A keresés eredménye

One and another one

Winnings of love and game,
it's not more then a (temporary) borrowed thing,
now we have a lot
and now there's nothing left.
 
The one that plays and goes in winnings*
that he does not show himself cheerful (satisfied):
nobody knows when
luck changes from (one) owner (to another one)*.
 
The one who plays and loses must not
lose also the sense,
that going after the coming from behind
he shall see everything lost.
 
In the game of love
two things I've learnt:
not to become big headed if I've won
nor to get smaller if I've lost.
 
And that the second one comes, then!
 
Man is sent down here
already to play in life,
that my game is in life
luckily unknown.
 
Love is like the game
that if we go in winnings
gets close without you calling it
bringing its abundances.
 
Love is like the game
that when we are losing
it gets out of our hand
when we are not thinking (about it).
 
In the game of love
two things I've learnt:
not to become big headed if I've won
nor get to smaller if I've lost.
 

Tata viejoypa

Just like that dance!
 
Very beautiful, sweet!
 
cha rin chupita
 
The first one goes!
 
It is defining!
 
It's over!
 
In!
 
Stamp it your feet!
 
Good!
 

Two cultures when the homeland was born

Sixto says:
 
There goes what is missing!
 
The second is the translation of the first part.
 
Sung: 
 
In Quichua and in Spanish
written in two languages,
Act of Independence
the heroes gave it shape.
 
And just like it was carved
a document has remained
the language of this land
by the heroes respected.
 
The parents of our language
well, they were exterminated!
But it remains in Argentina,
and from these roots
we are Americans (from the continent of America),
that's why we preserve
the Quichua language speaking it.
 

Quichuizar the world

Declaimed:
 
Mother Earth of this world,
She has given birth to Quichua,
seven lives like the cat,
how much maltreatment has it (the Quichua language) suffered!
 
Sung:
 
My Argentinean compatriots:
Quichua is pure truth,
just like we do with our flag
we must respect it.
 
Language of our grandparents
none must ignore it (that fact),
the same as other languages
it deserves to be at par (at the same level with other languages, referring to the social conception of it).
 
I don't expect that Quichua*
surpass the others (the other languages),
but that either (I expect it to) be less:
it must be in from equal to equal.
 
We must seriously quichuizar*
our country,
(quichuizar the) entire America (continent)
and make it also global!
 

Santiagueña evocation

The dawn arrives,
the hill awakens,
the thrush warbles
and a chorus of little pigeons
sing my zamba next to the tunal.
 
Mornings of the hometown,
cloudless sky,
party of the sun
Santiago del Estero,
dear land of tradition!
 
Far away from my land
I want to evoke
with all my emotion
my Santiagueño hometown
that like the dream I see it
and the zamba carries away
my heart with these couplets.
 
To the second!
 
In!
 
In the burnt naps
white sadness of the salpetre mine,
freshness of carob trees
burning rounds under the talar.
 
Nights of salamanca*
rain of stars,
couplets of love.
The vidalera* moon
hit the box of the heart.
 
Far away from my land
I want to evoke
with all my emotion
my Santiagueño hometown
that like the dream I see it
and the zamba carries away
my heart with these couplets.
 

My little vine

Sung:
 
A little vine that I have
nobody will come to covet (it).
It already has a little bunch,
it gives me a sweet little grape.
 
I domn't compare it with anything,
it's a special little grape,
I sweetens me when I eat,
sure there is no other like it!
 
For no gold in the world
if they want to buy it from me,
I don't sell it nor change it,
my sweet, special little grape.
 
No pepitero comes
to peck my little grape,
I have my sling ready
without further ado I'll slingshoot it.
 
Declamed:
 
Those who look at her admire her
they call her 'moscatel',
I don't know what it may be for...
as sweet as honey.
 
Sung:
 
I have more fruit plants
and this one to mature
none like my little grape,
it can not be compared.
 
Keep the little plants
it just depends on caring,
all the care for them
more than to take care to adore!
 
They (the plants) always their nobility
give to us, they make us see,
pure nature
we must recognize.
 
Faithful woman
and the little plants
how noble they are,
they live to protect usl
of course, for life and for God!
 

Chacarera of the clucking

I had a hen
that complained with the cock:
'What a disgrace to be barefoot!'
from time to time she shouted at him.
 
The cock, half annoyed,
stopped to answer:
'Shoes with (having you) so many fingers,
where do you want to get that from? '
 
'You come with your graces
if I tell you the truth',
she said, 'If you don't buy me today
our friendship is over '.
 
The cock, very serene,
telling her he strolled:
'Barefoot I've met you,
today you prentend to be delicate'.
 
