While Breton literature written in French counts such prestigious names as Chateaubriand, Lamennais or Ernest Renan, literature written in the Breton language is quite unknown. Because it has rarely been translated, it remains almost entirely ignored by those living outside of the peninsula. Yet due to a particular socio-linguistic context it is also relatively unknown within Brittany itself.<\/p>\n
Indeed, very early the Breton language was ignored by the upper classes in Brittany, who were fascinated by the French royal court. The last Breton sovereign to give speeches in the Breton language was Alain IV Fergant. This was at the beginning of the XIIth<\/sup> century. Several centuries after the annexation of Brittany by France, the Breton language was repressed by the State. The struggle around language began during the revolutionary Terror. It was revived by the Third Republic, which forbade the use of Breton in church and encouraged public school teachers to punish children who spoke Breton in school. These factors led to the transformation of Breton into a popular, mostly spoken language. Its use greatly declined after the Second World War.<\/p>\n Nonetheless, beginning in the XIXth <\/sup>Century and mostly after the 1930’s, a few men of letters attempted to revive the Breton language and to endow it with literary works of quality. While their elitist efforts undeniably bore some fruit, the vast majority of the Breton population was not affected (1 100 000 persons in 1950, 250 000 in 1990), since most were incapable of reading in Breton. Thus we are presently faced with a paradoxical situation: talented authors belonging to the regional intelligentsia, yet who are rarely native Breton speakers, produce works in Breton that have a universal appeal, yet which are both inaccessible to non-Breton speakers (since rarely translated), and indecipherable to native speakers (since they are illiterate in their mother tongue). One author does however stand out from the rest. She is the poet Anjela Duval. A few of her works have been translated into French and English. Moreover, being at once a peasant, a native-speaker and an erudite, she expressed herself in an admirable way, mingling literary Breton with the vernacular language. Not only does her work distinguish her from other Breton authors, but so does her life. In the present article we will attempt to present the teachings of universal appeal contained in both her work and her life.<\/p>\n Anjela Duval devoted herself to the search for the truth that lies beyond appearances without concerning herself with what her contemporaries might think of her or of her quest. She fought during her entire life to harmonize her actions and her thoughts. Last but not least, she found happiness by devoting her life to others\u2026<\/p>\n See what you shall do<\/em><\/p>\n Anjela Duval spent her life meditating. Those who have read her attentively or who have had the good fortune to spend time with her cannot doubt this. While she was born in 1905, she began writing only during the 1960’s. During the first fifty-five years of her life, besides cultivating her land and tending to her parents, she patiently developed her wisdom. Her concept of life was made up of three ideals: love of nature, spirituality and love of her people.<\/p>\n You know well Lord\u2028<\/em> Together these three ideals formed a logical and powerful system. Yet, to fully understand Duval, we must study them one by one.<\/p>\n Genetic engineering has progressed very rapidly since Anjela Duval’s death in 1981. It is so far reaching that humans can now modify living nature. scientists can give children to sterile parents, can create genetically modified plants and animals, and can even clone an animal in a laboratory using one of its cells, such as was the case for the sheep Dolly in 1997\u2026 Advances in biotechnology represent progress for medical research : they should make it possible to produce vaccines against terrible illnesses such as hepatitis B, AIDS or tuberculosis, and to discover the genes responsible for certain diseases, and soon perhaps to modify these genes in order to eradicate the diseases all together. Biotechnologies are also useful on an economic level: they make it possible to produce increasingly resistant livestock and plants. Yet all these techniques also pose serious ethical dilemmas: how far can humanity go in modifying nature ? What limits does society wish to set regarding interventions on living creatures?