LA ULTIMA CURDA

The last drunkenness(1956)

LYRICS by: Catulo Castillo

MUSIC by: Anibal Troilo

TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz

Last updated on: 4/27/13

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Sing along with ROBERTO GOYENECHE with ASTOR PIAZZOLLA

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

Lastima, bandoneón, mi corazon tu ronca maldición maleva… Tu lágrima de ron me lleva hasta el hondo bajo fondo donde el barro se subleva. ¡Ya sé, no me digás! ¡Tenés razón! La vida es una herida absurda, y es todo tan fugaz que es una curda, ¡nada más! mi confesión. Contame tu condena, decime tu fracaso, ¿no ves la pena que me ha herido? Y hablame simplemente de aquel amor ausente tras un retazo del olvido. ¡Ya sé que te lastimo! ¡Ya se que te hago daño llorando mi sermón de vino! Pero es el viejo amor que tiembla, bandoneón, y busca en el licor que aturde, la curda que al final termine la función corriéndole un telón al corazón. Un poco de recuerdo y sinsabor gotea tu rezongo lerdo. Marea tu licor y arrea la tropilla de la zurda al volcar la última curda. Cerrame el ventanal que arrastra el sol su lento caracol de sueño, ¿no ves que vengo de un país que está de olvido, siempre gris, tras el alcohol?…

Bandoneon, it hurts my heart your hoarse transgressor’s curse… Your tear of rum leads me Into the deep low underground where mud revolts. I know, don’t tell me! You’re right! Life is an absurd wound, and all it’s so fleeting that is drunkenness, nothing else! my confession. Tell me about your sentence, tell me about your failure, Don’t you see the sorrow that has hurt me? And talk to me plainly of that absent love after a piece of forgetfulness. I know I hurt you! I know that I harm you crying my sermon of wine! But it’s the old love that shivers, bandoneon, and looks in the liquor that stuns, the drunkenness that at the end end the show dropping a curtain over the heart. A little memory and distaste your dull grumble drips. Your liquor intoxicates and rustles the herd of the heart into the last drunkenness. Shut the window that the sun drags its slow snail of sleep, Can’t you see I come from a country that’s forgetful, always gray, after alcohol? …

Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2013 All Rights Reserved

LOS COSOS DE AL LAO

The people next door

LYRICS by: Jose Canet

MUSIC by: Marcos Larrosa

TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz

Last updated on: 1/10/13

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Sing along with ROBERTO GOYENECHE with NESTOR MARCONI

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

Sollozaron los violines, los fueyes se estremecieron, y en la noche se perdieron los acordes de un gotán. Un botón que toca ronda pa’ no quedarse dormido y un galán que está escondido chamuyando en un zaguán. De pronto se escucha el rumor de una orquesta, es que están de fiesta los cosos de al lao. ¡Ha vuelto la piba que un día se fuera cuando no tenía quince primaveras! ¡Hoy tiene un purrete… y lo han bautizao! Por eso es que bailan los cosos de al lao. Ya las luces se apagaron, el barrio se despereza, la noche con su tristeza el olivo se ha tomao. Los obreros rumbo al yugo como todas las mañanas, mientras que hablando macanas pasa un tipo encurdelao. De pronto se escucha el rumor de una orquesta, es que están de fiesta los cosos de al lao. ¡Ha vuelto la piba que un día se fuera cuando no tenía quince primaveras! ¡Hoy tiene un purrete… y lo han bautizao! Por eso es que bailan los cosos de al lao.

The violins sobbed The bandoneons shivered, And in the night got lost The chords of gotan (tango). A cop that makes the rounds Trying not to fall asleep And a beau who is hiding Sweet talking in a hallway. Suddenly it’s heard the sound of an orchestra, they’re having a party the people next door. The kid is back who one day run away when she was barely fifteen! Today she has a baby… and they’ve baptized him! That’s why they dance the people next door. The lights already went out, The neighborhood stretches, The night with its sadness has gone. The workers head for their jobs like every morning, while babbling non sense a drunkard is passing by. Suddenly it’s heard the sound of an orchestra, they’re having a party the people next door. The kid is back who one day run away when she was barely fifteen! Today she has a baby… and they’ve baptized him! That’s why they dance the people next door.

Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2013 All Rights Reserved

BARRIO DE TANGO

Neighborhood of tango (1942)

LYRICS by: Homero Manzi

MUSIC by: Anibal Troilo

TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz

Last updated on: 12/30/11

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Sing along with ROBERTO GOYENECHE with ORQUESTA ANIBAL TROILO

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

Un pedazo de barrio, allá en Pompeya, durmiéndose al costado del terraplén. Un farol balanceando en la barrera y el misterio de adiós que siembra el tren. Un ladrido de perros a la luna. El amor escondido en un portón. Y los sapos redoblando en la laguna y a lo lejos la voz del bandoneón. Barrio de tango, luna y misterio, calles lejanas, ¡cómo estarán! Viejos amigos que hoy ni recuerdo, ¡qué se habrán hecho, dónde estarán! Barrio de tango, qué fue de aquella, Juana, la rubia, que tanto amé. ¡Sabrá que sufro, pensando en ella, desde la tarde que la dejé! Barrio de tango, luna y misterio, ¡desde el recuerdo te vuelvo a ver! Un coro de silbidos allá en la esquina. El codillo llenando el almacén. Y el dramón de la pálida vecina que ya nunca salió a mirar el tren. Así evoco tus noches, barrio tango, con las chatas entrando al corralón y la luna chapaleando sobre el fango y a lo lejos la voz del bandoneón. Barrio de tango, luna y misterio, calles lejanas, ¡cómo estarán! Viejos amigos que hoy ni recuerdo, ¡qué se habrán hecho, dónde estarán! Barrio de tango, qué fue de aquella, Juana, la rubia, que tanto amé. ¡Sabrá que sufro, pensando en ella, desde la tarde que la dejé! Barrio de tango, luna y misterio, ¡desde el recuerdo te vuelvo a ver!

A piece of the neighborhood, back in Pompeya asleep on the side of the embankment. A lantern swinging in the barrier and the mystery of goodbye that seeds the train . Dogs barking at the moon. Love hiding in a doorway. And stepping frogs in the pond And at the distance the voice of the bandoneon. Neighborhood of tango, moon and mystery distant streets, how they will be! Old friends I don’t even remember now, Whatever happened to them, where they will be! Neighborhood of tango, what happened to that one , Juana, the blonde, I loved so much. Will she know that I suffer, thinking of her, since the afternoon I left her! Neighborhood of tango, moon and mystery From the memory I see you again! A chorus of whistles back in the corner. The card game filling the store. And the melodrama of the pale neighbor that she never came out to watch the train. So I recall your nights, neighborhood tango, with the carts entering the warehouse and the moon wallowing in the mud and at the distance the voice of the bandoneon. Neighborhood of tango, moon and mystery distant streets, how they will be! Old friends I don’t even remember now, Whatever happened to them, where they will be! Neighborhood of tango, what happened to that one , Juana, the blonde, I loved so much. Will she know that I suffer, thinking of her, since the afternoon I left her! Neighborhood of tango, moon and mystery From the memory I see you again!

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

CAFETIN DE BUENOS AIRES

Small tavern of Buenos Aires (1948)

LYRICS by: Enrique Santos Discepolo

MUSIC by: Mariano Mores

TRANSLATION by: Ramon Peñalva

Last updated on: 12/25/11

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Sing along with ROBERTO GOYENECHE with ORQUESTA TIPICA PORTENA

A “cafetín” was a small tavern, in the first half of this century. It was the place where the younger and older generations met and developed a tight relationship. Youngsters could learn all those lessons not taught at home and a kind of dismal philosophy about life. All this changed during and after the ’60’s and those places slowly disappeared from the urban scene. First stanza: A “cafetín” was a males only place so it was off limits to women and children. The author remembers when as a child he thought it never would come the time when he could get in. It mentions a melancholic sentiment equating the cold of the windowpane with his actual feelings and recognize the “cafetín” as the teacher of several things, good and bad, that helped him to grow up. Second stanza: Now there is a claim of not forgetting this place that was so much alike his mother, a perpetual harbor from all pains and dangers of the world. Then a description of the strange mix of customers and what he learned from them. Third stanza: Finally he remembers the bunch of buddies he found between those walls and recalls several of them, falling again in a melancholic mood bringing to memory some sad moments in life and his final sense of failure.

