It is without doubt a great gamble for a poor talent like the one fortune gave me to hatch a book whose pages ought to be full of sunlight, of harmony and of that candour which along with a profound tenderness, along with an unceasing lullaby of kind, caressing and heartfelt words, constitutes the greatest charm of our popular songs. Galician poetry, all music and vagueness, all grievances, sighs and sweet pampering smiles, sometimes murmuring with the mysterious winds of the woods, other times sparkling with the sunbeam that falls delightfully serene on the waters of a sombre river flowing full underneath the branches of flowering willow trees, requires a sublime and crystalline spirit to be sung—if we may express ourselves thus—a fertile inspiration like the greenery that garnishes our privileged terrain, and above all a delicate acumen to acquaint others with so many first-rate glories, so much elusive ray of beauty radiating from every tradition, from every idea expressed by this people whom many dub stupid and whom perhaps judge insensitive or aloof to poetry divine. No one owns fewer of the great qualities required to accomplish so difficult a task than I although equally no one could be found more deeply stirred by an honest desire to sing the wonders of our land in that soft and caressing dialect which is styled barbarian by those who ignore that it surpasses the other languages in sweetness and harmony. For this reason, despite finding myself with little strength and having learned in no other school than that of our poor peasants, exclusively guided by those songs, those tender words and those idioms never forgotten which sounded so sweet to my ears since the cradle and which were gathered up by my heart as its own heritage, I ventured to write these songs endeavouring to relate how some of our poetic traditions preserve still a certain patriarchal and primeval freshness and how our sweet and resonant dialect is as suitable as the foremost for every type of versification.
Truly my strength fell far short of my expectations and for that reason, realizing what a great poet could accomplish in this matter, I lament my inadequacy even more. O Libro dos Cantares of Mr. Antonio Trueba, which inspired and encouraged me to undertake this work, crosses my mind like a remorse and the tears almost well in my eyes when I ponder how Galicia would be raised to the place she deserves had Mr. Trueba of the Cantares been the one picked to make her beauty and customs known.1 But my unhappy homeland, as unlucky in this as in everything else, must content herself with some cold and insipid pages which barely deserve to stand afar off the gates of the Parnassus were not for the noble sentiment that created them. May even this earn the reprieve of those who will in all fairness criticize my shortcomings for I hold that whoever endeavours to dispel the falsehoods which tarnish and offend her homeland unjustly has earned credit toward some exoneration!
Songs, tears, complaints, sighs, evening twilights, festive pilgrimages and picnics, landscapes, pasturelands, stands of pine, solitudes, river banks or shorelines, traditions, in short everything which due to its essence and colour is worth singing about, everything which had an echo, a voice, a drone however subdued—as long as it came to stir me—I was bold enough to celebrate in this plain book to state albeit once, albeit clumsily, to those who without reason or knowledge despise us that our land is worthy of praise and that our language is not what they debase and stammer in the most educated provinces with derisory laughter (which to speak the truth, however harsh it may be, demonstrates the crudest ignorance and the most unforgivable injustice that one province can commit against a sister province regardless of how poverty-stricken this one might be). What is saddest about this affair is the false image given abroad about the sons of Galicia and about Galicia herself whom they generally judge to be what is most contemptible and ugly in Spain when she is perhaps what is most beautiful and laudable.
I do not wish to hurt anybody's feelings with what follows although to tell the truth this short outburst could well be forgiven she who was offended so much by everyone. I who traversed several times those lonesome stretches of Castile which call up the desert, I who toured bountiful Extremadura and the vast Mancha where the blinding sun scorches monotonous fields and where the colour of dry straw lends a tired hue to a landscape which fatigues and depresses the spirit without the relief of a single precious blade of grass that might distract the wandering gaze adrift in a cloudless sky as tiresome and unchanging as the land it looks down upon, I who visited the celebrated outskirts of Alicante where the olive trees with their dark green colour planted in rows, which rarely come into view, seem to weep at seeing themselves so alone, and I who visited that famous orchard region of Murcia so renowned and so praised and which tiresome and monotonous as the rest of that country displays its vegetation like landscapes coloured on a piece of cardboard—trees aligned symmetrically in tight rows for the delight of the children—I can not but feel outrage when the sons of those provinces blessed by God with plenty, but not with a beautiful countryside, make fun of this Galicia able to compete in climate and in finery with the most spellbinding countries on earth, this Galicia where Nature is spontaneous and where the hand of man defers to the hand of God.
Lakes, waterfalls, torrents, flower-filled meadows, valleys, mountains, serene blue skies like Italy's, overcast and melancholy horizons yet always as beautiful as those acclaimed ones of Switzerland, peaceful and sedately serene river banks, stormy capes that terrify and awe because of their gigantic and mute wrath...immense seas...what more can I add? There is no pen that can tally so much enchantment assembled together. The ground covered with dear grasses and flowers all year long; the hills full of pines, oaks and willows; the brisk winds that blow; the fountains and cascades pouring forth frothing and crystalline summer and winter over smiling fields or in deep, shaded hollows...Galicia is a garden always where one inhales pure aromas, cool and poetry...and in spite of this such is the dullness of the ignorant, such the ignoble prejudice that wars against our land, that even those who were able to gaze on so much beauty—and we leave aside those who are majority and who mock us without having ever seen us even from a distance—the same ones yet who came to Galicia and enjoyed the delights that she offers dared to say that Galicia was...a disgusting farmhouse!! And these perhaps were sons...of those scorched lands from which even the small birds flee!...What shall we say to this? Only that such inanities about our country resemble those of the French when they talk about their unbroken string of victories over the Spaniards. Spain never, never defeated them; rather she invariably ended beaten, defeated and humiliated; and the saddest part about this is that this infamous lie is currency among them as currency it is among parched Castile, the barren Mancha and every other province of Spain—none comparable in true beauty of their countryside to ours—that Galicia is the most despicable corner on earth. It has been said wisely that everything in this world has requital and so Spain comes to suffer from a neighbouring nation that offended her always the same injustice which she, even more censurable, commits against a humiliated province that never crosses her mind except to debase her further. Much I feel the injuries that the French favour us with, but at this moment I am almost grateful to them because they provide me with a means of making more tangible to Spain the injustice that she in turn commits against us.
This was the main motive that impelled me to publish this book which I know better than anyone begs the indulgence of everybody. Without grammar or rules of any kind the reader will often find writing mistakes, idioms that will jar the ears of the purist; but at least, and to justify these defects to some extent, I took the greatest pains to reproduce the genuine spirit of our people and I think that I have succeeded in some measure...albeit feeble and limp. May heaven decree that somebody more talented than I will describe in their true colours the enchanting canvases which can be found here even in the most secluded and forsaken spot, so that therewith may at least gain in repute, if not in profit, and be regarded with the deserved respect and admiration this unfortunate Galicia!
At the Tomb of British General Sir John Moore (Na tomba do xeneral inglés Sir John Moore)
Bells of Bastabales (Campanas de Bastabales)
Black Shadow (Negra Sombra)
I Was Born When the Seedlings Sprout (Nasín cando as prantas nasen)
Misfortune (A Disgracia)
My Sweet Kitchen Maid (Miña carrapucheiriña)
Pharisees (Tembra un neno no húmido pórtico)
Sweet Dream (Dulce sono)
Though It Be a Sin (Díxome nantronte o cura que é pecado)
Why? (¿Por qué?)
Winter Months (Meses do inverno)
"Has de Cantar" makes extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language—singular termination iña (feminine) or
iño (masculine).
All the words in "Has de Cantar" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice that was made. Galician affectionate diminutives lend the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The objective is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context. This objective ends in a personal choice when more than one translation is available as is often the case. Sometimes an affectionate diminutive is best ignored because the context is unclear, because the extra term jars the smooth flow of the translation or because it makes the text too syrupy. The exercise can be fun, difficult and challenging. The extra work is worthwhile because it offers the English reader an approximation to what De Castro called "those tender words and those idioms never forgotten which sounded so sweet to my ears since the cradle and which were gathered up by my heart as its own heritage."
boliños. Dim. and pl. of "bolo" (round loaf) translated "buns." Arguably not an affectionate diminutive. A bun is a small round bread roll.
festiña. Dim. of "festa" (celebration) translated "merriment." Other options: celebration, delight, festivity, fun, joy. The diminutive here suggests a brief respite from habitual privation, hard work or boredom.
fontiñas. Dim. and pl. of "fonte" (fountain) translated "dear fountains." Other options: good fountains, little fountains, popular springs, refreshing fountains. A typical "fountain" of the Galician countryside consisted of a pipe incrusted in rock to serve as a spout for human consumption and a sink underneath to serve as a watering hole for the cattle. Modern embellished versions here (Besteiros, Portugal).
gaitiña. Dim. of "gaita" (bagpipe). The diminutive was ignored to benefit the meter on the last two stanzas of section I.
meniña. Translated "little girl." Not an affectionate diminutive except when used figuratively. Other options: baby, child, lassie.
meniña gaiteira. Translated "little piperette." Not an affectionate diminutive except as used figuratively. Another option: bagpiper lassie.
mociños. Dim. and pl. of "mozo" (boy, lad, youth) translated "laddies." Other options: dear boys, dear lads, young boys.
ondiñas. Dim. and pl. of "onda" (wave) translated "gentle waves." Other options: fair-weather waves, light surf, lovely sea, low swell, nice surf, ripples, sailing waves, small waves, tame sea.
papiñas. Dim. of "papas" (a sweet homemade corn starch sauce) translated "pastry cream." Here the diminutive was ignored because a pastry cream already implies delicious, sweet or sugary flavour. Other options: sweet corn starch sauce, sugary corn starch filling, pleasing corn starch dessert. The singular noun ("papa") is never used for this dessert.
queixiñas. Dim. and pl. of "queixa" (complaint) translated "whimpers." Not an affectionate diminutive. A whimper is a subdued complaint or lament.
sopiñas. Dim. and pl. of "sopa" (soup). The diminutive was ignored for its ambiguity. It describes either a small serving or a hearty soup, and the context does not clarify which is the appropriate option.
velliñas. Dim. and pl. of "vella" (old woman) translated "dear old women." Other options: dear grannies, grannies.
viñas (vineyards). Not a diminutive.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Dareiche unha proia (1.4.3)...
Proia1
Source: C. Lliso. Proya de Pontedeume. Rutas Románicas en España
Ingredients
1,000 g of fine white flour
250 g of regular sugar
250 g of crystallized sugar
300 g of butter
150 ml of anisette or pastis
40 g of baking soda
3 eggs, beaten
Cinnamon powder
Salt
Warm water
Preparation
Melt the butter (e.g. in a microwave oven at medium power). Mix the flour, salt, baking soda in a large bowl and add enough water to be able to knead the mixture like bread. Let lie for 45 minutes. Preheat oven to 200°C.
