Queyras anthem by Hubert Leconte

Text written in 2007 for Retour en Queyras act II

1 - The past, hope, memory and exile

Shepherds of the pastures, walkers and poets,
I'll tell you my story and my quest,
My joys and sorrows, my mourning and regrets.
For I am the Queyras of time immemorial,
Of the land of ancestors and the land of renewal.
I'll tell my past, I'll open my memory
Of times of indigence, misery and hope.
I'll always sing like the troubadour,
The father sweating, blowing, bent over the windrow,
The son on the mountain pastures, plucking the regain.
Queyras of hard work and daily bread.

I'll talk about the mountain man and his projects,
Inundated with sweat scraping my peaks
And my unfruitful lands for his meager pittance,
The wrath of heavy weather and little abundance.
Then I saw my sons go, I mourned their absence.
But I am the Queyras they have not forgotten,
Because I had nothing and gave everything.
I'm their old Queyras of distant nostalgia,
Of homecoming and heavy sorrows.

2 - Fire, war, resistance, freedom, the Escartons

I'll tell you about the soldiers and the machine-gun fire,
And the barbarian hordes and the dark scoundrels,
The fire in my house and the rage in my guts.
I'll tell you the end of the Huguenots
And the avenging barbets on the land of the devout.
I'll tell you about the supplicants of the Inquisition,
Intolerance and its pyres, Catinat and his dragons
And of a king who reneged on the pact of his fathers
And threw my children into the fury of war.
I suffered in 14/18, I knew that of forty,
Men of courage, my valley of resistance,
The anonymous heroes who fought for my freedom,
Sacrificed their lives and their good years.
I keep my wounded villages in my heart,
Families banished so far from home.
And I remember the partisans' song
When the cannon thunders over our children's cradles.
For I am the Queyras who loves freedom.
I'll show you my stone sentinels
Leaning over my valleys, from Grand Master Vauban
Guardians of time-tested borders,
Independent men, enterprising and proud,
Inventors of united republics
For I am the Queyras of yesterday's Escartons.

3 - Freedom for women and love

I am the Queyras of Midsummer fires,
And sundials that measure time,
Of great light and budding love.
I am in the sun, in the fire of passions,
Like boiling blood, the earth in gestation,
The spring that succeeds the dead season.
But many my daughters have left my mountain pastures
To live elsewhere, in other landscapes.
Deprived of their roots, their friends, my fountains,
Of everything that made them rich and me rich,
They have taken flight, their freedom, their life,
A guaranteed job, a project, a desire,
With a touch of nostalgia in their broken hearts,
A desire to return to the source of their lives.
One day they will return to my paths, my ways.
I am Queyras open to the women of tomorrow.

4 - The harshness of the times, the violence of the elements

Queyras of the Cristillan, of the white waters of the Guil,
Encrusted waterfalls and agile torrents,
I can still tell you the fury of the storm
That fattened my lands, drowned my pastures,
My houses, my sheep, my flocks, my cottages.
It was in fifty-seven in the heart of summer,
Nothing remained of my old landmarks.
My roads and bridges, my paths and tracks
Were going down the drain beyond the combe.
I was in agony, like dying flesh.
It was fifty-seven, in the heart of a sad summer.
For I am the Queyras of raging waters.

I knew, in those hours of deep distress,
Men who came from elsewhere to show deep solidarity.
Shovels in hand, hearts slung over their shoulders,
They saved me from the worst, despair and anger.
I owe my survival to you, O France of solidarity.
Friends of our provinces, this is your home,
In my high valleys I give you a rendezvous,
I offer you my larches, my meadows and my flowers.
For I am the eternal friend of kind-hearted men.

The raging river swept away
The straw from my clogs,
Queyras agonizing yesterday but always reborn.
Beyond violence, misery and heavy weather,
Without measuring my pain, nor counting my full hours,
From dawn to dusk,
I work to build a brighter tomorrow
Braving wind, storm and sun.
I'm indestructible, fatalistic and serene.

