Is Occitan Dead?

Words carry unique DNA. As you travel through Occitanie, formerly Languedoc, you will see the names of cities and towns
that sound nothing like standard French place names: Grazillees, VilleMoustaussou, Mazamet, and Mauguio, to name a few. The name "Languedoc" is a contraction of the words "langue" for "language" and "oc," which means "yes" in Occitan. The language spoken in northern France, the one we know today as French, uses "oui" instead of "oc" for "yes." The language of Oc was the language of the south of France, the language of 12th century troubadours. Much later, at the end of the 19th century and early 20th century Occitan experienced a small revival with the help of Provençal poet Frédéric Mistral, but overall, the language has been on a long, slow decline.

 The Mediterranean coast stretching from Valencia to Barcelona along Costa Brava, past Perpignan, Narbonne, Montpellier, Arles,
Aix, and Marseilles is linguistically connected. Hence, Occitan is closer to Spanish Catalan than it is to Standard French, and the vocabulary proves it. The Catalan word for "fish" is peix. In Occitan, it's peis. Compare that to poisson in French, or pescado in Castilian Spanish. Catalan branched off in the 13th century. In France, the common thread is the family of regional dialects that form the basis of Occitan, hence the name "Occitanie" for the region.

 While I was in France some told me Occitan is dead. Others told me it's making a comeback, and as proof, they said two Montpellier
elementary schools teach Occitan. Many admit their parents or grandparents spoke to each other in a patois. Occitan enthusiasts and Occitan separatists look to Catalonia and the strides they've made in creating a separate cultural and political identity from the rest of Spain, but Occitan has five major regional dialects, each with unique spelling, and this makes it hard to create political unity.

 As much as I romanticized Occitan, I came to realize that I had to be prepared to accept the language in all its hairiness, smell, and twang.

 Frédéric Mistral writes:

 We found her in a sheepfold
Dressed in ugly rags,
The Provençal tongue.
The heat had tanned her skin
As she led her flock to graze;
The poor thing had only her hair,
To cover her shoulders.
Then along came some young men,
Who as they happened by,
Seeing her so beautiful,
Were overcome with feeling.
So may they be welcome here,
For they have dressed her properly
Like a young lady.

 - Memoirs of Frederic Mistral, pages 128-129

 I visited a local used bookstore across from the laundromat I frequented. I asked about books written in Occitan, and the owner started handing me journal after journal of Occitan poetry in French
Nîmes bookstore similar to the one I visited in Montpellier
translation dating back to the 1940s. I even found a multi-page photo spread of Frédéric Mistral in a July 1957 edition of Paris Match that I bought for 5 euros.

 For fun, I tried my hand at translating an Occitan poem, via the French translation, into English. The poem is called "Silence," and the poet is Enri Feraud.
Silence
And the anxiety of the belly
And the anxiety of the belly
The roof of the house is going to fail
The roof of the house is going to fail
The tree is dead
And words no longer come from the lips
The tree is dead
And words no longer come from the lips
Brambles have grown back over the door
to the sheepfold
Brambles have grown back over the door
to the sheepfold
Ivy has petrified time on the stone
On dust of the road
is the absence of being
all is quiet
Not a breath of air to bring your memory
  The roof of the house is going to fail
The roof of the house is going to fail
The anxiety of the belly
The anxiety of the belly
In the silence
Resonates the sound of a drop of water.
- 1971
Bilingual Occitan and French journal of poetry and essays

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