Going Back

Morgen keren we even terug naar het thuisland van mijn man.  Ik kom beslist terug met heel wat nieuwe verhalen. Albanië is een opwindende plaats, vol met verrassingen.  Het Albanese landschap heeft een verbijsterende, pure schoonheid en de mensen bezitten een ontwapende eenvoud.  Het voelt altijd een beetje alsof ik terugga naar mijn eigen geboortedorp.

Ik post in afwachting het lied 'Volver' (Going Back) gezongen door Estrella Morente.  Pure poëzie. Ik hoorde het de eerste keer in de gelijknamige film van Pedro Almodovar.  Volver is trouwens een prachtige, kleurrijke film.

Tot over twee weken.

Going Back

Tomorrow we return to my man's homeland, just for a little while.  I will definitely return with a lot of new stories. Albania is an exciting place, full of surprises.  The Albanian scenery has an amazing, pure beauty and the people possess a disarming simplicity.  It always feels a little like going back to my own native village.

In anticipation, I post the song 'Volver' (Going Back) sung by Estrella Morente.  Pure poetry. I heard it for the first time in the homonymous movie of Pedro Almodovar.  Volver, by the way, is a wonderful, colorful movie.

See you in two weeks.

Volver - sung by Estrella Morente

I imagine the flickering

of the lights that in the distance

will be marking my return.

They're the same that lit

with their pale reflections

deep hours of pain.

And even though I didn't want to come back,

you always return to your first love.

The quiet street where the echo said,

yours is her life, yours is her love,

under the mocking gaze of the stars

that, with indifference, see me return today.

To return 

with withered face,

the snows of time

has whitened my temples.

To feel ... that life is a sigh

that twenty years is nothing,

that the feverish look,

wandering in the shadows,

looks for you and names you.

To live ...

with the soul clinging

to a sweet memory

that I cry for once more.

I am afraid of the encounter

with the past that returns

to comfort my life.

I am afraid of the nights

that, filled with memories,

shackle my dreams.

But the traveler that flees

sooner or later stops his walking.

And though forgetfulness,

which destroys us all,

has killed my old illusion,

I keep concealed a humble hope

that is my heart's whole fortune.

To live ... 

with the soul clinging

to a sweet memory

that I cry for once more.