September Song
(to my father)
I still sing these songs in September -
All the melodies from my childhood, from my youth.
Yes, I remember them all with my heart.
We harvested grapes in my father’s vineyard -
Heavy pearls in gold and red.
It was his season, his main campaign.
So, we harvested them for days.
And then the autumn fan began.
Beautiful girls and strong handsome boys
Jumped into huge wooden barrel.
Tightening up their clothes to the knee
And singing harvesting songs,
Dancing and mashing the sweet juicy pearls
With their bare feet and laughter was burst.
While grandma was cooking,
Kneeled down on the ground,
My father was blessing the vines.
Spieling red wine deep into the roots.
He was thankful for the year that past.
Happy harvesting songs were herd far away
Until moon got high in the sky
Spreading shimmering dust
On the vines from above.
The next day and the very next day
It happened again and again.
So, the job was entirely done.
Yes, I remember this magical time
In which grapes were turned to wine.
I remember the songs of September
And my father’s harvesting chants.
No comments:
Post a Comment