

"J'apporte un regard couleur d'azur
(Ton ami z-il est à la guerre)"
"Et moi, sur beau front couleur de neige,
Un baiser dois mettre, encore plus pur."

Oiseau vermeil du Paradis,
(Mon ami z-il est à la guerre)
Oiseau vermeil du Paradis,
Que portez vous ainsi?

"Un joli coeur tout cramoisi"
Ton ami z-il est à la guerre
"Ha! je sens mon coeur qui froidit...
Emportez le aussi."
​

​English translation​

Three beautiful birds of paradise
(My love is gone to the war)
Three beautiful birds of paradise
Have passed this way.

The first was bluer than the sky
(My love has gone to the war)
The second was the color of snow
The third was red as vermillion.

"Beautiful little birds of paradise
(My love has gone to the war)
Beautiful little birds of paradise
What do you bring here?"

"I carry an azure glance
(Your love has gone to the war)
And I must leave on a snow-white brow
A kiss, even purer."

"You red bird of paradise
(My love has gone to the war)
You red bird of paradise
What are you bringing me?"

"A loving heart, flushing crimson."
(Your love has gone to the war)
"Ah, I feel my heart growing cold . . .
Take that with you as well."
​

Friede auf Erden
text by Conrad Ferdinand Meyer

​German original text

​Da die Hirten ihre Herde
Ließen und des Engles Worte
Trugen durch die niedre Pforte
Zu der Mutter mit dem Kind,
Fuhr das himmlische Gesind
Fort im Sternenraum zu singen,
Fuhr der Himmel fort zu klingen:
"Friede, Friede! auf der Erde!"

Seit die Engel so geraten,
O wie viele blut'ge Taten
Hat der Streit auf wildem Pferde,
Der geharnischte vollbracht!
In wie mancher heiligen Nacht
Sang der Chor der Geister zagend,
Dringlich flehend, leis verklagend: 
"Friede, Friede... auf der Erde!"

Doch es ist ein ewiger Glaube,
Dass der Schwache nicht zum Raube
Jeder frechen Mordgebärde
Werde fallen allezeit:
Etwas wie Gerechtigkeit
Webt und wirkt in Mord und Grauen
Und ein Reich will sich erbauen,
Das den Frieden sucht der Erde.
Mählich wird es sich gestalten,
Seines heiligen Amtes walten,
Waffen schmieden ohne Fährde,
Flammenschwerter für das Recht,
Und ein königlich Geschlecht
Wird erblühn mit starken Söhnen,
Dessen helle Tuben dröhnen:
Friede, Friede auf der Erde!
​

English translation

​​When the shepherds left their flocks
and carried the words of the angel's
through the lowly gate
to the Mother and the Child.
the heavenly host continued to sing
in the starry spheres,
and the heavens echoed their sound:
"Peace, peace on Earth!"

Since the angels thus admonished
o, how many bloody deeds
has strife on its wild steed
and in its warlike armour done!
In how many holy nights
has the chorus of spirits hesitantly sung
wirth urgent prayer and mild reproach.
"Peace, peace on Earth!"

Yet it is an eternal belief
that the weak should not forever
fall victim to every bold
murderous gesture.
Something akin to justice
dwells in the midst of murder and horror,
and a kingdom shall gradually arise
that shall seek peace for the earth.
Gradually it shall take shape
and carry out its holy task,
shall forge weapons that are without danger,
fiery swords of justice;
and a kingly race
shall flourish with strong descendants
whose shining trumpets shall resound:
"Peace, peace on Earth!"
​

Breaths
text by Birago Diop

​Listen more often to things than to beings
Listen more often to things than to beings
Tis’ the ancestors’ breath
When the fire’s voice is heard
Tis’ the ancestor’s breath
In the voice of the waters
Ah  --  wsh    Ah --  wsh
 
Those who have died have never, never left
The dead are not under the earth
They are in the rustling trees
They are in the groaning woods
They are in the crying grass
They are in the moaning rocks
The dead are not under the earth
 
Listen more often to things than to beings
Listen more often to things than to beings
Tis’ the ancestors’ breath
When the fire’s voice is heard
Tis’ the ancestor’s breath
In the voice of the waters
Ah  --  wsh    Ah --  wsh
 
Those who have did have never, never left
The dead have a pact with the living
They are in the woman’s breast
They are in the wailing child
They are with us in our homes
They are with us in this crowd
The dead have a pact with the living
 
Listen more often to things than to beings
Listen more often to things than to beings
Tis’ the ancestors’ breath
When the fire’s voice is heard
Tis’ the ancestor’s breath
In the voice of the waters
Ah  --  wsh    Ah --  wsh

​This program is supported in part by a grant from the Boston Cultural Council, administered by the Mayor’s Office of Arts and Culture.