MADAME YVONNE

Madam Yvonne (1933)

LYRICS by: Enrique Cadicamo

MUSIC by: Eduardo Pereyra

TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz

Last updated on: 2/15/12

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Sing along with JULIO SOSA with LEOPOLDO FEDERICO

Julio Sosa’s rendition of Madam Yvonne is the best to my taste. The late Uruguayan singer wrote the recited verses that serve as an introduction to the tango. The word “mamuasel” is a phonetic replication in Argentine jargon of the original “madmoiselle.” He substituted “Les Quatre Arts” for “aquel boulevard” (that boulevard). Also, in the 7th verse he sings “Until one day an Argentine man arrived”.

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

RECITADO Ivonne, yo te conocí allá en el viejo Montmartre, cuando el cascabel de plata de tu risa era un refugio para nuestra bohemia y tu cansancio y tu anemia no se dibujaban aun detrás de tus ojeras violetas. Yo te conocí cuando el amor te iluminaba por dentro y te adoré de lejos, sin que lo supieras y sin pensar que confesándote este amor podría haberte salvado. Te conocí cuando era yo un estudiante de bolsillo flacos y el París nocturno de entonces danzaba al espacio en una cascada de luces el efímero reinado de un nombre, Mademoiselle Ivonne… FIN RECITADO Mamuasel Ivonne era una pebeta que en el barrio posta de viejo Montmartre, con su pinta brava de alegre griseta animó la fiesta de Les Quatre Arts. Era la papusa del barrio latino que supo a los puntos del verso inspirar… Pero fue que un día llego un argentino y a la francesita la hizo suspirar. Madame Ivonne, la Cruz del Sur fue como el sino, Madame Ivonne, fue como el sino de tu suerte… Alondra gris, tu dolor me conmueve, tu pena es de nieve… Madame Ivonne… Han pasado diez años que zarpó de Francia, Mamuasel Ivonne hoy solo es Madam… La que va a ver que todo quedó en la distancia con ojos muy tristes bebe su champán. Ya no es la papusa del Barrio Latino, ya no es la mistonga florcita de lis, ya nada le queda… Ni aquel argentino que entre tango y mate la alzó de París

RECITED Yvonne I met you back in the old Montmartre, when the silver bell of your laughter was a haven for our Bohemia and your tiredness and your anemia were not drawn behind your dark circles violets yet. I knew you when love lit you from inside and I worshiped you from afar, without you knowing and without thinking that confessing this love I could have saved you. I knew you when I was a student of lean pockets and the Paris night back then danced into space in a cascade of lights the brief reign of a name, Mademoiselle Yvonne … END RECITED Yvonne was a young girl that in the choice district of old Montmartre, with her blustery elegance of happy streetwalker animated the partying at Les Quatre Arts. She was the pretty thing of the Latin quarter who used to inspire the verse writers… But it was that one day, an Argentine man arrived and to the little French girl he made her sigh. Madame Ivonne, the Southern Cross was like the destiny, Madame Ivonne, was as the destiny of your luck … Skylark gray Your pain moves me, Your sorrow is of snow … Madame Ivonne … It has been ten years since she sailed from France, Mamuasel Ivonne today is only Madam … Who sees everything long way away at a distance with very sad eyes she drinks her champagne. She is no longer the pretty thing of the Latin Quarter, she no longer is the humble lily flower, She has nothing is left … Nor even that Argentine man who between tango and green tea lifted her from Paris

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Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2012 All Rights Reserved

POR QUE CANTO ASI

Why I sing this way (1942)

LYRICS by: Celedonio Flores

MUSIC by: Gerardo Matos Rodriguez

TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz

Last updated on: 2/10/12

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Sing along with JULIO SOSA with LEOPOLDO FEDERICO

From the Album de Oro de Julio Sosa, this is poem written by Celedonio Flores and recited by Julio Sosa over the background of the classic tango La cumparsita by Gerardo Matos Rodriguez.

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

Pido permiso señores que este tango… este tango habla por mi y mi voz entre sus sones dira dira porqué canto asi… Porque cuando pibe me acunaba en tangos la canción materna que llamaba al sueño, y escuché el rezongo de los bandoneones bajo el emparrado de mi patio pobre. Porque vi el desfile de las inclemencias con mis pobres ojos de llorar abiertos, y en aquella pieza de mis buenos viejos tuvo la pobreza su mejor canción… Y yo me hice en tangos, me fui modelando en odio, en tristeza, en las amarguras que da la pobreza, en llantos de madres, en las rebeldías del que es fuerte y tiene que cruzar los brazos cuando el hambre viene… Y yo me hice en tangos, porque es bravo, fuerte, tiene algo de vida, tiene algo de muerte… Porque quise mucho, porque me engañaron, y pasé la vida barajando sueños… Porque soy un árbol que vivió sin flores, porque soy un perro que no tiene dueño… Porque tengo odios que nunca los digo, porque cuando quiero me desangro en besos… Porque quise mucho y no me han querido… ¡Por eso yo canto tan triste, por eso! querido por eso, canto, tan triste… !por eso!