'You are a great deceiver,
you are always deceiving me,
you don't even remember your offsprings!
I maintain them rummaging (with effort) '
 
The cock said: 'Lately
I am constantly tolerating,
yesterday the ashe-coloured cock
was dragging your wing '
 
'Maybe because I'm already old,
you prefer the young one
no wonder now the chicks
(they all) come out grey'.
 
The hen told him:
'So far you have not learnt
when one looks at another
they always look alike'.
 

The story of a suffered one

This story of a suffered
I narrate in my chacarera
some struggles have come up
between this one and Palito Ortega.
 
Thirteen years just turned
already a man he absented himself
he arrived lost in Retiro
and some couplets he recited.
 
Already hot, he went away
the little foreigner,
also on radio and TV
setting fire couplets.
 
Then he went to Chile
through those long roads
he runs like a drum and hit it
the spell of being alive.
 
Let's go with the second!
 
Again in Buenos Aires
with the heart broken into pieces,
willing to return to hometown
disappointed by failure.
 
He had an extended trick
with a human feeling
he said 'I'll take you home',
it was his friend Dino Ramos.
 
And so his life to the stick
was already fencing him
when a day in rezadito
he already was received recording
on the prestigious hill
Palito* was baptized
because he was idol I was going to see him
I had already fathomed it.
 

The peasant's chacarera

They have praised it so much
that I finally resolved:
in order to get to know Buenos Aires
I went to that place (litteral translation: there).
 
Arriving in that Retiro
I got down there without further ado,
where the people were going
I also directed myself.
 
Those trolleys and trains
oh, electricity!
Mum of mine, oh what a danger
they are for traveling!
 
Cars pass and pass,
they pass without any stop,
I've stayed a whole day
without being able to cross (the street)!
 
In that subway they say
I went to nose about,
some things like sticks
I started to push.
 
Anyone can think:
'Sticks of corral',
if you don't give it coin
it doesn't let you pass.
 
There are trains in that hole
just like not to believe it,
if you saw: these are like bullets
to run!
 
Who may have invented that,
Súpay* may have been (who invented it)!
Man's intelligence
I can't believe it.
 

Kuska juntos

Cha rinsunqui huamajnencka
chaykuychi
 
Chayllapi
 
There goes the one missing!
 
In!
 
It's over!
 

Fourteen brothers

Fourteen departments*
of Quichua root,
that just like our elders
speak this rich language.
 
Today I dispose myself to name
to all of you in this way,
Atamishqui and Salavina
Robles and Avellaneda.
 
Rivadavia with Taboada
San Martin, also Loreto,
Silípica with Moreno,
Matará and Sarmiento enter as well.
 
Let's see, wait a bit
another part is missing
Capital enters (this enumeration) too
Figueroa is coming.
 
The Quichua speaking people
here I have already named to you,
those are the departments
that have preserved the language so far.
 

The hoarse one

First!
 
An Atamisqueño violin
trunk of couplet nights
I bring for the memory
this chacarera.
 
Guitar of hoarse voices
tapped my blood
gut strings united
and primas of wire.
 
She is the voice of rococo
about the colour of the west
torrent of the Sweet River (Mishqui Mayu)
voice of the growing river.
 
My hoarse chacarera
you will be my company
because hoarse are the couplets
of this pain of mine.
 
Second!
 
In!
 
And hoarse in the voice of man
who walks with his lost love
and his heart that sings
mutilated with wine.
 
Very hoarse she gave me her mouth,
hoarse as she knows how to love me,
very hoarse she told me at the time:
'You'll have to forget me.'
 
Hoarse is the voice of absence,
hoarse is the voice of consolation,
hoarse in the lip that comes up
behind your handkerchief.
 
My hoarse chacarera
you will be my company
because hoarse are the couplets
of this pain of mine.
 

The mother of the river

Spoken:
 
¡Cha rin huamajnencka! (There goes the first one)
 
That the first one goes!
 
Singing:
 
From river waters fish,
many may not know it,
with my violin and singing
now I will tell you.
 
In a bend of the Río Dulce
I've found a girl there,
distracted, she hasn't seen me,
I've arrived near her.
 
Getting outside the water
on the bank she had been,
there she was combing
with a fish backbone,
if she comes across with a handsome man
an interest moves her,
that's why this time I swear
I was afraid that she'd take me.
 
Recitation:
 
The beautiful mother of the river
had me totally enamoured
in one of my wanderings
we meet one day.
 
Cha rin chusajnencka!
 
There goes what is missing!
 
Singing:
 
Hair sunca* of corn
besides pretty and juna*,
I approached to speak it
she (moved apart from me and) plunge into the water.
 
Lookinf after the fish
she usually spends her time by the rivers
if they splurge when fishing
she begins be stingy with them.
 
I've seen her very well
with signs she was calling me
it was the fish tail
it was (had been) the mother of the river.
 
if she comes across with a handsome man
an interest moves her,
this time I wanted to follow her,
I was afraid that she'd take me.
 