<\/p>\n Twenty years ago it was impossible to foretell what genetic engineering can do today. Hence Duval could not speak of this. Yet the poets’s reflections on nature can help us to forge our own opinion concerning these contemporary problems. For her, nature is \u00ab\u00a0a gift from God\u00a0\u00bb; a gift that we can make use of, provided we respect it and help it to grow. According to Duval, as part of nature, human beings must remain humble and modest. Her image of the world is entirely opposite from that held by researchers and the economic forces that support them. Like Descartes, they believe that humans must \u00ab\u00a0make themselves the masters and possessors of nature\u00a0\u00bb. Here are two entirely opposite modes of thought. Where is the truth? In Duval’s humility and her respect for nature? Or in the vain confidence that Descartes places in humanity? This is difficult to answer. Nevertheless, it is time to launch a vast debate about these questions. Advances in genetic research represent one of the most complex and most important issues of the emerging XXIst<\/sup> Century. And Duval offers a clear–<\/strong>cut point of view, one that might be taken into account when making the necessary decisions, whatever they may be.<\/p>\n Anjela Duval believed that nature and the earth produce wealth only in relation to what humans give them. In this sense we can say that she was an \u00ab\u00a0ecologist\u00a0\u00bb before her time. In her poems about struggle, as well as in her criticism against the destruction of nature, she anticipated some of the ecological disasters that threaten humanity today. In \u00ab\u00a0Sahara?\u00a0\u00bb she evokes the issue of deforestation and of climatic changes that are of concern today.<\/p>\n Like a painting of the World’s end\u2028<\/em> She did not see such devastation as inevitable, rather she considered man to be responsible\u2026<\/p>\n So stupid, so cruel and so egotistical\u2028<\/em> Similarly, concerning the question of water, Duval thought that the Breton farmers’ new methods of production were dangerous:<\/p>\n I will never accept the treatment inflicted upon these lands today. Nowadays, we exhaust the earth by using so much fertilizer. I also use some, but as little as possible. My compost heap is not sufficient. If I were younger I would be tempted to use biological agriculture. (\u2026) I see most producers of cauliflowers and potatoes as poisonous. They use too much fertilizers.<\/em><\/p>\n These words are perhaps no different from those we hear today in Brittany and elsewhere, now that the water is polluted and that it seems clear to everyone that we have gone too far down the path towards maximizing production. However, Duval spoke in these terms as early as 1970! Moreover, she did not blame the farmers as much as she did the banks and multinational corporations that encourage them to increase their productivity. She blamed \u00ab\u00a0big capital, the corrupter, the exploiter\u00a0\u00bb.<\/p>\n Thirty years later, on top of their tractors or in their huge green houses, farmers are no longer in direct contact with the earth as their ancestors were, or as Duval was on her farm. We mentioned earlier that a lamb was made from a sheep without any prior mating process; but for a long time now we have been able to industrially produce vegetables without any earth at all\u2026 Little by little, humanity is distancing itself from \u00ab\u00a0natural\u00a0\u00bb life, and becoming a sort of god capable of creating and modifying life in laboratories. Duval, by contrast, felt that she was only one small part of infinite cosmic nature. She lived in physical proximity to the earth: \u00ab\u00a0the earth is like my second body\u00a0\u00bb, she often said. This was part of her spirituality. For example, in \u00ab\u00a0Bennozh dit\u00a0\u00bb, she told God:<\/p>\n You give the Earth, the rain and the heat.\u2028<\/em> It is commonplace to say that our society is presently in search of meaning. Yesterday, religious or political ideologies, family and school offered or imposed clear models. Today, and for some time now, in western societies, religions have been declining; political ideals are disappearing, especially since the fall of the Berlin wall; the family has been shaken by the events of 1968. The old patriarchal model has fallen apart and there is no other dominant model. Last of all, the school system is in a state of crisis\u2026 Consequently, it is becoming more and more difficult to understand the world and to know how to act \u00ab\u00a0for good\u00a0\u00bb in life. There are no more shared references. Each of us tries to do as he can on his own, without any certainty that he is acting as he should. Anjela Duval clearly perceived these changes, especially on the religious level. But she herself did not experience them. Her intense, immense and simple spirituality came from her popular Breton catholic faith. It was characterized by the tribute paid to the dead and to the national saints. Faith lent meaning to her life and to all that she saw around her. For example, when the trees were ablaze with autumn colors, in her eyes it was because God had given\u2026<\/p>\n Thousands of bits and pieces\u2028<\/em> She saw God in everything and spoke to him in the same manner as she did to the old national saints or to the dead. In fact, many of her poems were true prayers.