The weather vane turns
–The wind’s fantasy—
The Southwest wind
The Atlantic wind
The salty wind of Hope
Blows today
On the crest of Keravel
Bringing clearly to my ear
an unexpected strain
The music of hammers
Striking hurriedly
Like a child’s heart.
A resurrection, a rebirth,
The rebuilding of an abandoned farm.
A miracle of Love.
Life sowing,
The Race reblossoming,
The Race awakening To build its dream.
…My heart pounds!

[St.]John’s Day 1962.

Translated by Lenora Timm

This poem in breton

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