Add the beaten eggs, anisette, half the butter and the regular sugar. Knead again until the ingredients are well mixed and the batter is uniform. Grease a rectangular pan ready for the oven, pour the batter and flatten. Spread the second batch of butter evenly over the top and do likewise with the crystallized sugar.
Bake for half an hour.
Immediately upon taking out of the oven sprinkle cinnamon powder over the cake and dampen the crust with a liberal drip of anisette.
1Espagne: Spécialités sucrées + photos. Supertoinette La cuisine familiale.
By the bank of the river that runs mid the grass of the flower-decked fields (2.2.2-4). This is the river Sar most likely.
Dios santo...á Virxen (4.6.1, 4.10.1). These colloquial terms are best translated to their English equivalents, "good Lord" (instead of "holy God") and "Our Lady" (instead of "the Virgin").
¡Dios diante! (4.11.2). Short for "¡Dios vai(a) diante!" which literally means "God goes out in front!" or "May God go out in front!"; equivalently, "God marches ahead!" or "May God march ahead!" A more elegant translation is "God leads the way!" or "May God lead the way!" This slogan was popular with truck and bus drivers in the forties and fifties.
Musical Adaptation
Singer-songwriter Xosé Samuel performed his musical version of the first four stanzas of section IV during the years 1974-1977.
Carmen Rey and Nani García make a jazz adaptation of section III and of the first four stanzas of section IV on the second entry below.
Singer Rosa Cedrón and musician Cristina Pato give their interpretation of section I with Celtic flavour on the third entry below.
Tan vivos colores
a vista trubaban;
de velos tan váreos
o sol se folgaba.
De velos bulindo
por montes e veigas,
coidou que eran rosas
garridas e frescas.
III
Lugar máis hermoso
non houbo na terra
que aquel que eu miraba,
que aquel que me dera.
Lugar máis hermoso
no mundo n'hachara
que aquel de Galicia,
¡Galicia encantada!
Galicia frorida,
cal ela ningunha,
de froles cuberta,
cuberta de espumas,
de espumas que o mare
con perlas gomita,
de froles que nacen
ó pé das fontiñas.
De valles tan fondos,
tan verdes, tan frescos,
que as penas se calman
nomáis que con velos;
que os ánxeles neles
dormidos se quedan,
xa en forma de pombas,
xa en forma de niebras.
IV
Cantarte hei, Galicia,
teus dulces cantares,
que así mo pediron
na veira do mare.
Cantarte hei, Galicia,
na lengua gallega,
consolo dos males,
alivio das penas.
Mimosa, soave,
sentida, queixosa;
encanta si ríe,
conmove si chora.
Cal ela, ningunha
tan doce que cante
soidades amargas,
sospiros amantes,
misterios da tarde,
murmuxos da noite.
Cantarte hei, Galicia,
na beira das fontes.
Que así mo pediron,
que así mo mandaron,
que cante e que cante
na lengua que eu falo.
Que así mo mandaron,
que así mo dixeron...
Xa canto, meniñas.
Coidá que comenzo.
Con dulce alegría,
con brando compás,
ó pé das ondiñas
que veñen e van.
Dios santo premita
que aquestes cantares
de alivio vos sirvan
nos vosos pesares;
de amabre consolo,
de soave contento,
cal fartan de dichas
compridos deseios.
De noite, de día,
na aurora, na sera,
oirésme cantando
por montes e veigas.
Quen queira me chame,
quen queira me obriga:
Cantar, cantareille
de noite e de día,
por darlle contento,
por darlle consolo,
trocando en sonrisas
queixiñas e choros.
Buscaime, rapazas,
velliñas, mociños,
buscaime antre os robres,
buscaime antre os millos,
nas portas dos ricos,
nas portas dos probes,
que aquestes cantares
a todos responden.
A todos, que á Virxen
axuda pedín,
porque vos console
no voso sufrir,
nos vosos tormentos,
nos vosos pesares.
Coidá que comenso...
Meniñas, ¡Dios diante!
Sing yes you must,
I'll give you boiled chestnuts;
Sing yes you must,
I'll give you loads of them.
You must sing,
Little piperette,
You must sing
For I’m dying of heartache.
Sing, little girl,
By the side of the fountain;
Sing, I will give you
Buns of polenta.
Sing, little girl,
With delicate cadence,
I'll give you anisette crust cake
From the stone of the oven.
Pastry cream with milk
Too I will give you,
Soups seasoned with wine,
French toasts covered with honey.
Potatoes baked
With salt and with vinegar
That taste just like walnuts,
How tasty they are!
What a celebration, lass,
We will have if you sing...!
Merriment without,
Merriment within.
Sing if you will,
Cussed obstinate lass;
Sing if you will,
I will give you an apron.
Sing if you want
In the language I talk;
I'll give you an apron,
I'll give you a petticoat.
With the sound of the bagpipe,
With the sound of the tambourine
I beg you to sing,
Teenage girl of brown skin.
With the sound of the bagpipe,
With the sound of the drum
I beg you to sing,
Little girl, for the sake of God!
II
Thus they begged me
By the seashore,
Beside the gentle waves
That roll to and fro.
Thus they begged me
By the bank of the river
That runs mid the grass
Of the flower-decked fields.
Sang the crickets,
The cocks sang,
The wind passed droning
Among the leaves.
The meadows flaunted,
The fountains flowed
Amid pastures and vineyards,
Fig trees and oaks.
The bagpipes played;
The boys danced
With modest girls
To the sound of tambourines.
How white are the bonnets!
What kerchiefs with fringe!
What carmine shawls!
Such ribbons! Such brooches!
What rich aprons!
What green petticoats!
What pretty corsets
Of bright red colour!
Such vivid colours
Strained the eyesight;
On seeing their variety
The sun beamed with delight.
From watching them bound
Over hills and lowlands
He thought they were roses,
Lush and fresh.
III
There has not been upon the earth
A more beautiful spot
Than the one I gazed upon,
Than the one it granted me.
Nowhere in the world could I find
A more beautiful spot
Than the one in Galicia,
Enchanted Galicia!
Flowerful Galicia,
None like her,
Covered in flowers,
Covered in foam from the sea,
In foam with pearls
Washed up by the sea,
In flowers that bud
At the foot of the dear fountains.
Of valleys so deep,
So green, so cool,
That sorrows subside
With just gazing upon them—
That the angels within them
Drop off to sleep
Now in the guise of doves,
Now in the form of fogs.
IV
I will sing to you, Galicia,
Your own sweet airs,
For so they asked me
By the seashore.
I will sing about you, Galicia,
In the Galician tongue,
Solace for ills,
Relief from misery,
Cuddly, mellow,
Sensitive, mewling,
She charms if she laughs,
She draws sympathy if she cries.
No other can sing
As sweet as she
Of bitter solitudes,
Loving sighs,
Mysteries of the evening,
Murmurs of the night.
I will sing about you, Galicia,
Beside the fountains.
For so they asked me,
For so they bade me,
That I should sing and sing
In the language I speak.
For so they bade me,
For so they told me...
I start to sing, lassies.
Look out! I begin.
With sweet gaiety,
With soft rhythm,
Beside the gentle waves
That roll to and fro.
May the good Lord grant
That these songs
Avail you relief
In your hardships,
Amiable solace,
Tempered contentment,
Just as fulfilled wishes
Sate with happiness.
By night, by day,
At dawn, in the evening,
You will hear me singing
Over hills and lowlands.
Call to me whoever will,
Whoever will binds me:
Sing, I will sing
By night and by day
To bring joy,
To bring comfort,
Turning to smiles
Whimpers and tears.
Look for me, lasses,
Dear old women, laddies,
Look for me among the oak trees,
Look for me among the cornfields,
At the doors of the rich,
At the doors of the poor,
For these songs
Heed everyone's call.
Everyone—for I asked
Our Lady to help me,
That I might console you
In your affliction,
In your troubles,
In your burdens.
The last place a fatigued Saint James reached when he came to Spain was the fishing village of Muxía. He waded into the cold ocean water up to his knees wondering whether his missionary outreach would bear fruit. As he pondered full of doubt he spied a sailing boat made of stone carrying a woman cloaked in black approaching. The woman was Mary the mother of Jesus who congratulated the apostle on his epic journey and urged him to return to Jerusalem by the route he had come. James obeyed and departed after ordering the villagers to erect a chapel in her honour. The rocky slab known as the "barge" wobbled and huffed when according to legend a person in state of grace stood on it, declining to do so for a mortal sinner. The rock was struck by lightning a few years ago and no longer wobbles. Nearby lies the slightly arched rock known as the "sail" which is said to heal the kidneys of anyone who crawls across underneath it.1
Muxía and five of the villages mentioned in the poem, Muros and Noia, Camariñas, Cée (modern spelling) and Laxe lie on a stretch of coast of the province of A Coruña known as the "Coast of Death" for its dangerous waters and high incidence of shipwrecks; among them HMS Captain (September 7, 1870), HMS Serpent (November 10, 1890) and the oil tanker Prestige (November 19, 2002). The remaining villages, Rianxo, Redondela and Ponteareas are situated south of the Coast of Death; the last two belong to the province of Pontevedra.
1franlend. Leyenda de la Virgen de la Barca (Muxía). La Casa de Asterión.
The Sanctuary of Our Lady of the Barge in Muxía
The characteristic NE gale: wind&sun
Huff of the wobbling "barge" (1970)
Translator's Notes
"Nosa Señora da Barca" is one of the poems in the volume "Cantares Gallegos" that employs the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language most often. The affectionate diminutive—singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine)—makes translating harder and something of artwork, but to yield to the temptation of treating it as a nuisance and ignoring it is to rob the translation of the full emotion with which the author wrapped her description of the festivities in honour of Our Lady of the Barge.
All the words in "Nosa Señora da Barca" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice made where useful. Galician affectionate diminutives provide the translator with an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme or lyrical sharpness to the text. The aim of the translator is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys size, frailty, sympathy or endearment according to the context.
anxeliños. Dim. and pl. of "anxel" (angel) translated "lovely angels." Other options: cute angels, miniature angels, small angels.
branquiñas. Dim. and pl. of "branca" (white) translated "delightfully white." Other options: captivatingly white, pleasingly white.
