Daniel Viglietti - El Chueco Maciel (English translation)

Spanish

El Chueco Maciel

¿Por qué tu paso dolido
del norte hacia el sur,
el pie que no supo,
el pie que no supo
de risa o de luz?
 
Tu padre abandona la tierra
de Tacuarembó
buscando su tierra,
una tierra suya,
y nunca la halló.
 
Encuentra la triste basura
donde viven mil,
encuentra la muerte,
encuentra el silencio
de aquel cantegril.
 
El Chueco, redondos los ojos
y sin pizarrón,
mirando a la madre,
mirando al hermano,
aprende el dolor.
 
La luna, semana a semana,
lo ha visto vagar
armado de espuma,
buscando una orilla
como busca el mar.
 
El Chueco no sabe de orilla
ni sabe de mar,
él sabe de rabia,
de rabia que apunta
y no quiere matar.
 
Asalta el banco y comparte
con el cantegril,
como antes el hambre,
como antes el hambre,
comparte el botín.
 
Así les canto la historia
del Chueco Maciel,
suena la sirena,
suena la sirena,
ya vienen por él.
 
Los diarios publican dos balas,
son diez o son mil,
mil ojos que miran,
mil ojos que miran
desde el cantegril.
 
El chueco era un uruguayo
de Tacuarembó,
de paso dolido,
de paso dolido,
de paso dolido.
 
Los chuecos se junten bien juntos,
bien juntos los pies,
y luego caminen buscando la patria,
la patria de todos, la patria Maciel,
esta patria chueca que no han de torcer
con duras cadenas los pies todos juntos
hemos de vencer.
 
Submitted by maluca on Wed, 29/11/2017 - 18:43
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English translation

The Bow-legged Maciel

Why your aching step
from north to south,
the foot that didn't know
the foot that didn't know
about laughs or light?
 
Your father leaves the land
of Tacuarembó
looking for his land,
a land of his,
and he never found it.
 
He finds th sad garbage
where a thousand people live,
he finds the death,
he finds the silence
of that shanty town.
 
The Bow-legged, round eyes
without chalkboard,
looking at his mother,
looking at his brother,
he learns about pain.
 
The moon, week by week,
saw him wander
loaded of foam,
looking for a shore
like looking for the sea.
 
The Bow-legged doesn't know about shores
doesn't know about seas,
he knows about anger,
anger that aims
and doesn't want to kill.
 
He robs the bank and shares
with the shanty town,
like before with hunger
like before with hunger
he shares the loot.
 
This way I sing the story
of the Bow-legged Maciel,
the siren sounds,
the siren sounds,
they're coming for him.
 
The news publish two bullets,
are ten or a thousand,
a thousand eyes watching,
a thousand eyes watching
from the shanty town.
 
The Bow-legged was a uruguayan
from Tacuarembó
with aching step,
with aching step,
with aching step.
 
Let the bow-legged get together,
get their feet together,
and then walk looking for the homeland,
everyone's homeland, Maciel's homeland,
this bow-legged homeland that they won't twist
with hard chains the feet together
we will succeed.
 
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Submitted by Diazepan Medina on Thu, 21/06/2018 - 17:34
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