LA GUITARRA
(Adapted by Steve Gillette from Poem by Federico Garcia Lorca)
Empieza el llanto de la guitarra
Begins the crying of the guitar
Se rompen las copas de la madrugada
It rends the chords of the sunrise
Empieza el llanto de la guitarra
When the crying of the guitar begins
Es inutil callarla, es imposible callarla.
It is useless to hush it, it is impossible to hush it up.
Llora monotona como llora el agua,
It cries monotonously like the crying of water,
Como llora el viento sobre la nevada.
The way wind weeps over the snow.
Es imposible callarla,
It is impossible to silence it,
Llora por cosas, lejanas.
It cries for distant things.
Arena del sur calliente
The hot sand of the south
Que pide camelias blancas
Thirsty for the white camelias
(a mataphor for peace)
Llora flecha sin blanco
It decries the arrow shot wide of the target
(the destructiveness of war)
La tarde sin manana.
The darkening of the hour without the promise of morning.
Y el primer pajaro muerto
And the first dead bird
Sobre la rama. guitarra
Fallen from the branch. Oh, guitar,
Corazon malherido por cinco espadas.
Your heart cruelly wounded by five sharp swords.
(the fingers of the guitarist)
(Recitation)
When the guitar begins to cry, struggling like sunrise into dawn.
It's useless to try to force the silence. Impossible not to go on
Crying like the water. The way the wind weeps over the fallen
snow. Soft tones of sadness, over distant things.
Copyright 1990, Foreshadow Music, BMI
Used by permission
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LA GUITARRA
(Adapted by Steve Gillette from Poem by Federico Garcia Lorca)
Empieza el llanto de la guitarra
Begins the crying of the guitar
Se rompen las copas de la madrugada
It rends the chords of the sunrise
Empieza el llanto de la guitarra
When the crying of the guitar begins
Es inutil callarla, es imposible callarla.
It is useless to hush it, it is impossible to hush it up.
Llora monotona como llora el agua,
It cries monotonously like the crying of water,
Como llora el viento sobre la nevada.
The way wind weeps over the snow.
Es imposible callarla,
It is impossible to silence it,
Llora por cosas, lejanas.
It cries for distant things.
Arena del sur calliente
The hot sand of the south
Que pide camelias blancas
Thirsty for the white camelias
(a mataphor for peace)
Llora flecha sin blanco
It decries the arrow shot wide of the target
(the destructiveness of war)
La tarde sin manana.
The darkening of the hour without the promise of morning.
Y el primer pajaro muerto
And the first dead bird
Sobre la rama. guitarra
Fallen from the branch. Oh, guitar,
Corazon malherido por cinco espadas.
Your heart cruelly wounded by five sharp swords.
(the fingers of the guitarist)
(Recitation)
When the guitar begins to cry, struggling like sunrise into dawn.
It's useless to try to force the silence. Impossible not to go on
Crying like the water. The way the wind weeps over the fallen
snow. Soft tones of sadness, over distant things.
Copyright 1990, Foreshadow Music, BMI
Used by permission
(Adapted by Steve Gillette from Poem by Federico Garcia Lorca)
Empieza el llanto de la guitarra
Begins the crying of the guitar
Se rompen las copas de la madrugada
It rends the chords of the sunrise
Empieza el llanto de la guitarra
When the crying of the guitar begins
Es inutil callarla, es imposible callarla.
It is useless to hush it, it is impossible to hush it up.
Llora monotona como llora el agua,
It cries monotonously like the crying of water,
Como llora el viento sobre la nevada.
The way wind weeps over the snow.
Es imposible callarla,
It is impossible to silence it,
Llora por cosas, lejanas.
It cries for distant things.
Arena del sur calliente
The hot sand of the south
Que pide camelias blancas
Thirsty for the white camelias
(a mataphor for peace)
Llora flecha sin blanco
It decries the arrow shot wide of the target
(the destructiveness of war)
La tarde sin manana.
The darkening of the hour without the promise of morning.
Y el primer pajaro muerto
And the first dead bird
Sobre la rama. guitarra
Fallen from the branch. Oh, guitar,
Corazon malherido por cinco espadas.
Your heart cruelly wounded by five sharp swords.
(the fingers of the guitarist)
(Recitation)
When the guitar begins to cry, struggling like sunrise into dawn.
It's useless to try to force the silence. Impossible not to go on
Crying like the water. The way the wind weeps over the fallen
snow. Soft tones of sadness, over distant things.
Copyright 1990, Foreshadow Music, BMI
Used by permission