Camariñas. A town named for the unique flower that grows in the region, the "camariña" (Corema album).
camiño (de). Adverb: on the way to, bound for. Not a diminutive.
campiñas (tilling fields). Not a diminutive.
caraveliño. Dim. of "caravel" (carnation) translated "colourful carnation" to provide alliteration. Another option: beautiful carnation.
cargadiños. Dim. and pl. of "cargado" (loaded) translated "fully loaded." Other options: filled to the hilt, overflowing.
cariñas. Dim. and pl. of "cara" (face) translated "pretty...faces". Other options: cute faces, lovely faces, winsome faces.
cogolliños. Dim. and pl. of "cogollo" (bud, vegetable heart, sprout) translated "young buds."
coloradiñas. Dim. and pl. of "colorada" (blushing) translated "flustered" because the colour of the cheeks is caused by excitement, exertion or drink (1.8.3-4).
corasonciños. Dim. and pl. of "corasón" (heart) translated "dear hearts."
delgadiñas. Dim. and pl. of "delgada" (slim, trim) translated "charmingly slim." Other options: attractively thin, elegantly trim, fit, of flattering figure.
feitiñas. Dim. and pl. of "feita" (beautiful, well-crafted, well-rounded) translated "fine."
feituquiñas/os. Dim. and pl. of "feituca/o" (accomplished, perfect, well-proportioned) translated "splendid." Other options: full-fledged, gorgeous.
finiñas. Dim. and pl. of "fina" (dainty, elegant, fine, good-looking, refined) translated "fine and dainty."
gaitiñas. Dim. and pl. of "gaita" (bagpipe) translated "dear bagpipes." Other options: beloved bagpipes, Galician bagpipes, native bagpipes.
meniñas. Meaning: "little girls," but translated "lassies" as done for "rapaciñas."
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
mociña. Dim. of "moza" (girl) translated "young girl."
pechugiñas. Dim. and pl. of "pechuga" (breast, chest) whence "pechugiñas de cera" (brooches of wax) translated "cute brooches of wax."
peíños. Dim. and pl. of "pé" (foot) translated "cute feet". Other options: graceful feet, lovely feet, pretty feet.
pouquiño. Dim. of "pouco" (little) translated "tad". Other options: bit, mite, wee bit.
pranchadiñas. Dim. and pl. of "pranchada" (ironed, pressed) translated "neatly pressed." Other options: pressed smooth, wrinkle-free.
ramiño. Dim. of "ramo" (bouquet) simply translated "bouquet" because the noun is already surrounded by several flattering adjectives (1.10.27-30).
rapaciñas. Dim. and pl. of "rapaza" (girl, lass, teenage girl) translated "lassies."
rapaciños. Dim. and pl. of "rapaz" (boy, lad, teenage boy) translated "laddies."
recollidiña. Dim. of "recollida" (demure, pious) translated "reverent."
rosquilliñas. Dim. and pl. of "rosquilla" (cookie ring, hard doughnut) translated "mouth-watering...cookie rings."
sabrosiñas. Dim. and pl. of "sabrosa" (tasty) translated "yummy" (1.10.30)
xentiña. Dim. of "xente" (people) translated "welcome (people)" (1.3.2). Other options: dear (people), lovable (people). Although it is not the case here "xentiña" is sometimes used to revile as in "low-life, petty criminal, rude, uncouth."
xuntiñas. Dim. of "xuntas" (together) translated "huddled together" because "huddled" implies greater camaraderie among the girls than simply being together (1.10.25-26).
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Virxe do Carme (1.8.1). The Spanish religious icon known as Our Lady of Mount Carmel, patron saint of sailors.
Aqueles dulce resolio (2.1.13). Resolio (literally "pant") was a strong liquor made from aniseed with an alcoholic content above 40% closely related to pastis. Today it is a collector's item.
Con rosquilliñas de almendra (2.1.14)...
Almond-cookie rings1
Source: Rosquillas de almendra. Robot de cocina: Thermomix
Ingredients
700 g of fine white flour
270 g of crushed almonds
180 g of sugar
100 ml of anisette
90 ml of cooking oil
16 g of baking soda
4 eggs
Grated rind of 1 lemon
Preparation using a Thermomix food processor
Blend the 4 eggs at speed 4 for 5 seconds.
Add the sugar and blend at speed 4 for 5 seconds again.
Add the anisette and the cooking oil. Blend at speed 4 for 10 seconds.
Add the flour, almonds, grated lemon rind and baking soda. Blend at speed 6 for 15 seconds.
Switch to dough mode and work the batch for about 1 minute.
Scoop the dough out of the mixing bowl and let settle on a baking sheet lined with parchment paper for an hour.
Break up the dough into long strips with your fingers, mold each strip into a ring and fry in very hot oil to your choice of browning.
Remove each ring and optionally powder with crystallized sugar.
1Rosquillas de almendra. Robot de cocina: Thermomix.
Folklore
The traditional folk song to Our Lady of the Barge in Muxía is performed below by the female half of the group O Fiadeiro (first entry).
The Coral De Ruada, begun in 1918-1919, sings a second traditional song entitled, "I Come From Our Lady of the Barge," on the second entry below
Luar Na Lubre gives a rendition which incorporates the refrain of this poem (third entry).
The regional fame of Our Lady of the Barge in Muxía is reflected in other folk songs (fifth entry).
Portuguese troubadour Augusto Madrugada (pseudonym of Augusto Leitão) sings the Galician-Portuguese medieval romance, "Our Lady of the Barge" (sixth entry).
Nosa Señora da Barca
ten o tellado de pedra;
ben o pudera ter de ouro,
miña Virxe, si quixera.
I
¡Canta xente..., canta xente
por campiñas e por veigas!
¡Canta polo mar abaixo
ven camiño da ribeira!
¡Que lanchas tan ben portadas
con aparellos de festa!
¡Que botes tan feituquiños
con tan feituquiñas velas!
Todos cargadiños veñen
de xentiña forasteira,
e de rapazas bonitas
cura de tódalas penas.
¡Cantos dengues encarnados!
¡Cantas sintas amarelas!
¡Cantas cofias pranchadiñas
dende lonxe relumbrean,
cal si fosen neve pura,
cal froles da primaveira!
¡Canta maxesa nos homes!
¡Canta brancura nas nenas!
I eles semellan gallardos pinos
que os montes ourean,
i elas cogolliños novos
co orballo da mañán fresca.
As de Muros, tan finiñas,
que un coidara que se creban,
c'aquelas caras de virxe,
c'aqueles ollos de almendra,
c'aqueles cabelos longos
xuntados en longas trenzas,
c'aqueles cores rousados
cal si a aurora llos puñera,
pois así son de soaves
como a aurora que comenza.
Descendentes das airosas fillas
da pagana Grecia,
elas de negro se visten,
delgadiñas e lixeiras,
refaixo e mantelo negro,
zapato e media de seda,
negra chaqueta de raso,
mantilla da mesma peza,
con terciopelo adornado
canto enriba de si levan;
fillas de reinas parecen,
griegas estatuas semellan
si a un raio de sol poniente
repousadas se contempran;
ricos panos de Manila,
brancos e cor de sireixa,
crúzanse sobre o seu seio
con pudorosa modestia,
e por antre eles relosen,
como brillantes estrelas,
aderesos e collares
de diamantes e de pelras,
pendentes de filigrana
e pechugiñas de cera.
As de Camariñas visten
cal rapaciñas gaiteiras,
saias de vivos colores
polo pescozo da perna,
lucindo o negro zapato
enriba de branca media;
chambras feitas de mil raias
azuladas e vermellas,
con guarniciós que lles caen
sobre a rumbosa cadeira.
Para tocar o pandeiro
non hai coma tales nenas,
que son as camariñanas
feitas de sal e canela.
As de Cé, ¡Virxe do Carme!,
¡que cariñas tan ben feitas!
Cando están coloradiñas
no ruxe-ruxe da festa,
cada mirar dos seus ollos
fire como cen saetas.
Nin hai mans tan ben cortadas,
tan branquiñas e pequenas
como as que amostran finxindo
que non queren que llas vexan.
Son as de Laxe unhas mozas...
¡Vaia unhas mozas aquelas!
Solo con velas de lonxe
quítaselles a monteira,
porque son vivas de xenio
anque son rapazas netas.
Bailadoras...n'hai ningunhas
que con elas se entrometan,
pois por bailar, bailarían
no cribo dunha peneira.
Mais, en tocando a que recen,
en rezar son as pirmeiras...
Dan ó mundo o que é do mundo,
dan á igrexa o que é da igrexa.
As de Noia ben se axuntan
cas graciosas rianxeiras,
polos redondos peíños,
polas cabeleiras crechas,
polos morenos lunares
e polas agudas lenguas,
que abofé que en todo pican
como si fosen pementa.
Veñen dempois, recatadas,
anque un pouquiño soberbias
por aquelo que elas saben
de antigüedade e nobresa
(pois por acó todos somos
tal coma Dios nos fixera),
as meniñas ben compostas
dunha vila quisquilleira,
que, por onde van, parece
que van dicindo: «¡Canela!
¿Prantamos ou non prantamos
a cantas hai nesta terra?»
Mais si prantan ou non prantan
non son en quen o dixera,
que fora pouca cordura,
que fora farta llanesa.
Baste desir que xuntiñas
todas na porta da igrexa
máis bonitas parecían
que un ramiño de asucenas,
máis frescas que unha leituga,
máis sabrosiñas que fresas.
Xa que fosen de Rianxo,
que fosen de Redondela,
de Camariñas ou Laxe,
de Laxe ou de Pontareas,
todas eran tan bonitas,
todas tan bonitas eran,
que o de máis duras entrañas
dera as entrañas por elas...
Por eso se derretían,
cal si foran de manteiga,
diante delas os rapaces,
os rapaciños da festa,
os mariñeiros do mare
que donde á Virxe viñeran,
porque a Virxen os salvara
de naufragar na tormenta.
Mais si salvaron no mare,
non se salvarán na terra:
mariñeiros, mariñeiros,
que aquí tamén hai tormentas
que afogan corasonciños
sin que lle vallan ofertas,
que oie a Virxe ós que se afogan
do mar antre as ondas feras,
mais non oie ós namorados
que de afogarse se alegran.
II
Ramo de froles parece
Muxía a das altas penas
con tanta rosa espallada
naquela branca ribeira,
con tanto caraveliño
que relose antre as areas,
con tanta xente que corre,
que corre e se sarandea
ó son das gaitas que tocan
e das bombas que reventan,
uns que venden limoada,
outros augua que refresca,
aqueles dulce resolio
con rosquilliñas de almendra;
os de máis alá sandías
con sabrosas sirigüelas,
mentras tanto que algún cego
ó son da alegre pandeira,
toca un carto de guitarra
para que bailen as nenas.
¡Bendita a Virxe da Barca,
bendita por sempre sea!
¡Miña Virxe milagrosa,
en quen tantos se recrean!
Todos van por visitala,
todos alí van por vela
na súa barca dourada,
na súa barca pequena,
donde están dous anxeliños,
dous anxeliños que reman.
Alí chegou milagrosa
nunha embarcazón de pedra.
Alí, porque Dios o quixo,
sempre adoradores teña.
A pedra, bala que bala,
sírvelle de centinela,
e mentras dormen os homes,
ela adorazón lle presta
con aquel son campanudo
que escoitar lonxe se deixa
e a quen o mar con bramidos
humildosos lle contesta.