<\/p>\n Faith sometimes leads to extremism. But this is rare in Brittany, where the Gospel has always been interpreted as a message of peace, and where political traditions are rather pacifist. Although the practice of Catholicism has greatly diminished in Brittany, one wonders whether the reminiscence of Catholicism does not contribute to the fact that Bretons are half as likely as other French citizens to vote for the extreme right. At any rate, Anjela Duval’s faith was very strong, yet peace-loving and open to other forms of spirituality such as Islam and Buddhism. Here again she exhibits a very modern form of behavior, without falling into the traps one finds here and there. Indeed, many people today are searching for some form of spirituality. Often they seek to quench their thirst for spirituality by combining elements from different traditions. Unfortunately, sects sometimes take advantage of such quests and attempt to manipulate the most fragile minds. Thanks to her numerous readings Duval had a good knowledge of the druidism practiced by her ancestors, and even of Buddhism, as well as many other beliefs. Everything touched her. Yet she would never have become a victim of sects precisely because the foundations of the simple faith that her parents had passed on to her were so strong.<\/p>\n Duval’s spirituality was not made up simply of a popular catholic faith informed by her readings about various other systems of belief. She was an authentic mystic, who marveled at life and communed with all living creatures, however small and ugly.<\/p>\n Ah ! How heedful I am at each step<\/em> It seems to me that this was not properly understood by all her readers. She did not revel in sentimentality, but felt close and fraternal towards all living things because she felt equal to them, neither superior nor inferior. In this sense her spirituality was similar to that of Buddhists. She did not however spend all her love on plants and animals. She was not a pessimist as far as humanity is concerned. Her love was first directed towards the whole of humanity. She felt particularly empathetic towards her \u00ab\u00a0brothers in sorrow\u00a0\u00bb, the peasants, and towards her people, the Bretons.<\/p>\n There is nothing new in stating that we are living in a world increasingly unified, even though differences between various groups remain important. This unification\u2013some say, uniformization\u2013is a product simultaneously of progress in the communication technologies and of the continual acceleration of economic exchange. Yet at the same time as this movement toward uniformity develops, everywhere we see men and women anxiously isolating themselves. The danger of a \u00ab\u00a0balkanization\u00a0\u00bb of the world exists and is often evoked. Duval would not have wished the Bretons to become closed in and isolated. Devoted to her natal territory, it appears that she seldom left her farm and Brittany. She mentions this in one of her poems :<\/p>\n I have never sucked another sap<\/em> Nevertheless, she was absolutely not closed to the outside world. When she wrote that \u00ab\u00a0he who remains in his house dislikes the wind\u00a0\u00bb, she meant that it is not good to remain closed in upon oneself. Her numerous visitors were impressed by her knowledge about the world. She was self-taught and had great intellectual curiosity: she devoured any book, newspaper or magazine she happened to fall upon. Besides this she regularly listened to the radio. It was surprising to see how well informed she was about events and problems concerning the entire planet. Many of her poems illustrate how preoccupied she was with the misfortunes of the world. For example \u00ab\u00a0Darbodo\u00f9\u00a0\u00bb or \u00ab\u00a0Lagad an heol\u00a0\u00bb in which she complained in the following terms:<\/p>\n I saw people dying of cold.<\/em> If Duval was not tempted by self-absorption, neither was she in favor of the negation of self. Among her numerous visitors, many Bretons were embarrassed by their language. To justify the fact that they spoke in French, they would say, using a typical expression of the time, \u00ab\u00a0I don’t speak Breton, but I understand it\u00a0\u00bb. She would answer them mockingly: \u00ab\u00a0Yes, like my dogs: they don’t speak Breton either, but they understand it!