The wandering (restless)

I'm looking for a girl,
where may she be?
Walking through long roads
I go without ceasing.
 
I went around Loreto
also by Suncho Corral
I went through the ravine and Matará.
 
I walked through Añatuya*, Campo Gallo* and Quimilí*
I will keep looking for her until I die.
 
She wasn't in Salavina*, Sumampa* nor Medellín*,
the passing birds weep for me.
 
Many suns have burned me
I'm so sad!
 
Moons saw me awake
I'm sobbing!
 
On the way back!
 
I went along the edge of the Salado River*,
I came back by April 7*,
going through Atamishqui
I arrived at Mailín.
 
I'll look for her by La Banda*,
Cañada Rita and Zorzal
Pampa Muyu*, Sinchi Caña* and beyond.
 
How many roads saw me
and how many villages, too,
in Campanitas* and El Charco*
I lost faith!
 

My bombo legüero

My verses in homage
to my bombo legüero,
we haven't left a corner
without frequenting, my companion.
 
We never missed it
he prayed in my trench,
it also accompanied us
the vidalera box.
 
He was born in the hills
of a ceibo se * with any
lined with leather and bizcacha
a chacarera song.
 
Luco, Luco
he has never liked
because he is a good peasant,
the raw leather soba'o
was his favorite group.
 
It was with Andrés Chazarreta*
as the best vidalero
with the Abalos (brothers) afterwards
also with the Chalchaleros.
 
Those tours throughout his places
made him reach the triumph,
now on radios and channels
he goes through all the bands.
 
And always from platform to platform
not even his face he has cleaned up
and so with that aspect
(he has been) everywhere early.
 
I always live in my ranch,
ranch where he has left me,
but I have the great pride
of a triumphant peasant.
 

Loretana mornings (zamba)

In!
 
The coyuyo* with its reveille
the entire jungle is waking up
the cacuy* in the morning
flee until the night comes back,
and very early in the morning
there in the distance
a cowbell is heard,
a person neglects her cattle,
which are leaving their filth behind as they walk.
 
Loretana morning
full of life
and full of sun,
full of colours
sweet and tasty
like the mistol*.
 
The second one is leaving!
 
In!
 
With the noise
of the susunas
the hill is coming
the chiritás
swinging the hip
and singing a vidalita*.
 
Also the cachi juanas
they have awakened the green junal*
the singing of the sachas*
it makes the quebrachal* shudder.
 

The crespín's moan

Cha cká ckaran ckpten crespín yachapi don Sixto, let's see.
 
And well chay rin (there it goes),
¡cha rin huamajnencka! (There it goes the first one!)
 
In!
 
Good, good!
 
Supas huackanchis huaucke
mayan kuchu huajachi.
 
¡Cha rin suq la chay pacha!
 

To the Singers of Salavina

Tuesday, October 15
they were notified,
Singers of Salavina *,
they've been called from heaven.
 
Osvaldo came back again
and thus to know where he's going,
taken by their destiny
they went to Nordelta *.
 
As news arrives
that with Tata * God they've gone away,
Tata (Father) God wants what's good
and from the good one he's served himself.
 
Salavina * is in mourning
three lives were extinguished,
those hunk lads:
Singers of Salavina.
 
Antonio, Víctor, Luciano
the three went away together,
bass drum, guitar, singing
towards our blessed heaven.
 
The customs of this land,
of our Argentine homeland.
They were messengers,
Singers of Salavina
 
The Quichua * never forgot
those divine lyrics,
they always sang things f our country,
Singers of Salavina.
 

When the sun dies (zamba)

In!
 
It breaks into
silver pieces at night
a thousand flakes of moons go lighting it
and the melody takes me in the wind
bringing the accent of an old singing.
 
The land wakes up
of its pure dreams,
dew drops
go watering it,
a bright old man
lights up in the distance
filling the emptiness
of my loneliness.
 
Destiny of star when it dies,
the light goes out at dawn,
but it will be reborn again
when the sun dies tomorrow.
 
In!
 
Its eyes will shine
bringing reflection,
dressing the night with a blue poncho
counting stars it will have a hope
dreaming in a bed covered with tulle.
 
Memories will pour out
carrying in time
towards infinity
a love song.
In open courses
marking a destiny
looking for a way
of light and colour.
 
Destiny of star when it dies,
the light goes out at dawn,
but it will be reborn again
when the sun dies tomorrow.
 

Cute Fani

Pigeon that you are flying,
you're going in the direction of your nest!
Let me accompany you
until you to stay with me?
 
In!
 
For Alberto the peasant to stamp his feet now!
 
It's over!
 

The Loving

My lips burn for you
dying because of love
because you are my owner,
Santiagueña of my heart!
 
