Tango Lyrics in Spanish and English
|
|||
LA ULTIMA CURDA
|
|||
The last drunkenness (1956)
|
Roberto Goyeneche with Astor Piazzolla Courtesy of Adrian Ocneanu |
||
Music by: Anibal Troilo | |||
Lyrics by: Catulo Castillo | |||
Translated by: Adrian Ocneanu | |||
Return to Table of Contents | |||
Last update on: 5/2/07 | |||
Watch Edmundo Rivero |
|||
A man speaks of his disillusionment with the pain and briefness of life, and of the soothing effect of liquor, in which he looks for death, the ultimate drunkenness. | |||
Version en castellano | English translation | ||
Lastima, bandoneón, mi corazón
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 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 se que me hace daño. ¡Yo sé que te lastimo! llorando mi sermón de vino! Pero es el viejo amor que tiembla, bandoneón, y busca en un licor que aturda, 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 quema el sol su lento caracol de sueño, ¿no ves que vengo de un país que está de olvido, siempre gris, tras el alcohol?... |
My heart, bandoneon, is hurt
by your maliciously groaning curse. Your tears of rum take me to the deep underworld where the mud is in upheaval. I know, don't tell me! You are right! Life is an absurd wound, and it is all so fleeting that it is a drunkenness, nothing more! my confession. Tell me of my sentence, tell me your failure, don't you see the pain that has wounded me? And speak simply to me about that absent love in search of a fragment of oblivion I know that it harms me! I know that I hurt you crying my wine sermon But it's the old love that trembles, bandoneon, and searches in a liquor that stuns the drunkenness that at the end ends the show, drawing a curtain over the heart. A little bit of remembrance and nausea is dripping with your slow moan. Your liquor dizzies and prods the heartbeat [lit: the little heard on the left] with the strain of the last drunkenness. Close the window; the sun burns its slow snail of sleep, Don't you see that I come from a land of oblivion, forever gray, behind the alcohol?... |
||
CONTACT US |
|||