Cando as campanas repican
e a música retumbea,
cal nun ceo, polas naves
da recollidiña igrexa;
cando os foguetes estalan
nos aires, e voces frescas
polo espazo cas gaitiñas
e cos tambores se mescran,
estonces a pedra bala,
tan alegre e tan contenta
que anque un cento de persoas
brinca e salta enriba dela,
coma si fóse mociña,
máis que unha pruma lixeira,
alegre como unhas pascuas
salta e rebrinca con elas.
Choven estonces presentes,
choven estonces ofertas,
que lle traen os romeiros
en feitiñas carabelas,
diante da Virxe bendita,
ós pés da sagrada Reina,
e por eso alí lle cantan
cando se despiden dela: Nosa Señora da Barca
ten o tellado de pedra;
ben o pudera ter de ouro,
miña Virxe, si quixera.
Our Lady of the Barge
Has the roof of stone;
Well could she have it of gold,
My Lady, if she wanted to.
I
How many people...how many
Across tilling fields and across lowlands!
How many come over the sea
Bound for the shore!
Such well-skippered boats
With gear for the celebration!
What splendid boats
With such splendid sails!
All come fully loaded
With welcome out-of-towners
And with pretty girls
The cure of all sorrows.
How many carmine shawls!
How many yellow ribbons!
How many neatly pressed bonnets
Gleam in the distance
Like pure snow,
Like flowers of the springtime!
Such elegance in the men!
Such fairness on the lassies!
And the men resemble stately pines
Aired by the hills,
And the lassies young buds
Covered with drizzle of the cool morning.
The girls from Muros, so fine and so dainty
That one might suppose they shatter,
With those innocent faces,
With those almond eyes,
With those long tresses
Done up in long braids,
With those rosy colours
As if dawn's light had stamped them,
For indeed they are gentle
As the break of day.
Descended from the gallant daughters
Of pagan Greece
They wear black,
Charmingly slim and nimble,
Black petticoat and apron,
Shoe and silk stocking,
Black satin vest,
Mantilla veil of the same fabric;
Everything they wear
Decked in velvet,
Resembling queens' daughters,
Resembling Greek statues
If beheld reclining
In a beam of the setting sun.
Rich fabrics from Manila,
White and cherry-coloured,
Cross their heart
With seemly modesty
And among these glitter
Like bright stars
Accessories and necklaces
Of diamonds and pearls,
Filigree pendants
And cute brooches of wax.
The girls of Camariñas dress
Like piping lassies,
Skirts of bright colours
Above the ankle
Showing off the black shoe
Over the white stocking,
Loose-fitting blouses made of a thousand
Bluish and red stripes
With tassels that tumble
Onto the bounding hip.
No one beats these lassies
At playing the tambourine
For the girls of Camariñas
Are made of salt and cinnamon.
The girls of Cée—Virxe do Carme!—
Such pretty, well-rounded faces!
When they are flustered
In the hubbub of the celebration
Every glance from their eyes
Wounds like a hundred quarrels.
Nor are there hands as well fashioned,
As delightfully white and small,
As those they show
Feigning not wanting to.
The girls of Laxe are some lasses...
Quite some lasses they are!
Every mountain hat off to them
Even from a distance
Because they are hot-tempered
Yet altogether teenage girls.
As for dancing...no others
Dare mess with them, Dance they could dance
On a sieve's mesh,
But when a summons to prayer is rung
They are the first ones to pray...
They give to the world what belongs to the world,
They give to the church what belongs to the church.
The girls of Noia mingle well with
The graceful girls of Rianxo
For their shapely cute feet,
For their curly hair,
For their brown beauty spots
And for their sharp tongues,
For truly they add zing to everything
As if they were pepper.
They come afterwards reserved
If a tad haughty
On account of their knowing
About ancestry and nobility—
Around here we bear ourselves
Just like God made us—
The proper lassies
Of a persnickety village
Who wherever they go
It seems they go saying, "Cinnamon!
Do we or do we not put down
Every girl who lives in this land?"
But if they do or do not put down
I am not one to say
For it'd show poor judgment,
For it'd be too plain.
Suffice it to say that huddled
Together by the church door
They looked prettier
Than a bouquet of Madonna lilies,
Fresher than a leaf of lettuce,
Yummier than strawberries.
Whether they were from Rianxo,
Whether they were from Redondela,
From Camariñas or Laxe,
From Laxe or Ponteareas,
All were so pretty,
All so pretty were,
That the most hard-hearted man
Would give his heart out for them...
That is why the lads
Melted before them
Like butter,
The laddies of the festivity,
The sailors of the sea
Who came to visit Our Lady
Because Our Lady saved them
From going down in the storm.
But if they were delivered at sea
They will not be delivered on dry land:
Sailors, sailors,
There are storms here too...
That drown dear hearts
With no pledges accepted,
For Our Lady hears those who are drowning
Among the wild waves of the ocean
But she does not listen to lovers
Who rejoice at the prospect of drowning.
II
Muxía of the high crags
Resembles a bouquet
With so many roses scattered
On that white bank yonder,
With many a colourful carnation
Dazzling in the sand,
With so many people who run,
Who run and rock
To the sound of the bagpipes playing
And of the gunpowder shells exploding;
Some who sell lemonade,
Others refreshing water,
Those over there sweet, double-distilled anise
With mouth-watering almond-cookie rings;
Those farther away red melon
With luscious plums,
Meanwhile some blind man
Plays perfect-fourth guitar
To the beat of the gay tambourine
So the lassies will dance.
Blessed Lady of the Barge,
Blessed be forever!
My miracle Lady
Whom so many feast their eyes on!
Everyone comes to visit her,
Everyone goes there to see her
In her gilded boat,
In her small boat
Where two lovely angels abide,
Two lovely angels that row.
There miraculous she arrived
On a vessel of stone.
There—because God willed it—
May she have worshipers always.
The huge slab, wobbling and wobbling,
Doubles as her sentinel
And while the men slumber
It renders her worship
With that tolling sound
Audible in the distance
And answered by the sea
With obliging bellows.
When the bells peal
And the music reverberates
As in a firmament through the naves
Of the reverent church,
When the gunpowder shells explode
Aloft and fresh voices
Mingle across the expanse
With the dear bagpipes and the drums,
The huge slab wobbles
So jolly and so glad
That even though a hundred people
Jounce and bounce atop it,
It, as if it were a young girl,
Lighter than a feather,
Happy like an Easter Sunday,
Jounces and rebounds with them.
Then there rain down presents,
Then there rain down offerings
Brought by the devotees
In fine model caravels
To the blessed Lady,
To the feet of the sacred Queen;
And that is why they sing to her
As they bid her farewell: Our Lady of the Barge
Has the roof of stone;
Well could she have it of gold,
My Lady, if she wanted to.
Source: Pedrouzos Junior Public School (Brión). Xunta de Galicia. Consellería de Educación e Ordenación Universitaria
3. Conversation With a Pumpkin on All-Hallows' Eve (Miña Santiña, miña Santasa)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Background
The Galician countryside celebrated the eve of All Hallows by making jack-o'-lantern's out of squashes, melons and pumpkins. They were placed on the margins of country lanes with the playful intention of frightening late-night passersby. The tradition was partly revived in the village of Cedeira in the year 2001 with a contest and display of carved pumpkins in the town's main square. The holiday now termed Samaín forms part of the activities during the month of October in many kindergartens and primary schools of Galicia.
The feast of the pumpkins was closely associated with the harvest festival known as "Magosto" whose star delicacies are roasted chestnuts and grilled corn on the cob. Samaín and Magosto are celebrated jointly in many kindergartens and primary schools of Galicia.
De Castro's bittersweet poem has three interwoven themes. The first is Halloween, which in Galicia went by the name of "feast of the pumpkins" or "feast of the skulls." The protagonist, a naive peasant girl, has just finished carving a jack-o'-lantern and is debating whether to embellish it with her earrings and necklace (see for example min. 1:05-1:12 of this video). She asks the magical pumpkin, the "dear saint," to teach her how to stitch, become a seamstress and climb the social ladder. The second theme, spun humorously via the literary device of a talking pumpkin, is the surrounding society's dispiriting cant. The squash sneers and snorts as a neighbour might. The third theme is the girl's resilience;—she grows weary of the discouraging talk and she brushes the jack-o'-lantern aside.
De Castro agonized over the suffering of the average Galician peasant woman,
And there is so much suffering in this dear Galician land! Whole books could be written about the eternal misfortune that besets our peasants and sailors, the sole true working people of our country. I saw and felt their hardships as though they were my own, but what always moved me, and consequently could not help but find an echo in my poetry, were the countless sorrows borne by our women: loving creatures toward their own folk and toward strangers, full of spirit, as hardy as soft-hearted and also so wretched that one would think they were born only to overcome as many travails as may afflict the weakest and most naive portion of humanity. Sharing the hard, outdoors tasks of farming fifty-fifty with their husbands, braving courageously the anxieties of motherhood indoors, the domestic chores and the wants of poverty. Alone most of the time, having to work from sunrise to sunset, barely able to sustain herself, without assistance having to take care of her children and perhaps of a sickly father, they seem destined to never find rest but in the grave.
Emigration and the King continually take away the lover, the brother, her man—the breadwinner of an often large family—and thus deserted, mourning over their misery, they live out a bitter life amid the uncertainties of hope, the bleakness of solitude and the anxieties of never-ending poverty. And what breaks their heart most is that their men all drift away, some because they are drafted, others because example, necessity, sometimes lust, forgivable though blind, compels them to abandon the dear home of whom they once loved, of the wife become mother and of the many unfortunate children, too small the darlings to suspect the orphanhood to which they are condemned.
When these poor martyrs hazard to reveal to us their secrets confidentially, to mourn for their loves always kept alive, to lament over their woes, one discovers in them such delicacy of sentiment, such rich treasures of tenderness, so great a spirit of self-denial that unawares we feel ourselves inferior to those obscure and valiant heroines who live and die performing wonderful deeds forever untold, yet full of miracles of love and unplumbed depths of forgiveness. Stories worthy of being sung by poets better than I and whose holy harmonies ought to be played on one single note and one lone chord, on the chord of the sublime and on the note of pain.
