NaPoWriMo Day 24 :: When A Linguaphile Has An Affair

When A Linguaphile Has An Affair

I cannot even articulate
how profoundly spoken Occitan affects me.

I thought French was my love,
blossoming like flowers in my mouth,
tendrils of sound twirling around my tongue,
but the sensuality of Occitan has completely eclipsed it.

Maybe it’s the convergence of so many languages
maybe it’s the fusion that pulls
maybe it’s all those beautiful diphthongs,
the way the mouth and tongue move
like fingers caressing the skin of a drum,
circling the sound, sending it spiraling forth
punctuated by percussive desires…
there is such movement here
such rhythmic dance

aquelas bocas,
las dançairas das paraulas
aquelos sons, tirats de la fonsor de l’arma
aquela lenga, l’auba meravilhosa de l’èime mieu
jamai tal gaug dins dels mots
jamai tal lutz dins mon còr

[many apologies for any mangling of grammar; it’s a new relationship]