Song of the Forest

Gottfried Keller poem
recreated from translation by Ruth Salles

blackboard drawing by teacher Juliana Nogueira

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Cups together, arm in arm –
all the forest intertwined
the songs, which he always sings,
today sings happily.
Starting in a calm tone,
a very small oak
there, on the shore, it is already packed,
and a whisper spreads;
and an arch of the cups unites,
all the zine and zune woods.
A back-and-forth its course weaves,
as in waves it passes and grows
and, between the high peaks,
twirls in surprises.
And sing your songs,
through the cups, through the air,
and whistles and comes down,
and the roots creak.
The tallest of oaks,
rustling lonely,
thundering unties,
sings more than all the woods!
The roar ebbs above,
equaling pantomime;
and the foliage, pierced,
shines in the wind, whitish.
Old Pan enters the feast,
teaching the forest,
on the violin, in good soirée,
the universal song.
The bow goes up and down,
seven shades already spins and weaves,
in the ancient seven tones,
all, all the songs.
The poet is silent.
They will drink the melody,
in your shrunken branch,
the bird singers.