(Prologue to Follas Novas. Santiago de Compostela. March 30, 1880)
Translator's Notes
"Miña Santiña, miña Santasa" makes extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language—singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine). Notice that not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
All the words in "Miña Santiña, miña Santasa" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a short explanation of the choice made where necessary. Galician affectionate diminutives offer the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The aim is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
bailadoriña. Dim. of "bailadora" (dancer) translated "darling dancer."
cariña. Dim. of "cara" (face) translated "pretty...face"; the moniker "cara bonita" (pretty face) that appears three lines down (1.5) confirms this equivalence. Another option: lovely face.
corpiño. Dim. of "corpo" (body, frame) translated simply "body" because the context does not resolve the dichotomy "frail" or "pretty."
costureiriña. Dim. of "costureira" (seamstress) translated "dear...seamstress" (2.1, 6.1) and translated "poor seamstress" (8.1, 10.11) to mirror the mounting confrontation between the girl and the pumpkin.
liña (thread). Not a diminutive.
lixeiriños. Dim. and pl. of "lixeiro" (brisk, fast, nimble) translated "nimbly nimble" to equate the ambition of the girl to escape poverty with her desire to go dancing.
meniña. Translated "child" because the pumpkin's attitude is paternalistic or derogatory throughout.
meniña traballadora. Translated "working lassie." Another option: working girl.
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
rapaciña. Dim. of "rapaza" (girl, teenage girl) translated "dear girl."
Santiña. Dim. of "Santa" (saint) translated "dear Saint."
todiñas. Dim. of "todas" (all) translated "dear all."
toxiños. Dim. and pl. of "toxo" (gorse) translated simply "gorses." The affectionate diminutive was ignored because the pumpkin speaks sarcastically and gorse size is irrelevant.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Miña Santiña, miña Santasa (1.1). The appellatives "my dear Saint" and "my great Saint" must be taken playfully, rather in the iconoclastic vein of Santa Ferreña.
Cómprelle a seda (3.6). The literal translation is "Silk becomes her"; however this singular form of the pronoun contradicts the grammatical number of its antecedent, "seamstresses," hence it was changed to them.
Soul of copper, choker of silver, youth laughing, old age weeping (8.2-3). The jack-o'-lantern speaking like a witch proposes a riddle to the reader. So what has the soul of copper, a choker of silver and prompted the young to laugh, the old to weep? (hint: German invention of the year 1854).
Romería (9.2, 10.8). Traditionally a festive outing and picnic in the land close to a chapel or monastery on the holiday of its namesake.
Ollos de meiga, cara de mora (11.2). In Galician legend a "mora" or "moura" is an imaginary lady keeper of hidden treasure who usually has long, blond hair and combs herself with a golden comb.1
1Marta y Efraím. "Os mouros e mouras de Galicia." Kallaikía. martayefra.blogspot, October 15, 2009.
Folklore
The entire atmosphere of "Miña Santiña, miña Santasa" is the magical world of the Galician countryside. The poem mentions (11.2) a respected, sometimes feared, figure of that world, the meiga: a witch, hag or sorceress, who is on occasion beautiful, desirable and benevolent for her knowledge of herbal remedies, psychology and magical powers of healing, at others ugly, fearsome and evil for her curses and for her ability to cast spells. There is a legendary Galician retort to skeptics which says, "I don't believe in witches myself, but exist they do exist."
The only Galician woman processed for sorcery was a wealthy widow of the seaside town Cangas do Morrazo. Her name was Maria Soliña and the year was 1617. The trial is today seen as a frame-up by the Spanish Inquisition and unscrupulous local officials eager to seize her wealth and properties.
Today the "meiga" is broadly speaking a lovable figure across Galicia, and so the wistful, sweet tune, "A Bruxa" (The Witch), composed by the Celtic group Milladoiro.
This poem was published originally with a line length of five syllables. While this staccato format suits a very brief poem like Dulce Sono its use in longer poems annoys. Accordingly the original poem has been compressed here to half the usual number of lines and the line length expanded to ten syllables.
—Miña Santiña, miña Santasa,
miña cariña de calabasa.
Hei de emprestarvos os meus pendentes,
hei de emprestarvos o meu collar;
hei de emprestarcho, cara bonita,
si me deprendes a puntear.
—Costureiriña comprimenteira,
sacha no campo, malla na eira,
lava no río, vai apañar
toxiños secos antre o pinar.
Así a meniña traballadora
os punteados deprende ora.
—Miña Santiña, mal me quixere
quen me aconsella que tal fixere.
Mans de señora, mans fidalgueiras
teñen todiñas as costureiras;
boca de reina, corpo de dama,
cómprelle a seda, foxen da lama.
—¡Ai rapaciña! Tí te-lo teo:
¡Seda as que dormen antre o centeo!
¡Fuxir da lama quen naceu nela!
Dios cho perdone, probre Manuela.
Lama con honra non mancha nada,
nin seda limpa honra emporcada
—Santa, Santasa, non sos comprida,
decindo cousas que fan ferida.
Falaime solo das muiñeiras,
daquelas voltas revirandeiras,
daqueles puntos que fan agora,
de afora adentro, de adentro afora.
—Costureiriña do carballal,
colle unha agulla, colle un dedal;
cose os buratos dese ten cós,
que andar rachada non manda Dios.
Cose, meniña, tantos furados
i ora non penses nos punteados.
—Miña Santasa, miña santiña,
nin teño agulla nin teño liña,
nin dedal teño, que aló na feira
rouboumo un majo da faltriqueira,
decindo: "As perdas dos descoidados
fan o lotiño dos apañados."
—¡Costureiriña que a majos trata!
Alma de cobre, collar de prata,
mocidá rindo, vellez chorando...
Anda, meniña, coida do gando.
Coida das herbas do teu herbal:
terás agulla, terás dedal.
—Deixade as herbas, que o que eu quería
era ir cal todas á romería.
¡I alí co aire dar cada volta!
Os ollos baixos, a perna solta.
Pés lixeiriños, corpo direito;
¡pero, Santiña..., non lle dou xeito!
Non vos metades pedricadora;
bailadoriña facéme agora.
Vós dende arriba andá correndo;
facede os puntos i eu deprendendo.
Andá que peno polos penares...
Mirá que o pido chorando a mares.
—¡Ai da meniña! ¡Ai da que chora!
¡Ai, porque quere ser bailadora!
Que cando durma no camposanto,
os enemigos faránlle espanto,
bailando enriba das herbas mudas,
ó son da negra gaita de Xudas.
I aquel corpiño que noutros días
tanto truara nas romerías,
ó son dos ventos máis desatados
rolará logo cos condenados.
Costureiriña, n'hei de ser, n'hei,
quen che deprenda tan mala lei.
—¡Ai, que Santasa! ¡Ai, que Santona!
Ollos de meiga, cara de mora,
pór n'hei de pórche os meus pendentes,
pór n'hei de pórche o meu collar,
xa que non queres, xa que non sabes
adeprederme a puntear.
"My dear Saint, my great Saint,
My pretty pumpkin face.
I will lend you my earrings,
I will lend you my necklace;
I will lend them to you, pretty face,
If you show me how to stitch."
"Dear obsequious seamstress,
Hoe the earth, thresh at the threshing floor,
Wash by the river, go gather
Dry gorses in the pine forest.
That's how a working lassie learns
The stitches by and by."
"My dear Saint, such advice would come
From someone who wished me ill.
The hands of a lady, the hands of a squire
Sport dear all the seamstresses:
A queen's palate, a lady-in-waiting's figure,
Silk becomes them, they dodge the mire."
"My dear girl! You have got gid:
Silk for girls who sleep in the rye!
Flee from the mire who was born in it!
May God forgive you, poor Emmanuelle.
Mire with integrity does not soil at all
Nor does silk cleanse a sullied reputation."
"Saint, great Saint, you are not genteel
Saying things that hurt.
Talk to me only about the reels,
About those spinning turns,
About those points they make now,
In and out, out and in."
"Dear seamstress of the oak wood,
Pick up a needle, pick up a thimble;
Sew the tears of whoever has them
For God does not decree walking in tatters.
Sew, child, those many rips
And don't think now about the stitches."
"My great Saint, my dear saint,
I have no needle, I have no thread,
I have no thimble, for away at the fair
A dude stole them from my pouch
Saying, 'The loss of the careless
Is the bounty of the canny.'"
"A poor seamstress who talks to dudes!
Soul of copper, choker of silver,
Youth laughing, old age weeping...
Go on, child, tend the livestock.
Take care of the grasses in your pasture:
You'll own a needle, you'll own a thimble."
"Forget the pasture. What I wanted was
To go with the others to the romería.
And there whirl round and round with the air!
Eyes lowered, limber leg,
Nimbly nimble feet, straight back;
But, my dear Saint..., I can't hack it!
Do not turn into a preacher:
Come, make me now a darling dancer.
Come, hurry up, and from above
Do the stitching and I'll do the learning.
Hurry, I pine for the heartaches...
See, I beg you crying seas."
"Woe to the child! Woe to her that weeps!
Woe for she wants to become a dancer!
Once she is laid to rest in the graveyard
Her enemies will terrify her
Dancing on the mute grassplot
To the sound of Judas' black bagpipe.
And that body which in days past
Partied so much at the romerías
Will roll over and over with the damned
To the sound of the wildest winds.
Poor seamstress, I won't be, I won't be the one
Who gives you such evil instruction."
"Ah, what a great Saint! Ah, what a prissy Saint!
Witch's eyes, treasure-fairy-lady's face, Then I won't put my earrings on you, Then I won't put my necklace on you
Since you don't want to, since you don't know how to
Teach me to stitch."
"Good-bye rivers, good-bye fountains" recounts the drama of those forced to emigrate by the crisis of 1850-1860.
Historical Background
Apparently due to unusually cold winters throughout the decade of 1850-1860 and due to the prevalence of subsistence agriculture many family farms of Galicia went bankrupt.
The weather of the decade is sometimes likened to a mini Ice Age. In January 1850 there was notable snowfall over much of Spain and by February a large number of wolves roamed the countryside. In February 1853 the Galician port cities of Ferrol and A Coruña reported heavy snowfall, a highly unusual event. February 1854 was again very cold—on the fourteenth Madrid registered a night-time temperature of -8°C. January 1855 was again very cold and snowy over northern Spain.
The winter of 1856-57 was especially hard,
Official reports in the official bulletin of the Spanish government highlighted the frostiness of the winter. From Puigcerdá (Girona), "For more than a month the countryside has been snow-covered." From Biscay, "As a consequence of the copious snows that have fallen over our region during the past days, especially on the peaks of the Valley of Carranza, there has appeared down in the valley a strong pack of wolves that is inflicting great losses on herds of sheep and cattle." Announcements of planned wolf culls were numerous during those cold days of 1857…The snow fell over all of northern Spain from Galicia to Catalonia…On February 4 the province of Santander had spent three months without links with the interior, completely snowed in. "No one remembers such a prolonged spell of bad weather."
("Olas de frío, entradas frías y temporales de nieve en España 1830-1985." Meteored)
To compound the problem the main domestic industry also went into crisis.
From the second half of the nineteenth century onward Galicia's textile industry suffered a severe crisis brought on by the legal importation and the smuggling in of foreign fabrics, and many families endured hardship because there was no alternate source of employment. To make matters worse, the agricultural sector went into crisis between the years 1850-1860, destabilizing the rural economy. The composite crisis forced the population to look for a better life overseas.
