Archive for the ‘Tita Merello’ Tag

Se dice de mi   Leave a comment

SE DICE DE MI
It’s said about me (1943)
LYRICS by: Francisco Canaro & Ivo Pelay
MUSIC by: Francisco Canaro & Ivo Pelay
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 8/24/13
Return to Index

Listen

Sing along with TITA MERELLO with FRANCISCO CANARO

My favorite dance is the milonga, and my favorite milonga is: “Se Dice de mí” by Tita Merello. Any chance of a translation? Regards, and thank you for your work. – Andrew
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
Se dice de mi,
Se dice de mi,
Se dice que soy fiera,
que camino a lo malevo,
que soy chueca y que me muevo
con un aire compadrón,
que parezco Leguisamo,
mi nariz es puntiaguda,
la figura no me ayuda
y mi boca es un buzón.

Si charlo con Luis, con Pedro o con Juan,
hablando de mi los hombres están.
Critican si ya, la línea perdí,
se fijan si voy, si vengo o si fui.

Se dicen muchas cosas,
mas si el bulto no interesa,
porque pierden la cabeza
ocupándose de mi.
Yo se que muchos que desprecian con mentiras
y suspiran y se mueren cuando piensan en mi amor.
Y mas de uno se derrite si suspiro
y se quedan si los miro resoplando como un Ford.

Si fea soy,
pongámosle,
que de eso aun no me entere,
en el amor, yo solo se,
que a mas de un gil, deje de a pie.

Podrán decir, podrán hablar,
y murmurar, y rebuznar,
mas la fealdad que dios me dio,
mucha mujer me la envidio
y no dirán que me engrupi
porque modesta siempre fui.
Yo soy así

Y ocultan de mi,
ocultan que yo tengo,
unos ojos soñadores,
además otros primores
que producen sensación.
Si soy fiera se que en cambio,
tengo un cutis de muñeca,
los que dicen que soy chueca,
no me han visto en camisón.
Los hombres de mi. critican la voz,
el modo de andar, la pinta, ehe!, la tos.

Critican si ya la línea perdí,
se fijan si voy, si vengo, o si fui.
Se dicen muchas cosas,
mas si el bulto no interesa,
porque pierden la cabeza
ocupándose de mi.

Yo se que hay muchos me desprecian compañía,
y suspiran y se mueren cuando piensan en mi amor.
Y mas de uno se derrite si suspiro
y se quedan si los miro resoplando como un Ford.

Si fea soy,
pongámosle,
que de eso aun no me entere,
en el amor, yo solo se,
que a mas de un gil, deje de a pie.

Podrán decir, podrán hablar,
y murmurar, y rebuznar,
mas la fealdad que dios me dio,
mucha mujer me la envidio,
y no dirán que me engrupi
porque modesta siempre fui.
Yo soy así

It’s said about me
It’s said about me,
Its’ said that I’m ugly,
that I walk like a quarrelsome person,
that I’m bowlegged and that I move
with a conceited attitude,
that I look like (jockey Ireneo) Leguisamo,
my nose is pointy,
the silhouette doesn’t help
and my mouth is like a mail box.

If I chat with Luis, with Pedro or with Juan,
the men are talking about me.
They criticize if I already my waistline is gone,
they check if I go, if I come or if I left.

Many things are said
but the shape doesn’t matter,
because they lose their head
concerning themselves about me.
I know that many snub with lies
and sigh for me and die when they think of my love.
And more than one melts if I sigh
and if I look at them, they’re puffing like a Ford.

If I’m ugly,
let’s say it’s so,
though I’m not aware of that,
when it comes to love, all I know,
that I left stranded more than one fool.

They might say, they might talk,
and gossip and bray,
but the ugliness that God gave me
many women envied it
and they won’t say that I deceived myself
because I always was modest.
I am this way.

And they hush about me,
they hide that I have,
some dreamy eyes
besides other charms
that produce sensation.
If I’m ugly, I know that instead,
I have the skin of a doll,
those who say I’m bowlegged,
have not seen me in a nightgown.
The men criticize my voice,
the way I move, the appearance, ahem, the cough.

They criticize if I already my waistline is gone,
they check if I go, if I come or if I left.
Many things are said
but the shape doesn’t matter,
because they lose their head
concerning themselves about me.

I know that many snub the company I keep
and sigh for me and die when they think of my love.
And more than one melts if I sigh
and if I look at them, they gasp like they score a Ford.

If I’m ugly,
let’s say it’s so,
though I’m not aware of that,
when it comes to love, all I know,
that I left stranded more than one fool.

They might say, they might talk,
and gossip and bray,
but the ugliness that God gave me
many women envied it
and they won’t say that I deceived myself
because I always was modest.
I am this way.

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

Advertisements

Posted August 24, 2013 by Alberto & Valorie in Ivo Pelay

Tagged with , , ,

Niño bien   Leave a comment



NIÑO BIEN
Well to do boy (1928)
LYRICS by: Víctor Soliño / Roberto Fontaina
MUSIC by: Juan Antonio Collazo
TRANSLATION by: Alberto Paz
Last updated on: 6/3/11
Return to Index
Sing along with Tita Merello
Comments
CASTELLANO
ENGLISH
Niño bien, pretencioso y engrupido,
que tenés berretín de figurar;
niño bien que llevás dos apellidos
y que usás de escritorio el Richmond Bar.

Vanidoso, la vas de distinguido
y siempre hablás de la estancia de papá,
mientras tu viejo, pa’ ganarse el puchero,
todos los días sale a vender fainá.

Vos te creés que porque hablás de ti,
fumás tabaco inglés, usas guantes caqui,
y te cortás las patillas a lo Rodolfo sos un fifí.
Porque usás la corbata carmín y allá en el Chantecler
la vas de bailarín, y te mandás la biaba de gomina,
te creés que sos un rana y sos un pobre gil.

Niño bien, que naciste en el suburbio
de un bulín alumbrao a querosén,
que tenés pedigrée bastante turbio
y decís que sos de familia bien.

No manyás (notas) que estás mostrando la hilacha
y al caminar con tu aire triunfador
se ve bien claro que tenés mucha clase
para lucirla detrás de un mostrador.

Vos te creés que porque hablás de ti,
fumás tabaco inglés, usas guantes caqui,
y te cortás las patillas a lo Rodolfo sos un fifí.
Porque usás la corbata carmín y allá en el Chantecler
la vas de bailarín, y te mandás la biaba de gomina,
te creés que sos un rana y sos un pobre gil.

Well to do boy, pretentious, and conceited,
you have the delusion of a show off;
well to do boy who has a hyphened surname
and use the Richmond Bar as your desk.

Foppish pretending to be distinguished
and always talking about dad’s ranch,
while your old man, to put food on the table
every day goes out to sell fainá.

You think because you speak well
smoke English snuff, wear caqui gloves
and shave your sideburns like Rodolfo, you’re a gallant.
Because you wear a tie color carmine and over at the Chantecler
you pretend to be a dancer, and grease your hair with gel,
you think you’re really smart but you’re a poor stupid.

Well to do boy, who was born in the suburb
in a whorehouse lit by kerosene lamps,
who has quite a murky pedigree
and say that you’re  from a well to do family.

Don’t you know that you’re being transparent
and walking with that winning attitude
it is clear that you have a lot of class,
to show it off behind a counter.

You think because you speak well
smoke English snuff, wear caqui gloves
and shave your sideburns like Rodolfo, you’re a gallant.
Because you wear a tie color carmine and over at the Chantecler
you pretend to be a dancer, and grease your hair with gel,
you think you’re really smart but you’re a poor stupid.

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