Hoy caminé en el lado de otro odio
donde ronda el mundo y yo cuando estoy,
y vi la realidad bajo una tempestad.
Supe que por mi herida me sangraban otros golpes
y otras furias también,
y vi la realidad arrodillada frente al mar.
Mira mi herida en la mano que pulsa con la muerte
y óyeme el fuego descubierto en la voz.
Mira mi herida de otras regiones como Indochina,
bajo el arco del sol.
Hoy dividí mi llanto por colores,
dimensiones y distancias
y fue como el Mekong y yo, tan separados.
Estoy muriendo de vivir sentado en la distancia
irrecorrible quizás:
quiero olvidar mi voz,
colgar guitarras en el sol.
Quiero un disparo
y vestirme de humano
en esta suerte y acompañarme con un hueso de flor.
Quiero la vida; si no, la muerte,
serenateando bajo el arco del sol.
donde ronda el mundo y yo cuando estoy,
y vi la realidad bajo una tempestad.
Supe que por mi herida me sangraban otros golpes
y otras furias también,
y vi la realidad arrodillada frente al mar.
Mira mi herida en la mano que pulsa con la muerte
y óyeme el fuego descubierto en la voz.
Mira mi herida de otras regiones como Indochina,
bajo el arco del sol.
Hoy dividí mi llanto por colores,
dimensiones y distancias
y fue como el Mekong y yo, tan separados.
Estoy muriendo de vivir sentado en la distancia
irrecorrible quizás:
quiero olvidar mi voz,
colgar guitarras en el sol.
Quiero un disparo
y vestirme de humano
en esta suerte y acompañarme con un hueso de flor.
Quiero la vida; si no, la muerte,
serenateando bajo el arco del sol.
Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/3/17 - 14:59
Language: English
Traduzione inglese da “Cancion Protesta: Protest Songs of Latin America”, a cura di Barbara Dane, Paredon Records, 1970.
UNDER THE ARC OF THE SUN (ARMED STRUGGLE)
Today I walked by the side of another hatred,
that surrounds the world and me, when I am,
And I saw reality under a tempest.
I knew that those other blows, other furies,
were not bleeding by my wounds,
And I saw reality, on my knees before the sea.
Look at the wound in my hand, which pulses with death.
Listen to the fire discovered in my voice.
Look at my wounds in those other places,
Like Indochina, under the arc of the sun.
Today I divided my weeping by colors, dimensions, and distances,
And it was like the Mekong and me, so separated…
That I am dying to live, settled here
In this maybe unbridgeable distance!
I want to forget my voice, hang guitars in the sun!
I want to shoot,
and to cover myself with that kind of humanism,
And to take along with me a bone made from a flower.
I want life, if not death,
Serenading under the arc of the sun.
I want a bullet,
and to cover myself vnth that kind of humanism,
And to take along with me a bone made from a flower.
I want life, if not death,
Serenading under the arc of the sun!
Today I walked by the side of another hatred,
that surrounds the world and me, when I am,
And I saw reality under a tempest.
I knew that those other blows, other furies,
were not bleeding by my wounds,
And I saw reality, on my knees before the sea.
Look at the wound in my hand, which pulses with death.
Listen to the fire discovered in my voice.
Look at my wounds in those other places,
Like Indochina, under the arc of the sun.
Today I divided my weeping by colors, dimensions, and distances,
And it was like the Mekong and me, so separated…
That I am dying to live, settled here
In this maybe unbridgeable distance!
I want to forget my voice, hang guitars in the sun!
I want to shoot,
and to cover myself with that kind of humanism,
And to take along with me a bone made from a flower.
I want life, if not death,
Serenading under the arc of the sun.
I want a bullet,
and to cover myself vnth that kind of humanism,
And to take along with me a bone made from a flower.
I want life, if not death,
Serenading under the arc of the sun!
Contributed by Alessandro - 2010/3/17 - 14:59
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Dall’album collettivo “Cancion Protesta: Protest Songs of Latin America”, a cura di Barbara Dane, Paredon Records, 1970.