("La emigración española en el periódico la Voz de Galicia en el año 1913." El Rincón del Vago)
The economic downturn accelerated already-existing rates of emigration.
There is evidence of a strong current of emigration from the year 1810 to 1853 that is difficult to quantify because the Spanish government did not condone emigration officially. Consequently some authors refer to this obscure period as the period of clandestine emigration.
But from 1836 onward Spain began to grant official recognition to her newly independent colonies. Mexico was the first former colony to be recognized in 1836 and Uruguay, Chile and Argentina followed soon thereafter. As a result emigration intensified…In December of 1836 there appeared the first commercial advertisement offering transatlantic passage—aboard the [slave-ship] General Laborde—from A Coruña to Montevideo, Buenos Aires and other destinations in Mar del Plata. The offer of transatlantic crossings increased progressively. The majority of the crossings was made on sailing ships. In 1850 the brigantine Juan departed from Carril advertised as a first-class steamer. Relatively reliable data suggest that 93,040 Galicians left between the years 1836 and 1860.
The Spanish government legalized emigration in 1853, and this made the count reliable: 122,875 people left Galicia between the years 1860-1880.
(André Solla. "A emigración galega a América")
The proportion of people leaving was staggering. The census of 1857 gave a count of 1,776,879 inhabitants for the region. Therefore, according to all these figures, over 12% of the population left Galicia during the period 1836-1880.
The drama of emigration continued well into the twentieth century, and although noted Galician writer and politician Daniel Castelao (b. 1886, d. 1950)—himself an expatriate twice, during his childhood and after the outbreak of the Spanish Civil War in 1936—chose to see in emigration both an economic imperative and the affirmation of a dauntless spirit, the reality of leaving one's homeland was unpleasant for most, whether in the nineteenth or twentieth century, as the photographs of Manuel Ferrol (b. 1923, d. 2003) attest.
Four emblematic poems garland late 19th century Galician emigration. In chronological order the first poem is "Cántiga" (the public renamed it "Unha Noite na Eira do Trigo") published by Manuel Curros Enríquez (b. 1851, d. 1908) in his volume "Aires d'a Miña Terra" (1880). The second belongs to "Follas Novas" (1880) and starts with the line "Este vaise i aquel vaise" (This one is leaving and that one is leaving); here the second line provides a better title: "Todos, todos se van" (Everybody, everybody is leaving). The third emblematic poem, "Lonxe d'a Terriña" (Far Away from the Dear Land), was written in 1891 by Aureliano José Pereira de la Riva (b. 1855, d. 1906). The fourth, "Un Adiós a Mariquiña" (Good-Bye Little Lassie), was a farewell written in 1896 by Manuel Curros Enríquez for Mariquiña Puga the nine-year-old daughter of his defence lawyer and close friend Luciano Puga who was emigrating to Cuba.
The distinguished Galician composer Juan Montes Capón (b. 1840, d. 1899) arranged "Unha Noite na Eira do Trigo" and "Lonxe d'a Terriña" in the anthology "Seis Baladas Gallegas para Piano" (Six Galician Ballads for Piano) published by a local printer of A Coruña (date unknown). "Seis Baladas Gallegas" was re-edited by the Xunta de Galicia in 1991 and may be found in this library or purchased here and here.
"Este Vaise i Aquel Vaise" was set to music by the Portuguese composer José Niza for Adriano Correia de Oliveira under the title "Cantar de Emigração" (track 1 of his 1970 LP "Cantaremos"). The Galician folk group Fuxan Os Ventos borrowed Niza's tune, adhered strictly to the letter of De Castro's poem, dropped the Portuguese title and named the piece "Iste Vaise" (track 5 of the 1984 album "Noutrora").
José Castro González alias Chané (b. 1856, d. 1917) arranged "Un Adiós a Mariquiña."
This sentimental poem makes use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language profusely. The affectionate diminutive has the singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine). However not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
All the words in "Adiós rios, adios fontes" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with an explanation of the translation made where needed. Galician affectionate diminutives offer the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. Usually there is no one rigorous translation of an affectionate diminutive; consequently the goal is to select the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection, depending on the context, and which simultaneously embellishes the poem in the translator's eyes.
amoriñas. Dim. and pl. of "amora" (berry, blackberry). Although the appropriate translation would be "sweet blackberries," expressing affection and tagging the flavour of ripe blackberries, the diminutive was laid aside to limit the line length to seven syllables and thus preserve the tempo and flow of the poem (2.13).
arboriños. Dim. and pl. of "arbore" (tree) translated "dear trees".
beiriña do mar. Dim. of "beira do mar" (coastline, seashore) translated "precious coastline" conveying deep affection for the land which the protagonist now embarked is set to abandon (11.4).
camiña. Third person singular present tense of the verb "camiñar" (5.4).
caminiños. Dim. and pl. of "camino" (path, route, trail, way) translated "narrow footpaths," an accurate description of the space between rows of planted corn. "Camino" and "camiño" are synonymous.
campaniñas. Dim. and pl. of "campana" (bell) translated "cherished...bells" to create internal rhyme with "parish church" on the next line of the poem (2.11-12). Other possible translations: beloved bells, darling bells, dear bells, precious bells. An earlier version, "cherished chiming bells," was discarded for being too strained and in discord with their description farther down (9.4).
casiña. Dim. of "casa" (home, house) translated "darling cottage" (2.8) to stress the countryside environment of the house and translated "dear house" on the last line of the poem to reflect distance, loss, separation, rupture.
coitadiño. Dim. of "coitado" (hapless, unfortunate, unlucky) translated simply "hapless" to rein in the author's projected empathy.
figueiriñas. Dim. and pl. of "figueira" (fig tree) translated "dear fig trees."
fogueiriña. Dim. of "fogueira" (blaze, bonfire, fireplace) translated "beloved fireplace."
fontiña. Dim. of "fonte" (fountain) translated "favourite spring" to bring out the farmer's affection for the spring and for the cattle he took there for drinking. A typical "fountain" of the Galician countryside consisted of a pipe incrusted in rock to serve as a spout for human consumption and a sink underneath to serve as a watering hole for the cattle. Modern embellished versions here (Besteiros, Portugal).
herbiñas. Dim. of "herbas" (blades of grass, grass) translated "hallowed blades" (7.2) to show the protagonist's affection for his father buried underneath and translated "saintly blades" (7.4) to express the same emotion using a different adjective.
hortiña. Dim. of "horta" (orchard) translated "small orchard" to head off a possible overuse of the adjective "little" in the translated poem: the affection is already expressed by the predicate, "I love so." The previous translation, "little orchard," remains a valid option.
igrexiña. Dim. of "igrexa" (church) translated "tiny...church" reflecting the size of the building and the economy of a typical rural parish.
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
muíño (mill). Not a diminutive.
paxariños. Dim. and pl. of "paxaro" (bird) translated "little...birds." The phrase connotes size and affection (cf. "Chaveleh" from "A Fiddler on the Roof").
queridiña. Dim. of "querida" (beloved, dear, darling) translated "little darling."
terriña. Dim. of "terra" (land) translated "dear land."
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Virxe da Asunción (8.1, 8.5). The Spanish religious icon known as Our Lady of the Assumption the patron saint of Elche (Alicante).
Pomar (9.2). Also known as Pumar it is a hamlet in the municipality of Urdilde, county of Rois, some 20 kilometers from Santiago de Compostela. It was so small that one local ditty chaffed it with these words, "Although from a distance the hamlet of Pumar looks like a town, it has but a carnation on the way in and a rose on the way out." Another ditty is more generous, "They say that Pumar is uncomely because its houses do not have balconies, yet it has pretty girls who steal away hearts."1
1Cantigas de Parroquias e Aldeas de Urdilde. Xunta de Galicia.
Musical Adaptation
Pucho Boedo (b. 1928, d. 1986) and Los Tamara made the first musical adaptation of the poem.
Troubadour and songwriter Amancio Prada wrote a different melody and recorded his solo version in 1975. Twenty-two years later he sang it accompanied by the Galicia Symphony Orchestra.
2011 Eurovision contestant Lucía Perez used Prada's tune on the third entry below.
Lucía Perez from the 2009 album Volar por los tejados
Joan Baez performing live at the García Barbón Theater in Vigo (Spain) on March 5, 2010
Adiós, ríos; adios, fontes;
adios, regatos pequenos;
adios, vista dos meus ollos:
non sei cando nos veremos.
Miña terra, miña terra,
terra donde me eu criei,
hortiña que quero tanto,
figueiriñas que prantei,
prados, ríos, arboredas,
pinares que move o vento,
paxariños piadores,
casiña do meu contento,
muíño dos castañares,
noites craras de luar,
campaniñas trimbadoras,
da igrexiña do lugar,
amoriñas das silveiras
que eu lle daba ó meu amor,
caminiños antre o millo,
¡adios, para sempre adios!
¡Adios groria! ¡Adios contento!
¡Deixo a casa onde nacín,
deixo a aldea que conozo
por un mundo que non vin!
Deixo amigos por estraños,
deixo a veiga polo mar,
deixo, en fin, canto ben quero...
¡Quen pudera non deixar!...
Mais son probe e, ¡mal pecado!,
a miña terra n'é miña,
que hastra lle dan de prestado
a beira por que camiña
ó que naceu desdichado.
Téñovos, pois, que deixar,
hortiña que tanto amei,
fogueiriña do meu lar,
arboriños que prantei,
fontiña do cabañar.
Adios, adios, que me vou,
herbiñas do camposanto,
donde meu pai se enterrou,
herbiñas que biquei tanto,
terriña que nos criou.
Adios Virxe da Asunción,
branca como un serafín;
lévovos no corazón:
Pedídelle a Dios por min,
miña Virxe da Asunción.
Xa se oien lonxe, moi lonxe,
as campanas do Pomar;
para min, ¡ai!, coitadiño,
nunca máis han de tocar.
Xa se oien lonxe, máis lonxe,
Cada balada é un dolor;
voume soio, sin arrimo...
¡Miña terra, ¡adios!, ¡adios!
¡Adios tamén, queridiña!...
¡Adios por sempre quizais!...
Dígoche este adios chorando
desde a beiriña do mar.
Non me olvides, queridiña,
si morro de soidás...
tantas légoas mar adentro...
¡Miña casiña!,¡meu lar!
Good-bye rivers, good-bye fountains;
Good-bye, little rills;
Good-bye, sight of my eyes:
Don't know when we'll see us again.
Sod of mine, sod of mine,
Sod where I was raised,
Small orchard I love so,
Dear fig trees that I planted,
Meadows, streams, groves,
Stands of pine waved by the wind,
Little chirping birds,
Darling cottage of my joy,
Mill in the chestnut wood,
Clear nights of brilliant moonlight,
Cherished ringing bells
Of the tiny parish church,
Blackberries in the brambles
That I used to give my love,
Narrow footpaths through the cornfields,
Good-bye, for ever good-bye!