I beg your pardon, gentlemen, This tango … this tango speaks for me And my voice in its sounds will tell… It will tell why I sing this way. Because as a kid, Because as a kid, the maternal song cradled me in tango To put me to sleep. And I heard the grumbling of the bandoneon Under the arbor of the old patio; Because I saw the parade of the elements With my poor eyes watery and open And in the sad room of my good parents Poverty sang its winter song. And I was made in tangos, I was being molded in mud, in misery, In the bitterness that comes with poverty In maternal tears, In the rebellion of being strong and having to cross the arms When famine strikes.And I was made in tangos Because … Because tango is male! Because tango is strong!, It has something of life, It has something of death; Because I loved a lot, and because I was cheated I spent my life shuffling dreams; Because I’m a tree that never bore fruit, Because I’m a dog that has no owner, Because I feel hatred that I never express, Because when I love, because when I love I bleed in kisses, Because I loved a lot, and they have not loved me; That’s why I sing, so sad… That’s why, I sing, so sad That’s why.

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Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2012 All Rights Reserved

CAMBALACHE

Bazaar (1935)

LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo

MUSIC by: Enrique Santos Discepolo

TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz

Last updated on: 12/25/11

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Sing along with JULIO SOSA

Several times in the twentieth century, self-appointed monitors of good taste and manners have used censorship to silence the people’s voice in Argentina. In one notorious instance of taking intolerance to their maximum degree, military rulers waged a “dirty war” against the people of Argentina silencing the dissenting voices of the people by making them “disappear” from the face of the earth. The infamous Secretaria de Prensa y Radiodifusion has been in the past the hideout of coward footmen of the military regimes that held Argentina hostage for many years at a time. Safely protected by the forces of repression, these individuals found no better things to do than attempting to “cleanse” the language of the popular music of Buenos Aires, a.k.a. the Tango. In other words they pretended to legislate culture by the use of power. The Tango lore is full of anecdotes referring to the periods in which it felt the wrath of the censors, the castrators of the social expression of the people at large who in many instances where inhabitants of the south part of the city. One may only guess where the censors lived or aspired to move to. During the presidency of Gen. Juan Peron (1940-50’s), the forces behind SADAIC, the Society of Authors and Composers, finally decided to bring the issue of censorship directly to Peron. Led by Homero Manzi, the group began to arrive to Casa Rosada, the presidential office. Alberto Vacarezza, a well known playwright had been mugged on the bus on his way to the meeting. Alerted to this fact, Peron using a very graphic lunfardo expression greeted Vacarezza saying, “me entere que lo afanaron en el bondi.” Everybody knew at that moment, with Peron using the street language to refer to Vacarezza’s being mugged on the bus, that the long period of Tango censorship had ended. It is a common mistake to assume that the lyrics of the Tangos were written by uneducated pimps and compadritos. To the contrary, from Pascual Contursi to Homero Manzi, most celebrated authors were very well educated and consummated poets. The fact that they choose to use the language of the people to write poetry to Tango music earned them the respect of all of us who love the Tango with a passion, but most of them, were seldom given the proper recognition by the ruling intellectual elite. Today, the Tango snobs of the world quote Borges or Marechal, who finally caved in to the pressure of their European fellow socialites who appreciating the Tango could not understand why they despised it so much. Even, today, the injustice continues, very few people acknowledge the gigantic work of Manzi, Contursi, and Discepolo and many others. Let’s talk about Discepolin. In the fundamental poetic line of Discepolo we see the moralist observing the social context and complaining bitterly about the depravity that surrounds him. He desperately searches for God and painfully denounces the lack of values. Discepolo contributed to a more instinctive and metaphysical vision of the Tango. In many ways he called for ethical parameters for a sociopolitical scene lacking moral attributes. His first fundamental work was “Que vachache” written in 1925 but the subject of this commentary is “Cambalache” which he wrote about ten years later. An interpretation of his lyrics may help understand why the military rulers that came into power in 1976 “recommended” that it not be broadcast on radio and television. Of particular interest are the verses, “Mixed with Stavinsky (a notorious swindler), you have Don Bosco (catholic priest founder of the Salesian Order) and La Mignon (a well kept lover), don Chicho (the nickname of the infamous head of the Buenos Aires mafia) and Napoleon, Carnera (a popular Italian boxer) and San Martin (Argentina’s general who led the forces of liberation from Argentina to Chile and Peru).

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

Que el mundo fue y sera una porqueria, ya lo se… En el quinientos seis y en el dos mil también! Que siempre ha habido chorros, maquiavelos y estafaos, contentos y amargaos, valores y dublés… Pero que el siglo veinte es un despliegue de maldad insolente ya no hay quien lo niegue. Vivimos revolcaos en un merengue y en un mismo lodo todos manoseaos… Hoy resulta que es lo mismo ser derecho que traidor..! Ignorante, sabio, chorro, generoso o estafador! Todo es igual! Nada es mejor! Lo mismo un burro que un gran profesor! No hay aplazaos ni escalafon, los inmorales nos han igualao. Si uno vive en la impostura y otro roba en su ambicion, da lo mismo que sea cura, colchonero, rey de bastos, caradura o polizon… Que falta de respeto, que atropello a la razon! Cualquiera es un señor! Cualquiera es un ladron! Mezclao con Stavisky va Don Bosco y “La Mignon,” Don Chicho y Napoleon, Carnera y San Martin… Igual que en la vidriera irrespetuosa de los cambalaches se ha mezclao la vida y herida por un sable sin remache ves llorar la Biblia contra un calefon. Siglo veinte, cambalache problematico y febril! El que no llora, no mama, y el que no afana es un gil. Dale nomas! Dale que va! Que alla en el horno nos vamo a encontrar! No pienses mas, sentate a un lao. Que a nadie importa si naciste honrao. Que es lo mismo el que labura noche y dia, como un buey que el que vive de los otros, que el que mata o el que cura o esta fuera de la ley.

