كان في مرة طفل صغير...
عم يلعب بالحارة... عم بيفتش على خيطان تيطير طيارة
إتطلع بالجو وقال... مدري شو عم يلمع
شوفوا شوفوا الطيارة...
جاي لعندي طيارة.
هاي طيارة كبيرة ما بدى خيطان...
وجوانحها أكبر من بيت الجيران...
فرفح قلبو وطار... على جناح الطيارة
والسما كلها أسرار... حكيتله أسراره
وقف بالساحة ينده رفقاته...
كان هدير الطيارة أقوى من كل الأصوات
تجمعوا الولاد... وفاتوا باللعبي...
وهزت البلاد... قصة متل الكذبة.
والهدير تحول لدخان كبير... ومدري شو صار...
دق النفير.
الطيارة الحاملي قصص وأشعار...
شعلت الأرض وهدمت الدار...
وهدمت الدار... وهدمت الدار
طارت الحدود...
حدود الولدني... برق ورعود تقصف على الدني
طارت اللعبي... وطارت معها القصة...
وصاروا الولاد شقفة من القصة.
القصة مكتوبي على سطيحات الضيعة...
والضيعة الهيوبي ولعت مثل الشمعة
والشمعة بتضوي... والصرخة بتدوي.
آ آ آ ه ... آ آ آ ه... آ آ آ آ آ ه
عم يلعب بالحارة... عم بيفتش على خيطان تيطير طيارة
إتطلع بالجو وقال... مدري شو عم يلمع
شوفوا شوفوا الطيارة...
جاي لعندي طيارة.
هاي طيارة كبيرة ما بدى خيطان...
وجوانحها أكبر من بيت الجيران...
فرفح قلبو وطار... على جناح الطيارة
والسما كلها أسرار... حكيتله أسراره
وقف بالساحة ينده رفقاته...
كان هدير الطيارة أقوى من كل الأصوات
تجمعوا الولاد... وفاتوا باللعبي...
وهزت البلاد... قصة متل الكذبة.
والهدير تحول لدخان كبير... ومدري شو صار...
دق النفير.
الطيارة الحاملي قصص وأشعار...
شعلت الأرض وهدمت الدار...
وهدمت الدار... وهدمت الدار
طارت الحدود...
حدود الولدني... برق ورعود تقصف على الدني
طارت اللعبي... وطارت معها القصة...
وصاروا الولاد شقفة من القصة.
القصة مكتوبي على سطيحات الضيعة...
والضيعة الهيوبي ولعت مثل الشمعة
والشمعة بتضوي... والصرخة بتدوي.
آ آ آ ه ... آ آ آ ه... آ آ آ آ آ ه
Langue: italien
Versione italiana di Miguel Martinez
IL BAMBINO E L'AQUILONE
C'era una volta un bambino
che giocava nel quartiere, cercando una corda con cui far volare un aquilone
si guardò attorno e disse, "chi sa che cosa è quella cosa che scintilla?"
"Guardate, guardate, l'aereo!"
"Viene verso di me!"
"E' un grande aereo/aquilone, non mi serve una corda"
"E le sue ali sono più grandi della casa dei vicini"
Il cuore gli gioì e volò sulle ali dell'aereo
e tutto il cielo gli raccontò i propri segreti
Si fermò sulla piazza e chiamò i suoi amici
il rombo dell'aereo fu più potente di tutte le voci
I bambini si raccolsero attorno e smisero di giocare
e il terreno fu scosso, un racconto come una bugia
e il rombo divenne una grande nuvola di fumo e non so cosa successe
la sirena risuonò
l'aereo che portava storie e poesie
diede fuoco alla terra e distrusse la casa
distrusse la casa, distrusse la casa
E volarono e s'infransero
i confini dell'infanzia, lampi e tuoni bombardarono il mondo
il gioco volò via, e assieme al gioco la storia
e i bambini divennero frammenti della storia
La storia scritta sui terrazzi del villaggio
il timido villaggio illuminato come una candela
E la candela bruciò luminosa, e il grido risuonava
Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah!
C'era una volta un bambino
che giocava nel quartiere, cercando una corda con cui far volare un aquilone
si guardò attorno e disse, "chi sa che cosa è quella cosa che scintilla?"
"Guardate, guardate, l'aereo!"
"Viene verso di me!"