Good-bye, heaven! Good-bye, happiness!
I leave the house of my birth,
I leave the hamlet that I know
For a world I haven't seen!
I leave friends for strangers,
I leave the lowland for the sea,
I leave, in short, what I well love...
Would I didn't have to go!
But I'm poor and—base sin!—
My sod is not my own
For even the shoulder of the road
Is loaned out to the wayfarer
Who was born star-crossed.
I must therefore leave you,
Small orchard I loved so,
Beloved fireplace of home,
Dear trees that I planted,
Favourite spring of the livestock.
Good-bye, good-bye, I'm leaving,
Hallowed blades of the churchyard
Where my father lies buried,
Saintly blades I kissed so much,
Dear land that brought us up.
Good-bye Virxe da Asunción,
White as a seraph,
I carry you in my heart:
Plead with God on my behalf, Virxe da Asunción of mine.
Far, very far away hear
The church bells of Pomar;
For hapless me—alas—
They shall never ring again.
Hear them afar (farther away yet).
Every peal deals out pain,
I part alone without a friend...
Good-bye land of mine, good-bye!
Farewell to you too, little darling...!
Farewell forever perhaps...!
I send you this farewell crying
From the precious coastline.
Don't forget me, little darling,
If I should die of loneliness...
So many leagues offshore...
My dear house! My home!
"San Antonio bendito" like the four previous poems employs the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language—singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine).
All the words in "San Antonio bendito" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a short explanation of the translation made where relevant. Galician affectionate diminutives offer the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The goal is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
amoriños. Dim. and pl. of "amor" (love) translated simply "love" to preserve the tempo of stanza 7.
carniñas. Dim. of "carnes" (body fat, skin) translated "smooth skin" to concur with with the description of its being like cream. Other options: attractive skin, sleek skin, soft skin.
corpiño. Dim. of "corpo" (body, frame) translated "frail...frame" to create staggered alliteration and approximate rhyme with "saint" (4.2). A frail body is consistent with the maiden's desire to wed a man who will do the heavy chores for her (5).
hirmanciño. Dim. of "hirman" (brother) translated "baby brother" to fit the description "who has already sprung teeth" (8.9).
homiño. Dim. of "home" (man) translated "greenhorn." Other options: cream puff, pushover, two-bit man, weakling, wimp. This is a rare instance where the diminutive is more derogatory than affectionate.
lanzaliño. Dim. of "lanzal" (slender, slim, svelte) translated "spare" to resonate with the phrase "red and ruddy" (6.4). The affectionate diminutive component was ignored to maintain the tempo of the stanza.
santiño. Dim. of "santo" (saint) translated "cherished saint."
vaquiña. Dim. of "vaca" (cow) translated "dear...cow."
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Saint Anthony (title). Reputed to be a matchmaker in Portuguese and Brazilian tradition.1
Troncho que troncho (4.7). A troncho is the stalk of a garden vegetable like cabbage, but colloquially it can also denote derision or exhaustion. Walking stick kale is a species whose stem can grow as tall as a person. It was traditionally used for making walking sticks. Hence this cabbage can be a pun and a metaphor for muscle stiffness, fatigue and trudging or clumping along.
Virxe do Carme (5.2). The Spanish religious icon known as Our Lady of Mount Carmel, patron saint of sailors.
San Antonio bendito,
dádeme un home,
anque me mate,
anque me esfole.
Meu santo San Antonio
daime un homiño,
anque o tamaño teña
dun gran de millo.
Daimo, meu santo,
anque os pés teña coxos,
mancos os brazos.
Unha muller sin home...
¡santo bendito!,
e corpiño sin alma,
festa sin trigo,
pau viradoiro,
que onda queira que vaia
troncho que troncho.
Mais en tendo un homiño,
¡Virxe do Carme!,
non hai mundo que chegue
para un folgarse;
que, zambo ou trenco,
sempre é bo ter un home
para un remedio.
Eu sei dun que cobiza
causa miralo,
lanzaliño de corpo,
roxo e encarnado;
carniñas de manteiga,
e palabras tan doces
cal mentireiras.
Por el peno de día,
de noite peno,
pensando nos seus ollos
color de ceo;
mais el, xa doito,
de amoriños entende,
de casar pouco.
Facé, meu San Antonio,
que onda min veña
para casar conmigo,
nena solteira;
que levo en dote
unha culler de ferro,
catro de boxe,
un hirmanciño novo
que xa ten dentes,
unha vaquiña vella
que non dá leite...
¡Ai, meu santiño!
Facé que tal suceda,
cal volo pido.
San Antonio bendito,
dádeme un home,
anque me mate,
anque me esfole.
Que, zambo ou trenco,
sempre é bo ter un home
para un remedio.
Blessed Saint Anthony,
Grant me a man
Even if he slays me,
Even if he skins me.
My saintly Saint Anthony,
Grant me a greenhorn
Though he be the size
Of a grain of corn.
Bring him, my saint,
Even if he has lame feet
Or both arms missing.
A woman without a man
—Blessed saint!—
Is a frail, soulless frame,
A feast without wheat,
Fresh bread gone stale,
That wherever she goes
Goes walking stick kale.
But with a greenhorn for mate,
—Virxe do Carme!—
The world isn't big enough
For relaxation—
Bowlegged or knock-kneed
It's always nice to have a man
To mend a need.
I know of someone whom to see
Is to covet,
Spare of body,
Red and ruddy,
Smooth skin of cream,
And words as sweet
As counterfeit.
For him I ache by day,
By night ache I,
Brooding over his eyes
The colour of sky,
But he, already savvy,
Knows a lot about love,
Little about getting married.
Bring him to me,
My saint Anthony,
To marry me,
A maiden child;
I bring for dowry
A spoon of iron,
Four of boxwood,
A new baby brother
Who has already sprung teeth,
A dear old cow
That doesn't give milk...
Please my cherished saint!
Bring it about
As I ask you.
Blessed Saint Anthony,
Grant me a man
Even if he slays me,
Even if he skins me.
Bowlegged or knock-kneed
It's always nice to have a man
To mend a need.
6. Flight to Wonderland (Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Explanation
In the tome "Cantares Gallegos" De Castro often constructs a poem around a popular couplet or quatrain which is quoted in italics. In this poem "Flight to Wonderland" (Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde) the author borrows the leading two lines of the folk song "Pousa" whose first quatrain reads,
Fun ó muíño do meu compadre;
Fun polo vento, vin polo aire.
É como cousa de encantamento;
Fun polo aire, vin polo vento.
I went to the mill of my child's godfather,1
I went riding the wind, I came riding the air;
It's like a thing of enchantment,
I went riding the air, I came riding the wind.
1 The modern version of "Pousa" puts "tavern" for "mill." The mill was a place of work and social relaxation by day and a venue of consented promiscuity by night. Most mills were water mills.
Translator's Notes
"Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde" makes extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language—singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine). Not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive however.
All the words in "Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice made where appropriate. Galician affectionate diminutives offer the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The aim is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or endearment depending on the context.
casiña. Dim. of "casa" (house) translated "precious...house." Other options: darling house, dear house, little house.
camiño (path, route, trail, way). Not a diminutive.
estreliñas. Dim. and pl. of "estrela" (star) translated "twinkling stars" to project affection surreptitiously through a subliminal recall of the much-loved nursery rhyme "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." Other options: little stars, pretty stars.
luniña. Dim. of "luna" (moon) translated "bright moon" because the night is brilliant (3.1). An earlier version, "small moon," is a better lexical translation but lacks realism, for when does the moon seem smaller than usual? Other options: silvery moon, smiling moon, warm moon.
meniñas. Meaning: "little girls," but translated "lassies" as done for "rapaciñas."
muíño (mill). Not a diminutive.
palomiñas. Dim. and pl. of "paloma" (dove, pigeon) translated "darling doves."
pombiñas. Dim. and pl. of "pomba" (dove, pigeon) translated "darling doves." "Pomba" and "paloma" are synonymous.
rapaciñas. Dim. and pl. of "rapaza" (girl, lass, teenage girl) translated "lassies."
sitiño. Dim. of "sitio" (place, spot) translated "cuddly place." Other options: adorable place, enchanting nook, endearing spot, lovely corner.
Folklore
The water mill (muíño) lent its name to the musical form known as muiñeira or reel. Muiñeiras with lyrics often abound in puns, irony, jokes, jests and jives—a reflection of the jovial atmosphere found at every water mill—for example the third stanza of the muiñeira de San Amaro states:
Ser solteiro é boa cousa
E ser casado tamén;
Deixarei pra cando morra
Pensar o que me convén.
Being single is a fine thing
And so is being married:
Which is more convenient
I'll decide after I'm buried.
Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde,
co sol que baixa tras dos pinares,
cas nubes brancas sombra dos ánxeles,
cas palomiñas que as alas baten,
con un batido manso e suave,
atravesando vagos celaxes,
mundos extraños que en raios parten
ricos tesouros de ouro e diamante.
Pasín os montes, montes e valles,
pasín llanuras e soledades;
pasín os regos, pasín os mares,
con pés enxoitos e sin cansarme.
Colleume a noite, noite brillante,
cunha luniña feitas de xaspes,
e fun con ela camiño adiante,
cas estreliñas para guiarme,
que aquel camiño solo elas saben.
Dempois a aurora co seu sembrante
feito de rosas veu a alumbrarme,
e vin estonces, antre o ramaxe
de olmos e pinos, acobexarse
branca casiña con palomare,
donde as pombiñas entran e saien.
Nela se escoitan doces cantares,
nela garulan mozos galantes
cas rapaciñas de outros lugares.
Todo é contento, todo é folgare,
mentras a pedra bate que bate,
mole que mole, dálle que dálle,
con lindo gusto faille compases.
Non hai sitiño que máis me agrade
que aquel muíño dos castañares,
donde hai meniñas, donde hai rapaces,
que ricamente saben loitare;
donde rechinan hasta cansarse
mozos e vellos, nenos e grandes,
e anque non queren que aló me baixe,
sin que o soupera na casa naide, fun ó muíño do meu compadre;
fun polo vento, vin polo aire.
I went on a Sunday, I went during the afternoon
With the sun that goes down behind the stands of pine,
With the white clouds, sunshade of the angels,
With the darling doves that flap their wings
With an easy and gentle flutter
Traversing dim, dappled skies—
Alien worlds that part into beams
Rich treasures of gold and diamond.
I crossed the hills, hills and valleys,
I crossed plains and moors;
I crossed the rills, I crossed the seas
With dry feet and untiring.
Nightfall caught up with me—brilliant night
With a bright moon made of jasper—
And I went down the trail with her,
With the twinkling stars to guide me
For they alone know that route.