\u00a0\u00bb She was enraged to see Bretons abandoning their language\u2026<\/p>\n Why would you speak a tongue foreign<\/em> One of Duval’s great lessons of humanity, was her struggle against self-denial, not only in thought but also in action. She never ceased to fight her whole life long.<\/p>\n I have always been faithful to my motto :\u2028I do battle on every front.<\/em><\/p>\n As Anjela Duval writes in her poetry, farming is a never ending struggle. Her first fight has always been the struggle against the elements. Alone on her farm, she worked as hard as any man, with less physical strength and suffering from poor health. She had no tractor, only a horse with which to cultivate. Many of her urban readers had,<\/strong> and still have,<\/strong> no idea how demanding farming can be. Peasant life is arduous, and most visitors to her farm did not understand that taking some of her precious time made her life even more difficult. When in addition to this they occasionally made fun of her \u00ab\u00a0brother peasants\u00a0\u00bb, her anger would overflow\u2026<\/p>\n Out!<\/em> Working the earth was not her only daily struggle though: from a very early age she had to fight to survive. A serious illness of the bones, which she developed at the age of six, made it impossible for her to attend school before the age of eight. For the rest of her life her health was unstable. The theme of sickness and suffering appears frequently throughout her writings, particularly during her later years when her health was declining and when her hardship worsened. She also had to fight against herself.<\/p>\n Remaining alone to take care of her farm in Trao\u00f1-an-Dour was Anjela Duval’s own choice. As a young woman she had had many admirers, one of which won her heart. He was a marine officer, who, it is said, later became a sea captain. Right before the wedding,<\/strong> the couple suddenly fell apart. What happened? We are uncertain. It seems that the young seaman suggested that they set up a commerce together, but that she refused to leave her farm. Thus, they separated.<\/p>\n In a corner of my heart there’s a scar<\/em> The scar of this sentimental disappointment remained in Duval’s heart during her entire life. While she adored nature and lived in harmony with all that surrounded her, when left alone after her parents’ death, she sometimes felt a strong feeling of melancholy.<\/p>\n Alone on the earth, alone in a cruel World<\/em> Her sadness and regret were particularly pronounced during the fifties. Later, writing helped her to overcome them. However, even after she began writing, Duval sometimes failed in her struggle against such ills. But she hid this well\u2026<\/p>\n One should not load such burdens<\/em> Duval spent her life in poverty. It is not that her farming activities did not permit her to live otherwise, but it appears that such was her choice. This is difficult to comprehend. She said that she did not want to change anything on the farm for fear of chasing away the spirit of her dead parents. This she certainly believed, but there is also reason to believe that her poverty was also a spiritual choice. She translated a poem by the Catalan poet Ramon Soley Ceto entitled \u00ab\u00a0The poor home\u00a0\u00bb, in which the author praises the \u00ab\u00a0spirit of poverty\u00a0\u00bb and in which a man asks a woman to marry him \u00ab\u00a0if she appreciates the immense value of poverty\u00a0\u00bb. Perhaps this is a reminder of Duval’s lost love. Did she not choose to translate this poem because she herself was moved by the \u00ab\u00a0spirit of poverty\u00a0\u00bb? She deliberately chose to live as a hermit and held fast to her choices. In this sense her life is exemplary. Who indeed is brave enough to take their dreams to their limit? And who, in today’s consumer society, would be capable of deliberately choosing poverty for the entire length of their life? To a certain extent Duval was ahead of her time. Choosing to live alone and to become the master of one’s destiny was not, and still is not, an easy path for a woman, especially one living in the country. Obviously she was not a mild person. This is also apparent in her political stands.<\/p>\n As we have said, self-denial made Anjela Duval angry. Cowardice in general was very distasteful to her. One senses this often in her works, in particular when she blames the Bretons for their lack of courage regarding their country and their language.<\/p>\n My compatriots are asleep<\/em> Ever faithful to her ideas, she always had the courage to say and write what she believed, no matter what most people thought. She did not count her efforts and did not fear malicious gossip. Neither did she withhold her temper:<\/p>\n Such a Fate is ours!