"E' un grande aereo/aquilone, non mi serve una corda"
"E le sue ali sono più grandi della casa dei vicini"
Il cuore gli gioì e volò sulle ali dell'aereo
e tutto il cielo gli raccontò i propri segreti
Si fermò sulla piazza e chiamò i suoi amici
il rombo dell'aereo fu più potente di tutte le voci
I bambini si raccolsero attorno e smisero di giocare
e il terreno fu scosso, un racconto come una bugia
e il rombo divenne una grande nuvola di fumo e non so cosa successe
la sirena risuonò
l'aereo che portava storie e poesie
diede fuoco alla terra e distrusse la casa
distrusse la casa, distrusse la casa
E volarono e s'infransero
i confini dell'infanzia, lampi e tuoni bombardarono il mondo
il gioco volò via, e assieme al gioco la storia
e i bambini divennero frammenti della storia
La storia scritta sui terrazzi del villaggio
il timido villaggio illuminato come una candela
E la candela bruciò luminosa, e il grido risuonava
Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah!
Langue: anglais
English version by Chris from Arabic music translation
To explain the imagery here, in Arabic a kite and plane are the same thing, Tayaara, which means a thing that flies. So when the title says "The Child and the Kite" it could be also "The Child and the Plane" and both would be appropriate for this poem. In other words, there is an ambiguitiy in Arabic that is lost in translation.
To explain the imagery here, in Arabic a kite and plane are the same thing, Tayaara, which means a thing that flies. So when the title says "The Child and the Kite" it could be also "The Child and the Plane" and both would be appropriate for this poem. In other words, there is an ambiguitiy in Arabic that is lost in translation.
THE CHILD AND THE KITE
There was once a little child
Playing in the village, searching for a string to fly a kite
He looked around and said, "I don't know what that is shining"
"Look, look the plane"
"It's coming towards me"
There was once a little child
Playing in the village, searching for a string to fly a kite
He looked around and said, "I don't know what that is shining"
"Look, look the plane"
"It's coming towards me"
"It's a big plane (kite), I don't need a string"
"And its wings are bigger than the neighbors' house"
His heart fluttered and flew on the wings of the plane
And the whole sky told him its secrets
He stopped in the square and called to his friends
This roar of the plane was more powerful than all the voices
The boys gathered and stopped their game
And the country shook, a story like a lie
And the roar became a big cloud of smoke, I don't know what happened
The siren sounded
The plane carrying stories and poems
Set fire to the land and destroyed the home
It destroyed the home, destroyed the home
And flew off into to the borders
The borders that birthed me, lightning and thunder bombarded the world
The game flew away, and with it the story
And the boys became shards of the story
The story written on the village terraces
The timid village lit like a candle
And the candle shone bright, and the scream reverberated
Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah!
There was once a little child
Playing in the village, searching for a string to fly a kite
He looked around and said, "I don't know what that is shining"
"Look, look the plane"
"It's coming towards me"
There was once a little child
Playing in the village, searching for a string to fly a kite
He looked around and said, "I don't know what that is shining"
"Look, look the plane"
"It's coming towards me"
"It's a big plane (kite), I don't need a string"
"And its wings are bigger than the neighbors' house"
His heart fluttered and flew on the wings of the plane
And the whole sky told him its secrets
He stopped in the square and called to his friends
This roar of the plane was more powerful than all the voices
The boys gathered and stopped their game
And the country shook, a story like a lie
And the roar became a big cloud of smoke, I don't know what happened
The siren sounded
The plane carrying stories and poems
Set fire to the land and destroyed the home
It destroyed the home, destroyed the home
And flew off into to the borders
The borders that birthed me, lightning and thunder bombarded the world
The game flew away, and with it the story
And the boys became shards of the story
The story written on the village terraces
The timid village lit like a candle
And the candle shone bright, and the scream reverberated
Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah! Aaaaaah!
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[...]
Girando in rete, ho trovato buone traduzioni in inglese di alcuni testi di Marcel Khalife; e mi permetto di plagiare qui una di queste traduzioni, dando appena un'occhiata al testo in dialetto libanese.
La canzone al-tifl wa al-tayyâra, che potete ascoltare qui, si basa sull'ambiguità della parola araba tayyâra, che indica semplicemente qualcosa che vola, dal verbo târa: in questo caso significa sia aquilone che aereo. Il traduttore è costretto a scegliere a volte un termine, a volte l'altro, ma ricordatevi che nella canzone, la parola è una sola.
Per capire la canzone, siamo quindi costretti a fare uno sforzo per tenere a mente qualcosa che verrebbe spontaneo all'ascoltatore madrelingua.
La canzone racconta, credo, il bombardamento di un campo profughi palestinese in Libano - forse proprio la nostra Ein el-Helwa -, ma più ampiamente, è la storia di tutto l'orrore che ci domina dall'alto, dai tempi di quegli apprendisti stregoni che furono i fratelli Wright.
Miguel Martinez, da L'Aquilone e l'aereo - su Kelebek