That the world was and always be filth, I already know… In the year five hundred and six and in the year two thousand too! There always have been thieves, traitors and victims of fraud, happy and bitter people, valuables and imitations But, that the twentieth century is a display of insolent malice, nobody can deny it anymore. We lived sunk in a fuzz and in the same mud all well-worn… Today it happens it is the same to be decent or a traitor! To be an ignorant, a genius, a pickpocket, a generous person or a swindler! All is the same! Nothing is better! They are the same, an idiot ass and a great professor! There are no failing grades or merit valuations, the immoral have caught up with us. If one lives in a pose and another, in his ambition, steals, it’s the same if it’s a priest, a mattress maker, a king of clubs, a cad or a tramp. What a lack of respect, what a way to run over reason! Anybody is a gentleman! Anybody is a thief! Mixed with Stavisky, you have Don Bosco and La Mignon don Chicho and Napoleon, Carnera and San Martin. Like in the disrespectful window of the bazaars, life is mixed up, and wounded by a sword without rivets you can see a Bible crying next to a water heater. Twentieth century, bazaar problematic and feverish! If you don’t cry, you don’t get fed and if you don’t steal, you’re a stupid. Go ahead! Keep it up! That there, in hell we’re gonna reunite. Don’t think anymore, move out of the way. Nobody seems to care if you were born honest. That is the same the one who works, day and night like an ox, than the one who lives from the others, than the one that kills or heals or the one who lives outside the law.

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Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2011 All Rights Reserved

Updated 10/19/10 

TARDE

Late (1947)

LYRICS by: Jose Canet

MUSIC by: Jose Canet

TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz

Last updated on: 10/19/10

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Sing along with Julio Sosa

Comments

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

De cada amor que tuve tengo heridas, heridas que no cierran y sangran todavía. ¡Error de haber querido ciegamente matando inútilmente la dicha de mis días! Tarde me di cuenta que al final se vive igual mintiendo… Tarde comprobé que mi ilusión se marchito queriendo… ¡Pobre amor que está sufriendo la amargura más tenaz! Y ahora que no es hora para nada tu boca enamorada me incita una vez más.  Y aunque quiera quererte ya no puedo, porque dentro del alma tengo miedo. Tengo miedo que se vuelva a repetir la comedia que me ha hundido en el sufrir. ¡Todo te lo di!… ¡Todo lo perdí!… Siempre puse el alma entera, de cualquier manera, soportando afrentas y al final de cuentas me quedé sin fe. De cada amor que tuve tengo heridas, heridas que no cierran y sangran todavía. Error de haber querido ciegamente, perdido en un torrente de burlas y mentiras. Sigo en mi rodar sin esperar y sin buscar amores… Ya murió el amor porque el dolor le marchito las flores… Y aunque hoy llores y me implores mi ilusión no ha de volver. ¡No ves que ya la pobre está cansada, vencida y destrozada por tanto padecer! Y aunque quiera quererte ya no puedo, porque dentro del alma tengo miedo. Tengo miedo que se vuelva a repetir la comedia que me ha hundido en el sufrir. ¡Todo te lo di!… ¡Todo lo perdí!… Siempre puse el alma entera, de cualquier manera, soportando afrentas y al final de cuentas me quedé sin fe.

From every love I had, I have wounds, wounds that won’t heal and are still bleeding. Mistake of having loved blindly needlessly killing the joy of my days! Late I figured out that at the end we live as well lying … Late I confirmed that my illusion had withered loving … Poor love that is suffering the toughest bitterness! And now that there is no time for anything your mouth in love excites me once again.  And even if I wanted to love you, I can not, because in my soul I’m afraid. I’m afraid to repeat again the comedy that has buried me into suffering. I gave you everything! … I lost everything! … I always put my whole soul in any way, enduring insults and in the end I lost my faith. From every love I had, I have wounds, wounds that won’t heal and are still bleeding. Mistake of having loved blindly lost in a torrent of ridicule and lies. I continue without hoping and looking for love… Love already died because the pain withered its flowers … And even if you now cry and implore my dream is not coming back. Don’t you see that the poor one is tired, defeated and battered by so much suffering! And even if I wanted to love you, I can not, because in my soul I’m afraid. I’m afraid to repeat again the comedy that has buried me into suffering. I gave you everything! … I lost everything! … I always put my whole soul in any way, enduring insults and in the end I lost my faith.

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