language: occitan

Villons Erben - Ai Vis Lo Lop

An old song in Occitan language, a language mostly spoken in the south of France, but also in smaller parts of Italy and Spain. 

Ai vis lo lop
Lo rainard, lèbre
Ai vis lo lop
Rainard dancar
Totei tres fasiàn lo torn de l`aubre
Ai vis lo lop, lo rainard, la lèbre
Totei tres fasiàn lo torn de l`aubre
Fasiàn lo torn dau boisson folhat

Aqui triman tota l`annada
Pèr se ganhar quauquei soùs
Rèn que dins una mesada
Ai vis lo lop, lo rainard, la lèbre
Nos i fotèm tot pel cuol
Ai vis lo lèbre, lo rainard, lo lop

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anonymous asked:

What does "kesako" means?

Well, first of all, it shouldn’t be written “kesako” but “quésaco” (or even better, “qu'es aquò?”) and it means “what is it?” in Occitan, which is a southern local language :)

  • Ventadorn: Can l'erba fresch'el folha par
  • Camerata Mediterranea

Ventadorn: Can l'erba fresch'el folha par

E.l vescoms de Ventadorn si avia moiller bella e gaia e joven e gentil; et abellic se d'En Bernart e de las soas chansos, et enamoret se de lui et el de leis, si qu'el fetz sos vers e sas chansos d'ella, de l'amor qu'el avia ad ella, e de la valor de la dompna.

Keep reading

Languedoc means ‘the tongue (or language) of Oc’, and was the name given to this area of southern France, because its inhabitants used the word 'oc’ to mean 'yes’, rather than 'oui’ which was used in the north.

John H Arnold, History - A Very Short Introduction - page 10

Already knew that from watching Terry Jones’ Medieval Lives. >:D I think I may watch it again (for the umpteenth time).

omg, I just discovered Max Rouquette and his Rasims de Luna. He’s got a poem that starts: 

La lauseta parla occitan. Despuòi de temps : al mens nòu sègles… Nòu sègles per lo faire cantar naut dins lo solelh que l'ensolelha.

O_O *tears up* This is hitting all my occitan language-pride/medieval feels all at once. I love that I didn’t even need to read the note about what was being referenced. He even mentions Ventadorn by name in the last stanza.


“a self-interrupting network or nodules made up of anecdotes and vignettes - brief stories rumored or vouched for - profusely interspersed with digressions, observations, flashes of memory or insight; punctuated by disquisitions on instruments of measurement or location, scientific proofs and reasoning; interpolated with exhortations…”

A. what Geraldine Heng said about John Mandeville’s Travels

B. a description of my final papers

C. a metaphysical poem about Chocolate-Peanut Butter Ice (Coconut) Cream


I learned thanks to kettunainen that memrise has online Occitan language courses! I mean, I already knew this site but never guessed they’ll be teaching occitan too!

Memrise is a good way to learn a language since they propose memes to help you memorize the vocabulary. And most of the times, they are pretty hilarious.

I mean, see :

  • It’s EASY to remember what AISIT (= Easy) means. 
  • Thie òme (=man) is my HOMIE.
  • (diser = to say).

// The only problem is that for the moment they don’t offer audio tips for the pronunciation. (They do for other languages). //

fluffysnowball  asked:

hello :D do you know any resources for learning occitan?

OOOOOOH OCCITAN. I did a bit of digging and: 

Hopefully that was helpful!

Quésaco ?

From Occitan’s “Qu'es aquò ?” (What is it?)
Slang - What is it, What the hell you’re talking about ?

*Quelqu'un à qui on offre un livre pourri pour Noël* “Quésaco ?”
“C'est de la part de ta soeur.”
“Bah forcément, qui d'autre pour m'offrir un truc aussi con.”

*Someone getting a lame book for Christmas* “The hell?”
“It’s from your sister.”
“Obviously, who else could possibly buy me such a shitty thing.”

  • Trouro-Louro-Louro!
  • Strada
  • Nadal: Traditional Mediterranean Carols

Song Title: Touro-louro-louro
Composer: Nicolas Saboly
Performing Artist: Strada
Language: Occitan

Touro-louro-louro! lou gau canto,
E n'es pas encaro jour ;
léu m'envau en Terro-Sànto
Pèr vèire Noste-Segnour.
Vos-tu veni?
Nani, nani.
Vendras proun bèn!
N'en farai rèn.
Guihaume! Guihaume!
Au mens s'iéu noun torne plus,
Fai-me dire ùni Sèt-Saume.
Ai-las! moun Diéu!
Siéu pavourous coume un poulet,
Quand siéu soulet.

from The Women Troubadours by Meg Bogin, p. 132-33.