<\/em> She never refused to help Breton political activists, even those who fought with illegal means and who were frowned upon by the majority of Bretons. Such is the case in the following writing, in which she expresses her support for the accused members of Brittany’s National Liberation Front:<\/p>\n In front of the Judge of the Masters<\/em> This courage and generosity bring us to Duval’s last lesson.<\/p>\n You will receive as you have given to others<\/em><\/p>\n It seems that already as a child Anjela Duval wanted to write. Indeed, in one of her last school notebooks, I found a short poem dated August 9, 1920, in which she asks God to help her become a \u201c<\/strong>poetess\u201d<\/strong>:<\/p>\n I want to become a little poetess<\/em> Forty years later her wish came true. Through her creative activity she was able to overcome her suffering, as she herself explained. She believed that everyone was made to love and that since she had no children or family, writing was a means for her to express her love for others. For her, as for many others, writing became a way to overcome the frustration of childlessness. She wrote a lot and left many poems and texts in prose. It seems that she composed her poems in the same manner as rural bards composed their songs: all day long, as she was working the soil, she meditated. As soon as she had some free time she wrote down her thoughts on any available piece of paper : an envelope, a piece of newspaper, a flyer\u2026 I found many such bits of papers in her archives. Many words were crossed out and replaced by others. But it was surprising to see how beautiful even her uncorrected drafts were. She composed her poems in her mind and not on paper. (This differs somewhat from ordinary writing procedures today, by which writers immediately set their text on paper, or on screen, and later modify it, without relying on their memory.) Later, when she was satisfied with the text, Duval copied it over on a small notebook, as modest as herself. I found about forty of these notebooks, and there may be more in the homes of the poet’s friends.<\/p>\n The themes in Duval’s poetry are similar to those in her life : the earth, nature, animals, faith, prayer, love of the Breton people and the fight against sickness are the most frequent ones. Other themes are equally important, though less explicit. Love and a certain form of erotic mysticism have not for example been discussed by commentators of her work. She did however write or translate several love poems such as this one:<\/p>\n Bring me that Love that tries to lose itself<\/em> One cannot say that she wrote openly erotic poems. Yet if one sheds a psychoanalytic light on her work, certain texts reveal a new dimension. This is the case of \u00ab\u00a0Va barzhonego\u00f9\u00a0\u00bb, in which she says that she writes poems\u2026<\/p>\n But on the bare breast of the One I love,<\/em> Besides this, she translated various poems which have a certain erotic overtone, such as \u00ab\u00a0Barzhoniezh Bro-Indez\u00a0\u00bb, in which the author writes:<\/p>\n I’m dying, but I remember the joy of my first emotion<\/em> The desire for children, or rather the regret of not having any, is also very present in her work. In \u00ab\u00a0Trivliad\u00a0\u00bb, for example, she describes the emotions she felt upon seeing objects moving in the wind when she stood up from her work to rest her back. She realized that they were baby diapers drying in the sun\u2026<\/p>\n And now, bent again<\/em> Later, in \u00ab\u00a0Piv ?\u00a0\u00bb, she wonders–as do many elderly farmers\u2013what will become of her farm once she is gone.<\/p>\n And at the end of my time<\/em> Death is equally present in her work. We can mention \u00ab\u00a0\u2020 Tekla\u00a0\u00bb, in which she speaks to her former hospital roommate in Lannion, asking her:<\/p>\n Where are you Tekla?<\/em> Most importantly, one should cite the numerous poems dedicated to her parents, to her sister, and to activists dead for Brittany, as well as poems about the day of the Dead, and \u00ab\u00a0Va c’halon\u00a0\u00bb\u2026<\/p>\n My heart is a Cemetery<\/em> Duval’s style of writing is not uniform. Some of her texts reveal flashes of inspiration. Others seem weaker, perhaps because she did not take the time to work on them. Whatever the inspirational quality of her works, all are written in admirable Breton. Duval mastered her language perfectly. Her syntax is irreproachable; her very rich vocabulary mingles older terms\u2013\u00a0\u00bbpolished, caressed and saved from rust\u00a0\u00bb\u2013and neologisms\u2013\u00a0\u00bbthe jingle of light metal\u00a0\u00bb\u2013to express her emotions and to play upon various sounds. The Breton language flowed from her pen energetically and she produced numerous lively expressions. But Duval was not only a great writer, she was also a preacher.