Herria eta hizkuntza
Iragan egun batez, Ostatu batean,
bi lagun ari ziren ez ta bai betean;
biak ziren euskaldun zintzoak ustean,
halere ezin adi elgarren artean;
entzuten egona naiz umore tristean.
Ez dut osorik hartu baten parabola,
erderaz mintzo baitzen, berak jakin nola:
gure herri maiteaz zuela axola,
hau, bere gain beharra, bertzen men dagola,
"Gora Euskal-Herria", frantsesez ziola.
Bertzea oldartu zen euskara garbian:
"Gure hizkuntza ez da galduko agian!
Hori dugu bereixik guk Euskal Herrian,
Gainerakotan gaude bertzen negurrian;
frantsez egina gira joan den aspaldian!"
Bi gizon horietan, zugaitz onekoa
batek ondoa zuen, bertzeak ostoa;
gauza arraro hori ez dut gustoka,
mendian bizi arren, dut ikustekoa
gaztainaren aldaxkez janzirik pagoa.
Bat herria goratzen arrotz baten gisa,
arrotz nahiak berriz herriaren hitza;
gureak ja egin du, gaiten garbi mintza,
lainopean bezala galduak gabiltza
ez daizke bi nagusi batean zerbitza!
Elgarri direlakotz bi gizon jazarri,
gauza bat bera dute bi pusketan zarri;
erakatsi nahi dut nik puskak elgarri,
gure hizkuntza eta gure Euskal Herri
Konparatzen baititut izaite bateri.
Anai-arrebak entzun ene ahotsa:
izaite bat ez daike hezur utsez osa;
herria da gorputza, hizkuntza bihotza;
bertzetik bereixtean bitarik bakotxa,
izaite horrendako segurra hilotza.
Batzu herriaz orroit, euskaraz ahantzi
bertzek euskara maite, herria gaitzetsi;
hizkuntza ta herria berex ez doatzi,
berek nahi daukute konpreniarazi
bata bertzea gabe ez daizkela bizi.
Land and Language
One day in the past, in a tavern,
two friends were chatting, not just for show;
both were honest Basques, after all,
yet unable to agree with each other;
I find myself listening in a sad mood.
I can't fully grasp a parable,
spoken in Spanish, he knew how:
caring for our beloved land,
this, his main concern, the other's mind elsewhere,
'Long live the Basque Country,' in French he'd vow.
The other one burst out in pure Basque:
'Our language will not be lost for sure!
That's our essence in the Basque Country,
we stand out in others' winter;
we've been French-made for too long!'
In those two men, a good tree
one had the fruit, the other the branch;
that strange thing I don't like,
even though I live in the mountains, I see
the acorn disguised as a chestnut.
One raising the land as a plow,
the plow desiring the land's word;
ours has been done, speaking clearly,
lost like a shadow in the fog
they can't both serve the same master!
As they argue with each other,
they both have the same thing in mind;
I want to show them the ropes,
our language and our Basque Country
I compare them to a single existence.
Listen, siblings, to my voice:
an existence can't be filled with bones;
the land is the body, the language the heart;
from each other, a piece of each,
for the existence of horror, death is certain.
Some forget about the land, neglecting Basque,
others love Basque, despising the land;
language and land don't go separately,
they want to make it clear
without one another, they can't live.