On the ground
—Pitchforks, brooms scattered around
Noise and clamor and intoxicated men
The pile of straw is on the verge of falling
Two or three ladders help support it!
In the courtyard
In flapping his wings
The rooster sings on a distant pile
With wings beating hens come running
All astonished at such a meal…
In the loft
The harvest is quick this year
The piles are heavy: shared work
The staircases are full of reddish wheat
Was the sack tufted by the grain-man?
In the house
The two tables are full of men
Hard work for the cooks
The big dog Anton, the little dog Paol
Are gnawing bones under the table.
On the road
—“Kerdrubuilh” has been taken care of anyway!
The men sing while going down the road
A dirty dust on their straw hats
Yellow balls in their reddish hair.
At the doorway
People have left, the noise stilled
It’s for us to scald the dirty trenchers
Washing work, drying work
Ordering work, sweeping work.
The harvest is over, the threshing is over
Tomorrow is the Sunday for relaxing…
Translated by Lenora Timm