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Winged Migration
2001
Bruno Coulais
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| MASTERS OF THE FIELD |
Gabriel Yacoub / Bruno Coulais |
Up above gathered on a field of clouds.
Crowded a lot down in the lowlands,
Waiting for their time.
Waiting and calling,
calling out for rain.
To leave the skies down in the lowlands,
Masters of the field.
Wings wide set in the teeth of the wind.
The old beasts feathered wild beasts.
Masters of the field.
Eagle dancers, wings that shape the wind.
Carving the clouds into spirit,
Sufis of the air.
Dervish dancers summoning the sun.
To tint the mist down on the lowlands,
Masters of the field.
Old beasts, feathered, wild beasts.
Masters of the field.
| THE HIGHEST GANDER |
Gabriel Yacoub / Bruno Coulais |
Overland, above the dark seas,
wild refugees flee the seasons.
Drifting beyond the night clouds
in the wake of their guiding star.
There he goes the famous gander.
Eating fog, dancing with witches.
There he goes, the famous old gander
who longed to leave.
If you hear the sound of our voices
through the busy murmur of the earth,
you will know the meaning of our words
praying for spring to the ether.
Night and day the travellers fly.
(winter and spring have their reasons).
Sailing through sunrise and setting wild wind
and through steel blue air.
Here he comes, the highest gander.
Eating fog, dancing with witches.
Here he comes, the famous old gander
Who longed to leave.
We don't feel the warmth of your breath.
Through the icy edges of the earth,
we don't hear the rhythms of your call,
signalling the spring in the ether.
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