<\/p>\n In 1971, Andr\u00e9 Voisin, a producer at ORTF, created a television series on popular storytellers. While passing through Brittany he asked Roger Laouenan, a reporter at the T\u00e9l\u00e9gramme,<\/em> to recommend people for him to interview. He sent him to see a certain Louis Mercier\u2026 and of course to see Anjela Duval with whom he was friendly. However, he worried somewhat about how Duval would welcome the television crew and about what she might say in front of the cameras and projectors. It is true that at first she was a little frightened by so many people arriving in her old farm with all their equipment. Yet, especially when the filming took place outside, she relaxed and revealed herself. What did she say ?<\/p>\n Reproach of the land deserted<\/em> Several times after that she wrote that if she had accepted the interview in a sense it was in order to act as an apostle. The impact of the show was much greater than she and Roger Laouenan had expected. Duval was an enormous success on the evening that her interview came on the air. All of France was impressed by her performance. The same was true in other countries that aired the show. It seems the viewers everywhere were moved by the strength of the poet’s convictions. After years of silent meditation followed by ten years of writing, her ideas were clear and she knew how to express them in simple terms and vivid images that hit the spot. The lack of any discrepancy between her thoughts, her words and her actions was no doubt obvious. After the first showing of the interview on December 28 1971, she received thousands of letters and visitors.<\/p>\n Thus, like a prophet dedicated body and soul to her sacred mission, Duval went to the end of her task. She personally answered all the letters, one by one, even though a friend offered to copy a form letter to be sent to all her new admirers. But she refused. At the time, this friend did not understand. Only ten years later, at the time of her death he realized that: \u00ab\u00a0today I understand that you wanted to accomplish your vocation, and to make known the mission that was yours in this world\u2026\u00a0\u00bb<\/p>\n In addition to the letters, she had a never–<\/strong>ending stream of visitors. All were welcomed in accordance with the traditional rules of Breton hospitality, that is so say almost as members of her family, with coffee, bread, butter, crepes and cakes\u2026 She set everything she had on the table for her guests, who nonetheless were sometimes condescending or curious to observe her as one would a circus animal. However, in each letter and to each visitor Duval offered a message. She preached in defense of Brittany and of her language, not like a preacher from his pulpit, but with humor and vitality. Thanks to her work, it appears that she had a certain influence on the evolution of Breton society. For her visitors were very numerous and were certainly affected by her intelligence and her sharp responses. Thus, in preaching as in other aspects of her life, Duval went very far, to the point of sacrifice.<\/p>\n It is not enough to give\u2028 Anjela Duval was moved by the spirit of sacrifice. As we previously noted, she first sacrificed the love of a man to her land. In one of her poems she uses the word \u00ab\u00a0sacrifice\u00a0\u00bb to describe the nature of her relationship to the earth.<\/p>\n The Certificate of my sacrifice to the Country I love<\/em> Later\u2013<\/strong>or rather,<\/strong> simultaneously\u2013she sacrificed her youth for her parents. In fact, it was perhaps in order to take care of them that she chose to remain on her farm, turning her fianc\u00e9 away. Her parents were not young when she was born: her father was forty-three and her mother thirty-eight. Therefore they soon needed to be cared for. Who would have taken care of them had she gone away? Was this not her main concern when she refused to leave the farm of Trao\u00f1-an-Dour ? At any rate, she gave all her energy and all her love to her parents while they were alive. When they died she went through the darkest period of her life. Fraught with anxiety, she felt that her life had lost its meaning. Thirty years after her mother’s death, she still recalled:<\/p>\n So painful had been the separation<\/em> However, approximately ten years after her mother’s death in 1951, and thanks to her writing she found her way and her equilibrium in a