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LYRICS Check back often for a harvest of tango lyrics translated by Jake Spatz
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Carnaval de mi barrio |
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Carnival of my neighborhood |
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Music & lyrics: Luis Rubistein
Rec. by Edgardo Donato with Lita Morales
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Tr. Jake Spatz
Recited 02 August 2006, Divino Lounge
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Mi barrio está de fiesta, con su mejor sonrisa
y una ternura extraña, me invade el corazón,
parece que las horas, corriesen más de prisa
y que del mismo barro brotase una canción.
La murga de purretes desafinando un tango
machuca los oidos con destemplada voz,
gorriones de mi barrio, que vuelcan en el fango,
puñados de alegria, que les regala Dios.
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My neighborhood's all revelry, with its biggest smile on,
and an unexpected tenderness steals throughout my heart;
the hours seem to pass with a far more urgent run,
and out of the very clay, a song comes sprouting forth.
The band of street kids singing a tango all out of tune
come crashing around the ears with voices shrill and flawed,
sparrows of my neighborhood, gone spilling across the mud,
happiness by the handful, theirs by the grace of god.
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!Carnaval de mi barrio!,
donde todo es amor,
cascabeles de risa,
matizando el dolor...
!Carnaval de mi barrio!,
pedacito de sol,
con nostalgias de luna,
y canción de farol.
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Carnival of my neighborhood!
where everything is love,
with jingle-bells of laughter
that make the sorrows fade...
Carnival of my neighborhood!,
a little piece of sun,
with moonlight-fed nostalgias
and streetlamp serenades.
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La que volvio sin honra, se disfrazó de apache,
y el barrio en cada puerta, comenta sin cesar,
su traje descarado, sus ojos azabache,
y su poca vergüenza, que no sabe ocultar.
El tano verdulero, sentado en la vereda,
mastica su cachimbo, cansado de fumar
y en su sonrisa amarga una nostalgia enreda;
también alla en Italia vivió su carnaval.
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The girl who went back disgraced, in working-girl disguise,
set every door of the neighborhood gossiping with zeal:
the cheeky way she's dressed, the jet-black of her eyes,
her utter lack of modesty, which she doesn't even conceal...
On the sidewalk the Italian grocer, sitting there in his sleeves,
tired of smoking his pipe, gives it a little chew,
and in his bitter smile a reminiscence weaves:
way back in Italy once, he lived up his carnival too.
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