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

De chiquilín te miraba de afuera (1) como a esas cosas que nunca se alcanzan, la ñata contra el vidrio, (2) en un azul de frío que sólo fue después viviendo igual que el mío. Como una escuela de todas las cosas, ya de muchacho me diste entre asombro el cigarrillo… la fe de mis sueños y una esperanza de amor. ¿Cómo olvidarte en esta queja, cafetín de Buenos Aires? Si sos lo único en la vida que se pareció a mi vieja. (3) En tu mezcla milagrosa de sabihondos y suicidas yo aprendí filosofía… dados… timba (4) y la poesía cruel de no pensar más en mi… Me diste en oro un puñado de amigos, que son los mismos que alientan mis horas; José el de la quimera, Marcial que aún cree y espera y el flaco Abel… que se nos fue, pero aún me guía. Sobre tus mesas que nunca preguntan Lloré una tarde el primer desengaño. Nací a las penas, bebí mis años, y me entregué sin luchar.

In my childhood I stared at you as those things I would never possess the nose against your window in an iced blue feeling that only later, living, was the same in my soul. As a school that teaches all things, in my youth you gave me in wonder a good smoke… a faith in my dreams and a hope for love. How can I forget you in my lament “cafetín de Buenos Aires”? If you are the only one in life who resembled my mother. In your strange association of smart guys and self-killers I learned philosophy… dice… gamble and the bitter poetry of not to think of myself. You gave me in gold a fistful of friends the same who cheer my life and my hours José the one with dreams Marcial who still believes and hopes and skinny Abel… who’s gone but still he guides me. On your tables that never ask questions I wept some day my first disillusion I knew of pains, I drank my years And I gave up with no fight.

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GLOSSARY:
(1) Chiquilín (diminutive) from “Chico” = small boy, kid
(2) Ñata (f) (colloquial) from “Ñato”(m): pug-nosed or flat-nosed = the nose.
(3) Vieja (coll) literal: old woman = mother
(4) Timba (coll) = the action of gambling

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

Updated 9/6/10

LOS COSOS DE AL LADO

The folks next door (1954)

LYRICS by: Jose Canet

MUSIC by: Marcos Larrosa

TRANSLATION by: Adrian Ocneanu

Last updated on: 5/15/10

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Sing along with Roberto Goyeneche with Orquesta Nestor Marconi

Comments

CASTELLANO

ENGLISH

Sollozaron los violines, los fueyes se estremecieron, y en la noche se perdieron los acordes de un gotán. Un botón que toca ronda pa’ no quedarse dormido y un galán que está escondido chamuyando en un zaguán. De pronto se escucha el rumor de una orquesta, es que están de fiesta los cosos de al lao. ¡Ha vuelto la piba que un día se fuera cuando no tenía quince primaveras! ¡Hoy tiene un purrete… y lo han bautizao! Por eso es que bailan los cosos de al lao. Ya las luces se apagaron, el barrio se despereza, la noche con su tristeza el olivo se ha tomao. Los obreros rumbo al yugo como todas las mañanas, mientras que hablando macanas pasa un tipo encurdelao.

The violins sobbed, the bellows stretched and in the night died out the chords of a tango. A cop that makes a round to keep from falling asleep, and a dandy who is hidden sweet talking in a hallway. Suddenly one hears the sounds of an orchestra: they are having a party the folks next door There came back the girl who left one day when she didn’t have fifteen springs yet. Now she’s got a baby and they baptized him. That’s why they’re dancing, the folks next door. The lights are already out, the neighborhood stretches. The night with its sadness took its leave. Workers head for their yokes like every morning, while, talking nonsense, a drunkard goes by.

Copyright (c) Planet Tango 1998-2010 All Rights Reserved