serene form of solitude. Unfortunately, her tranquility lasted only ten years. After the television interview in 1971 her life changed radically. Yet she did not reject the millions of letters and visitors who disturbed her peaceful peasant and poet’s existence. Quite the opposite, according to Roger Laouenan, she welcomed about 100 000 people during the ten years between her first appearance on television and her death in 1981! Many radio and television stations (the BBC, Finnish and Swedish television channels, etc.) produced shows about her, the hermit who had chosen such solitude\u2026 To her this responsibility represented the cross she must bear for her country, Brittany. Reflecting on her first television show, she wrote a year later:<\/p>\n No need to think, people<\/em> Using the time she should have spent on her work, on meditation, on poetry and her health, she exhausted herself. It is likely that this worsened her illness and precipitated her death.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n To conclude, one can say that Anjela Duval appears to have anticipated some of the great issues we now face: the safeguard of the ecological balance necessary to the planet; the quest for meaning made more pressing by the failures of ideology; the cultural roots through which individuals seek recognition in an increasingly unified world, etc.<\/p>\n To each of these questions Duval brought some answers. Everyone is free to accept or refuse her ideas, but this is not the issue. This woman without a formal education, living alone on her farm, understood many of the great questions that humanity faces today. In answer to them she built a philosophy of life, expressed in her poetry. Last of all, she artfully set her life in harmony with her poetic and mystic vision of the world, to the point of death.<\/p>\n * English translation of: Anjela Duval hiziv<\/em><\/a> \n<\/p>\n Duval, Anjela<\/strong><\/p>\n 1972a \u201c Kaier al Louarn \u201d, Hor Yezh,<\/em> n\u00b0 75, April.<\/p>\n 1972b \u201c Peder danevell verr \u201d, Hor Yezh,<\/em> n\u00b0 79, August.<\/p>\n 1973a Kan an Douar, <\/em>Brest, Al Liamm.<\/p>\n 1973b Hiboud al Leger,<\/em> Skol.<\/p>\n 1973c \u201c Barzhonego\u00f9 all \u201d, Hor Yezh, <\/em>n\u00b0 88, August.<\/p>\n 1974 \u201c Barzhonego\u00f9 nevez \u201d, Hor Yezh, <\/em>n\u00b0 94, March.<\/p>\n 1980 \u201c Leve ar paour \u201d, Brest, Al Liamm,<\/em> n\u00b0 201, July-August.<\/p>\n 1982a Trao\u00f1 an Dour,<\/em> Brest, Al Liamm.<\/p>\n 1982b Tad-kozh Roperz-Huon,<\/em> Douarnenez, Hor Yezh.<\/p>\n 1983 Ki bihan ar feunten,<\/em> Ar Releg-Kerhuon, An Here.<\/p>\n 1986 Me, Anjela,<\/em> Lesneven, Mouladurio\u00f9 Hor Yezh.<\/p>\n 1989 Rouzig ar gwi\u00f1ver,<\/em> Ar Releg-Kerhuon, An Here.<\/p>\n Stourm a ran war bep tachenn, <\/em>Sant-Brieg, Mignoned Anjela.<\/p>\n Duval, Anjela – H\u00e9lias, Pierre-Jakez – Philippot, Jacques<\/strong><\/p>\n 1995 Gant ar mareo\u00f9 bloaz – Au fil des saisons,<\/em> Spezet, Coop Breizh.<\/p>\n Laouenan, Roger<\/strong><\/p>\n 1982 Anjela Duval,<\/em> collection \u201c Bretons t\u00e9moins de leur temps \u201d, Quimper, Nature et Bretagne.<\/p>\n Piriou, Yann-Ber<\/strong><\/p>\n 1971 D\u00e9fense de cracher par terre et de parler breton,<\/em> Paris, \u00c9ditions P.-J. Oswald. Bilingual anthology (Breton and French).<\/p>\n Timm, Lenora A.<\/strong><\/p>\n 1991 A Modern Breton Political Poet : Anjela Duval,<\/em> Lewiston-Queenston-Lampeter, The Edwin Mellen Press.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" <\/h2>\n
The quest for truth<\/h2>\n
\nWhich Goals I attempt\u2028<\/em>
\nTo reach because it is you\u2028<\/em>
\nWho has shown me\u2028<\/em>
\nFaith. Country. <\/em>
\nThe Soil of the Country.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h3>\n
A. Love of nature<\/h3>\n
\nThe flat plain in the horizon\u2028<\/em>
\nSo many giant cadavers\u2028<\/em>
\nTheir limbs scattered, their sap bleeding\u2028<\/em>
\nThe huge trees decapitated\u2028<\/em>
\n(Oh the murder of the Innocents!)<\/em><\/p>\n
\nWith all his science\u2028<\/em>
\nLacking any conscience<\/em>
\n\u2028And filled with boundless arrogance<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI fertilize, sow, weed, harvest.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h3>\n
B. Spirituality<\/h3>\n
\nOf his royal mantle\u2028<\/em>
\nTo dress the trees\u2028<\/em>
\nWith gold and purple<\/em><\/p>\n
\nHeedful of crushing, of smashing<\/em>
\nAlong the path or through the field<\/em>
\nTiny humble creatures beneath my foot:<\/em>
\nThe green beetle crouched in the moss,<\/em>
\nThe minute ant carrying<\/em>
\nWith great effort and ingenuity<\/em>
\nThe short-straw to her anthill.<\/em>