5 - Beauty, faith, wisdom and life

For my mountain air is so pure that sometimes
I tell myself that the wise cannot lose faith.
My mountain is so beautiful when the July air
Makes the meadows quiver on the slopes of the adrets,
When in my villages the roosters of my steeples
Perched on their spurs, peck at the milky way.
I am the Queyras of eternal beauty,
Like the snow on the summits, the flight of the bartavelles,
The chamois on the alert, the hunter on the prowl,
For long hours on the steep rock.
A true duel of titans, and may the best man win
When the ball rings in the heart of the mountain.
And I am the Queyras of the mysteries of faith,
The crosses of mission, the secrets of the past,
Of healing herbs and evil witches,
Of a savior god, of beneficial prayers.
I'll count the hours on my dial,
The sentence of the day, the wisdom of yesteryear.
"Boast well the meadow, stand in the mountain,
For in the end of time she still wins."

6 - The shepherd's reply

Shepherd and troubadour, I have heard your song
And I'd like to share my lament with you.
Without pretension, it's of simple love.
I come and go, I talk to the bird on its branch,
To trees and children, to Sunday bells.
All that vibrates and breathes, shares my silences.
I lead the herds of Provence to your land,
Camargue sheep on long transhumance.
On the summer pastures of Queyras, I let my joy sing,
Thank you for what you give and I receive.
Seeing you every day, I understand your messages,
I can see heavy weather, sense a storm,
Protect my lambs, make my cheese,
For I am the shepherd of high pastures.
Hard as a rock, lighter than a cloud,
Full of enchanted dreams that imperfect words
Cannot explain without betraying your secret.
Will I ever be able to write with a confident pen
The starry nights, the white snow,
And the thousand and one sounds the wind brings me,
The trickle of water, the whistle of marmots,
That tell me in my ear that the time of the steeple
Freezes into beautiful hours charged with eternity?
For I am the shepherd of high pastures,
He who is seldom seen in the heart of your villages.
Like the eagle on its threshing floor and the bird of passage,
I am free, like the wind blowing through the larches,
Alone, poor and weary, but content and at ease.
Goodbye my friend and goodbye my brother,
The Queyras of today and the Queyras of yesterday

7 - Queyras response and finale

Greetings to you, shepherd, friend of the low plains!
May your heavy bag of memories be full.
May the song of the birds, the scent of my flowers
Embellish your life, enrich your heart.
May you know how to give love to those around you.
And remember me every hour of every day.
Come back whenever you like to my alpine meadows.
For I'm your lifelong friend, the wise old man.
Tonight I'll be the Queyras of occasion,
Of the child's return to his old home.
And you, whom love has led to me,
Come to my valleys and find a home.
For you are my daughter, my son and my child.
From elsewhere, no doubt, unrepentant dreamers,
Path-walkers or simple summer visitors.
May the summer wind caress your faces,
May love keep you in the heart of my villages,
And I'll give you my most beautiful landscapes,
Suns setting on misty peaks,
The fury of the autan, the pallor of my moons.
For I am the Queyras who thanks all those,
Lovers of the soil, precious volunteers,
Strangers who Fate has brought to my doorstep,
Children of the great return and all those I adopt,
Who have marked out my paths on my summits,
Discovered my treasures and magnified them,
Rebuilt my schools, developed my resorts,
Straightened my old towns, raised my houses.
I'm the Queyras of progress and evolution.

So for you tonight, parents, faithful friends,
Let the Château Queyras light its candles,
And for a long time to come, shine brightly.
May rockets of joy light up the blue vault,
And tonight at last, may the lanterns blaze.
My table is open to you, as a happy tabellion.
Let's laugh together, let's all dream of a calmer world,
Where the man of violence, the eternal warrior,
Would put down his gun and speak of friendship,
Respect the child, the flower and the hawk.
From the bottom of my heart, I'd still like to tell you,
Proud of my past, confident in the future,
To write with a moving finger, on my eternal snows,
That I am the Queyras of loyal friendships.