In the voice you come back to me
leaving me you welfare,
your little hands,
Santiagueña of my heart.
 
My eyes slept on your hair
as on the sugar harvest under the sun,
loving flower of the sierra,
santiagueña honey
sweet as the mishtol.
My dreams dream with you,
Santiagueña of my heart!
 
My eyes cry for you
tears of passion,
if you disdain me,
Santiagueña of my heart!
 
I pray your name when I leave
calling you my voice,
smiley little face,
Santiagueña of my heart!
 
My eyes slept on your hair
as on the sugar harvest under the sun,
loving flower of the sierra,
santiagueña honey
sweet as the mishtol.
My dreams dream with you,
Santiagueña of my heart!
 

Little Goblin

A goblin in the hill
follows me as I walk,
his white wings
he can not hide.
If I turn around,
I have him behind me.
 
A goblin from the hill,
lost and fleeting,
appears at my back
when he sees me passing by (here).
If I turn around,
he hides again.
 
Maybe in a night
of that carnival
with the little ones
he started playing and in a round
he wanted to stay.
 
Maybe he doesn't like anymore
the loneliness
that the hills keep
or the vidalas,
that's why I want
to invite him to sing,
that he comes to sing!
 

Dimension Of Friendship

Cha Rin Huamajnencka (there goes the first one)
 
If you have a good friend give him all your appreciation,
 
but do not share with him the secrets of your chest.
 
If friendship is worth so much, one doesn´t have to entangle it in skirt
that even the most truthful friend loosens when the love intermingles.
 
The night of the friends shall never lose its footprint
among clouds and storms it shall always has its star.
 
     
Chacarera, chacarera, take me always with you
so that there finds me everyone who looks for a friend.
 
Amunchunlla Chusajnecka (and let the missing one come)
 
There are very friendly friends born among joys,
among skull glasses where manliness is stained.
 
Friendship is worth and offers its mettle and its own brightness
so that nobody confuses the heart and the pocket.
 
There are friends like the tree, that only ingrain love,
punished by the time more they provide flowers and pods.
 
Chacarera, chacarera, take me always with you
so that there finds me everyone who looks for a friend!
 

Quichua message

In the forest I has been born, I have brestfed from the forest ,
in Quichua speaking and singing, in the forest I have grown up.
 
Wherever I go, they shall see me in Quichua speaking,
that Quichua be never lost and always in Quichua singing!
 
Language of our elders, no one keep still douting (about that)!*
That nobody lives ashamed (or embarrased), the one who knows (Quichua) keep talking (in this language).
 
With the forehead well-up*, speak in Quichua wheresoever,
in Córdoba, Buenos Aires, in China, Russia wherever*!
 

Crossing the Dulce

On the other side of La Banda
is the Santiago (province),
when I go crossing El Dulce (River)
I already go singing:
 
Laira, laira...
 
Today I feel the hour of being in my Santiago,
making mischiefs in the sands
a little boy can be seen.
 
Laira, laira...
 
I am getting closer little by little,
I am arriving in Santiago,
I love it (I love Santiago) a lot.
 
Humming vidalitas
a cart driver can be heard
and a goat makes him chorus (box*, litteral translation)
with its cowbell.
 
Laira, laira...
 
The water runs slothful
through the sands.
 
Laira, laira...
 
I'm coming to my Santiago
I love it so much!
 

She Remained There Crying.

'Go away from my side', I told her,
'I don´t want to see you'
and she told me while sobbing
'I love you a lot',
she remained there crying.
 
'How am I not going to cry?',
she told me once again,
'I love you a lot, my life,
I never forgot you',
she remained there crying.
 
Loving one and another
went around my dear.
Now that they don´t pay attention to you,
she just looks for me.
I don´t love you anymore,
I don´t want to see you,
she remained there crying.
 

I Live To Sing To You

I
 
I sing the chacarera
I am creole peasant,
I sing the things of my homeland
come to sing with me!
 
I sing like my grandfather
and I do it very coscient
I sing from my heart
I sing for our countrypeople.
 
In the language of this land
I speak, I converse, I tell and I sing.
I want to tell you in Quichua
that you abandoned it so much!
 
I sing for my brothers
I sing to the fashion of the countryside
this humbre chacarera
humbly I sing to you.
 
II
 
So gorgeous, so simple,
peasant chacarera.
tradition of Santiago,
you´re called Salavinera.
 
Chacarerita of the hills
the one that gives the most joys
one that does the same
has not been born yet.
 
Chacarera taste of añapa,
chacarerita so ours.
Taste of patay, taste of arrope,
taste of aloja and dead water.
 
Chacarera, anthem of the little corner of the world,
how am I going to forget you?
sweet creole of my land
I live to sing to you!