Na Maria, pretz e fina valors,
e.l joi e.l sen e la fina beutatz,
e l'aculhir e.l pretz e las onors,
e.l gent parlar e l'avinen solatz,
e la dous esgart e l'amoros semblan
que son en vos, don non avetz engansa,
me fan traire vas vos ses cor truan.

Per que vos prec, platz qu fin’ amors
e gausiment e dous umilitatz
me posca far ab vos tan de socors,
que mi donetz, bella domna, platz,
so don plus ai d'aver joi e ‘speransa;
car en vos ai mon cor e mon talan,
e per vos ai tot so qu'ai d'alegransa
e per vos vauc mantas vetz sospiran.

E car beutatz e valor vos enansa
sobra totas, qu'una es denan,
vos prec, platz, per so es onransa,
que non ametz entendidor truan.

Bella domna, cui pretz e joi enansa
e gen parlar, a vos mas coblas man,
car en vos es gajess’ e alegranssa,
e tot lo ben qu'om en domna deman.

—Bieiris de Romans
(first half of 13th century?)

Nothing at all is known about Bieiris de Romans except her birthplace. Romans, northeast of Montélimar, produces another troubadour, Folquet de Romans, who flourished in the first half of the thirteenth century. This chansonis addressed to another woman, named Maria, whose identity is unknown.

Lady Maria, in you merit and distinction,
joy, intelligence and perfect beauty,
hospitality and honor and distinction,
your noble speech and pleasing company,
your sweet look and the loving expression
that exist in you without pretension
cause me to turn toward you with a pure heart.

Thus I pray you, if it please you that true love
and celebration and sweet humility
should bring me such relief with you,
if it please you, lovely woman, then give me
that which most hope and joy promises
for in you lie my desire and my heart
and from you stems all my happiness,
and because of you I’m often sighing.

And because merit and beauty raise you high
above all others (for none surpasses you),
I pray you, please, by this which does you honour,
don’t grant your love to a deceitful suitor.

Lovely woman, whom joy and noble speech uplift,
and merit, to you my stanzas go,
for in you are gaiety and happiness,
and all good things one could ask of a woman.


Those of you who have been following me for a while will probably be aware of my fascination with Romance languages, and especially with the traditional tongues and dialects of southern France and the Pyrenees. This evening I somehow ended up watching this video of revellers at the Hestiv'Oc festival coming together to sing the unofficial anthem of Occitania- the lands in the Midi where the lenga d'oc was (and to an extent still is) spoken in place of the langue d'oïl (French). This song- known as Se Canta or Aqueras Montanhas- was supposedly written by Gaston III Fébus (1331-1391), Count of Foix and Béarn. As national anthems go (and I use ‘national’ in the sense of belonging to a people of common cultural heritage), this one is utterly delightful. Below are the lyrics in standard Occitan (there are many different versions in different dialects) and translated into English.

Dejós ma fenèstra,
I a un aucelon
Tota la nuèch canta,
Canta sa cançon.


Se canta, que cante,
Canta pas per ieu,
Canta per ma mia
Qu'es al luènh de ieu.

Aquelas montanhas
Que tan hautas son,
M'empachan de veire
Mas amors ont son.

Baissatz-vos, montanhas,
Planas, levatz-vos,
Per que pòsca veire
Mas amors ont son.

Aquelas montanhas
Tant s'abaissaràn,
Que mas amoretas
Se raprocharàn.


Outside my window,
There is a little bird
Singing all night,
Singing its song.


If it sings, let it sing,
It’s not singing for me,
It sings for my love
Who’s far away from me.

Those mountains
That are so high
Keep me from seeing
Where my love has gone.

Lay down, o mountains,
And rise up, o plains,
So I may see
Where my love has gone.

Those mountains
Will lay down so low
That my dear love
Will come closer.


La Félibrée 

La Félibrée is a French festival that celebrates the language, culture and traditions of the Occitan. Since 1903, this festival has taken place on the first Sunday of July in a different town in the Dordogne region of France. The town holding La Félibrée is bathed in spectacular colourful displays of handmade paper flowers as they are strung across every conceivable surface.