\nPretty little flowers half-hidden in the grass,<\/em>
\nTrying to open their heart to the Sun.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h3>\n
C. Patriotism<\/h3>\n
\nNor set foot on other soil<\/em>
\nThan yours my own Brittany<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI saw people dying of hunger.<\/em>
\nSaw people dying in despair.<\/em>
\nSaw people killing people, brothers striking each other.<\/em>
\nSaw people oppressed.<\/em>
\nSaw a great leader falling under a madman\u2019s bullets.<\/em>
\nSaw I don\u2019t know how many people weeping.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nTo your Country, to your Children?<\/em>
\nIt’s a crime to break the golden chain<\/em>
\nOur Honor resides therein.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h2>\n
The struggles<\/h2>\n
<\/h3>\n
A. Life struggles<\/h3>\n
\nYes out, you!<\/em>
\nI do not want<\/em>
\nI will never tolerate<\/em>
\nHearing insulted in my own house<\/em>
\nMy hardworking Brothers<\/em>
\nServants of the Soil<\/em>
\nSacred Soil of my Country<\/em>
\nOur Country. Our Mother-Country!<\/em>
\nMy Brothers. Peasants.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h3>\n
B. The struggle against oneself<\/h3>\n
\nThat I have borne since I was young<\/em>
\nFor alas, the one I cared for<\/em>
\nDidn’t love what I loved<\/em>
\nHe only loved cities<\/em>
\nDistant countries, deep seas<\/em>
\nAnd I only loved the fields<\/em>
\nThe fair fields of my Brittany<\/em><\/p>\n
\nI am about to faint, overcome with grief<\/em><\/p>\n
\nOn the shoulders of the young.<\/em>
\nWhen an old person can<\/em>
\nCarry them himself.<\/em>
\nOne should smile at their smile<\/em>
\nEven when tormented by the sharpest pain<\/em>
\nOne should nurture their hope<\/em>
\nIn a Future that will be theirs<\/em>
\nAnd that will redeem centuries of shame<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h3>\n
C. The passionate activist<\/h3>\n
\nAnd our Country is drowning<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThere’s no more living in the Country<\/em>
\nOne must extend one’s hand to the French<\/em>
\nAnd kneel before them<\/em><\/p>\n
\nLambs before the wolves-<\/em>
\nTwenty-five accused<\/em>
\nDefenders of Brittany’s Honor and Life<\/em>
\nWill be insulted before the People<\/em>
\nThat People with Brains addled<\/em>
\nBy School, Radio, TV and media of the French<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h2>\n
The gift of self<\/h2>\n
<\/h3>\n
A. Writing<\/h3>\n
\nThis is my heart’s wish in this world.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIn the depths of Being and from there to ascend<\/em>
\nRising invisibly along the branches of the tree of Life.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nOn the bare skin of the country I love.<\/em>
\nI don’t write them with a pencil stub<\/em>
\nBut with steel tools<\/em><\/p>\n
\nBefore your face so beautifully silhouetted graceful and pure<\/em>
\nI remember the trembling of my Being before the subtle Beauty<\/em>
\nThat enveloped you like a delicate ether.<\/em>
\nI remember your rounded bosom so soft<\/em>
\nOh the fresh enchantment of Love! In dying<\/em>
\nI remember this and that marvel of your beauty in bloom<\/em>
\nYour deep eyes resembling lotuses under dew.<\/em><\/p>\n
\nOver my work,<\/em>
\nMy eyelashes are moist<\/em>
\nI, the old maid!<\/em><\/p>\n
\nAt the end of my strength<\/em>
\n I sigh!<\/em>
\nWho will take my motto<\/em>
\n After me?<\/em>
\nWho will take my arms?<\/em>
\n When they have fallen from my hands<\/em>
\nWhen I have not borne a son\u2026<\/em><\/p>\n
\nWhere is your soul?<\/em><\/p>\n
\nIn it are countless graves.<\/em>
\nIn it always a new grave,<\/em>
\nGraves of friends and relatives,<\/em>
\nMy heart is a Cemetery!<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h3>\n
B. Preaching<\/h3>\n
\nLonging of a subject People<\/em>
\nFor its rights, its Freedom<\/em>
\nAnger of the young<\/em>
\nWho were denied their language:<\/em>
\nSoul of a race.<\/em><\/p>\n <\/h3>\n
C. The gift of self<\/h3>\n
\nOne must give one’s self<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThe Seal of my love for the Country is Mine<\/em>
\nIn my most tender youth<\/em>
\nMy heart full of Hope<\/em>
\nOn the bank of a tranquil brook<\/em>
\nIts clear waters gurgling<\/em>
\nI had planted clump by clump<\/em>
\nThe future poplar-trees<\/em><\/p>\n
\nSo strongly knotted was our life<\/em>
\nWith the unbreakable bond of Love<\/em><\/p>\n
\nThat she might have been seeking fame<\/em>
\nIt was only a sacrifice<\/em>
\nOn her part<\/em>
\nOn the alter of her Country<\/em><\/p>\n
\nMore about Ronan Le Coadic: lecoadic.net<\/a><\/p>\nBibliography<\/h3>\n