Afterward the dawn with her semblance
Made of roses came to give me light
And I saw then through the foliage
Of elms and pines, snuggled away,
Precious white house with pigeon loft
Where the darling doves go in and out.
Sweet songs are heard within it;
Gallant lads revel inside it
With the lassies of roundabout places.
All is gladness, all is leisure
While the stone that slams and slams,
Grinds and grinds, knocks and knocks,
Plays rhythms to it with a lovely taste.
There is no cuddly place that pleases me more
Than that water mill in the chestnut wood
Where there are lassies, where there are boys
Who richly know how to spar—
Where grate until they tire
Young and old, children and grownups,
And although they don't want me to go down there,
Without anyone in the house being aware I went to the mill of my child's godfather,
I went riding the wind, I came riding the air.
7. Where Many Spit, Loam Turns to Muck (Vinte unha crara noite)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Background
"Vinte unha crara noite" twice mentions a Galician tradition associated with the night of St. John's Eve (1.1.1-4, 2.2.1-4). This custom is the soaking of a bundle of medicinal and aromatic herbs in a bowl, or in a large tin basin, under the moon of the summer solstice. The following description is taken from the two embedded videos produced by Xoán Arco da Vella and from the website of Andarela Asociación Cultural of Sanxenxo.
The Herbs of Saint John
Childhood Memories
The Herbs of the Bundle
This pagan custom was denounced in a church document of the sixth century. A bowl or a large tin basin was first filled with the water of seven fountains. Then a bundle of medicinal and aromatic herbs was left to soak in it overnight. Next morning everybody washed their face, hands or body with the fragant, greenish water, and the bundle was put out to dry in the summer sun for several days. Once dry the bundle was hung from the front door of the house and the herbs used throughout the year as the need arose. According to tradition this ritual exorcized evil spirits, warded off witches and protected against envy. The list underneath names suitable herbs for the bundle, medicinal properties (hyperlink) and traditional applications or beliefs where known.
Black Lace. The fruit (black elderberry) is nicknamed "witches grapes." Anti-inflammatory. Diaphoretic. Cough suppressant. Widely used to keep toads and snakes away.
Chestnut tree leaf with three chestnuts on it. Corns and calluses.
Elm tree leaf. Respiratory tract.
Fennel. Protects against the evil eye. A small pouch of fennel seeds helps to preserve one's health; carrying a seed inside the left shoe will keep ticks away. Eye cleanser. Urinary tract.
Fig leaf (in conjunction with other plants). Mycosis.
Rosemary. Rheumatism, stress and common colds. Stewed in wine the plant cures sore throats, stomachaches and provides pain relief for the cattle. Air freshener. Promotes hair growth.
Rue. Stomachache. Common cold. It was planted outside to the left of the front door as a good luck charm; it was used during the Middle Ages to safeguard againt the plague. According to this video rue also kills head lice and the parasite responsible for mange.
St. John's Wort. Drives away devils. Acne. Depression. Coagulant.
"Vinte unha crara noite" makes frequent use of the affectionate diminutive form (feminine termination iña, masculine iño). This form complicates the job of translating because an affectionate diminutive does not usually have a unique English equivalent and sometimes not even a single interpretation. Nevertheless to yield to the temptation of treating the affectionate diminutive as a nuisance and ignoring it altogether deprives the poem of its full expressiveness. On the plus side the affectionate diminutive offers the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The objective is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
All the words in "Vinte unha crara noite" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a short explanation of the translation made.
amoriño. Dim. of "amor" (love) translated "gentle love." Other options: sweet love, tender love.
estrelliñas. Dim. and pl. of "estrella" (star) translated "twinkling stars" to project affection surreptitiously through a subliminal recall of the much-loved nursery rhyme "Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star." Other options: little stars, pretty stars.
Farruquiño. Dim. of "Farruco," a colloquial variant of "Francisco" (Francis) translated "Frankie."
fresquiña. Dim. of "fresca" (cool, fresh) translated "sparkling fresh" to match the description of the girl given on 1.5-8.
honriña. Dim. of "honra" (honour) translated "good name" (3.2) and "reputation" (3.3). The diminutive here reflects the lower social status of the girl: her honour matters little to society.
meiguiña. Dim. of "meiga" (enchantress, witch, wizard) reluctantly translated "charming enchantress" because English dictionaries do not accept the entry "wizardess" though the term "wizard" is male-biased.
meniña translated "lassie." Not an affectionate diminutive except when used figuratively. Other options: baby, child, little girl.
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
muchadiña. Dim. of "muchada" (listless, pale, withered) translated "sadly withered." Other options: piteously pale, wretchedly listless.
noitiña (evening twilight, nightfall). Strictly speaking not a diminutive.
orballiño. Dim. of "orballo" (drizzle) translated "dew" because drizzle is rare inland during the summer (Note: St. John's Eve falls on June 23). Other options: fine spray, refreshing drizzle.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Na fonte a serenar (1.1.4, 2.2.4). "Fonte" means "fountain" but can also mean "table bowl." The second definition is used here because countryside fountains were communal conveniences, not private utilities.
Farruco do Pombal (2.6). De Castro probably had Pombal de Abaixo in mind, 3.5 kilometers northeast of Padrón.1
Vinte unha crara noite,
noitiña de San Xoán,
poñendo as frescas herbas
na fonte a serenar.
E tan bonita estabas
cal rosa no rosal
que de orballiño fresco
toda cuberta está.
Por eso, namorado,
con manso suspirar
os meus amantes brazos
boteiche polo van,
e ti con dulces ollos
e máis dulce falar,
meiguiña, me emboucastes
en prácido solás.
As estrelliñas todas
que aló no espazo están,
sorrindo nos miraban
con soave craridá.
E foron, ¡ai!, testigos
daquel teu suspirar
que ó meu correspondía
con amoriño igual.
Pero dempois con outros
máis majos e galáns
(mais non que máis te queiran,
que haber, non haberá),
tamén, tamén, meniña,
soupeches praticar
á sombra dos salgueiros,
cabo do romeiral.
Por eso eu che cantaba
en triste soledá,
cando, ¡ai de min!, te vía
por riba da veiga llana,
con eles parolar:
"Coida, miña meniña,
das práticas que dás,
que donde moitos cospen,
lama fan."
II
¡Que triste ora te vexo!...
¡Que triste, nena, estás!...
Os teus frescos colores,
¿donde, meniña, van?
O teu mirar sereno,
o teu doce cantar,
¿donde, meniña, donde,
coitada, toparás?
Xa non te vin, meniña,
na noite de San Xoán,
poñendo as frescas herbas
na fonte a serenar.
Xa non te vin fresquiña
cal rosa no rosal,
que muchadiña estabas
de tanto saloucar.
Ora, de dor ferida,
buscando a honriña vas,
honriña que perdeches,
mais ¿quen cha volverá?
Eu ben, miña meniña,
ben cha quixera dar,
que aquel que ben te quixo
doise de verte mal.
Mais anque dir, eu diga,
que limpa, nena, estás,
respóndenme sorrindo
por se de min bulrar
«Ben sabes, Farruquiño,
Farruco do Pombal, que donde moitos cospen,
lama fan».
I
I saw you one cloudless night
At twilight Saint John's Eve
Setting the fresh herbs to steep
In the table bowl for the night;
And you looked so cute,
Like a rose in the rose bush
Drenched
In fresh dew.
That's why, enamoured,
With soft sighs
I threw my loving arms
Around your waist;
And you, charming enchantress,
With sweet eyes and sweeter talk
Beguiled me
In placid solace.
All the twinkling stars
That in space above reside
Looked at us smiling
With soft-light shine
And they were witnesses ah!
Of those sighs of yours
Which reciprocated mine
With equal, gentle love.
Yet afterwards with others
More handsome and gallant than I
(Though none who love you more,
For no one ever ever shall)
As well, as well, lassie,
You were wont to chatter
Under the shade of the willow trees
Past the festive picnics' site.
That's why I used to sing to you
In sullen solitude
When over the flat lowland alack!
I saw you
With them chat,
"Be careful, my lassie,
About the conversations you have
For where many spit,
Loam turns to muck."
II
How sad I see you now...!
How sad, girl, you are...!
Your glowing colours, lassie,
Whither did they part?
Your serene gaze,
Your sweet singing, lassie,
Where, o ill-starred,
Where will you find?
No longer did I see you, lassie,
On the night of Saint John's Eve
Setting the fresh herbs to steep
In the table bowl for the night;
No longer I saw you sparkling fresh
Like rose in the rose hedge—
Sadly withered you were
From crying so much.
Now scarred by pain you go
In search of your good name,
Reputation you surrendered,
But who will render it?
O how, how I wish, my lassie,
I could lend it back to you
For he who loved you true
Suffers to see you ailing.
But however much I say and say
What a wholesome girl you are
They reply to me smiling
To make of me fun,
"Well you know, Frankie,
Frank of Pombal, that Where many spit,
Loam turns to muck."
8. How Can I Depart If I Love You? (¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Translator's Notes
"¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?" is yet another poem that uses the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language—singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine).
All the words in "¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with the translation. Galician affectionate diminutives offer the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The goal is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
biquiño. Dim. of "bico" (kiss) translated "wee kiss" to overlay a faint Scottish-English feel to the translation. Other options: light kiss, little kiss, peck, quick kiss, small kiss.
caloriño. Dim. of "calor" (heat, warmth) translated "sweet heat" to rhyme with "feet" (3.12).
cariña. Dim. of "cara" (face) translated "pretty...face." Another option: lovely face.
labiños. Dim. of "labios" (lips) translated "sweet lips."
meiguiño. Dim. of "meigo" (magician, wizard) translated "darling wizard." The hyperbole "meiguiño meigo" was translated "dear bewitching wizard" (4.1).
meniña. Translated "little girl." Not an affectionate diminutive except when used figuratively. Other options: baby, child, lassie.
olliños. Dim. and pl. of "ollo" (eye) translated "lovely...eyes."
ondiñas. Dim. and pl. of "onda" (wave) translated "gentle waves." Other options: fair-weather waves, light surf, lovely sea, low swell, nice surf, ripples, sailing waves, small waves, tame sea.
paxariños. Dim. and pl. of "paxaro" (bird) translated "little birds." The phrase connotes size and affection (cf. "Chaveleh" from "A Fiddler on the Roof").
queridiña/o. Dim. of "querida/o" (beloved, dear) translated "dearie."
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Deses teus olliños negros,/como doas relumbrantes,/hastra as nosas maus unidas/as bágoas ardentes caen (3.1-4). A case of reverse sentence structure whose literal translation is "From your precious dark eyes/Like glittering beads/To our clasped hands/The burning tears fall." Although reverse sentences are a common feature of Spanish poetry they yield ambiguous, crumpled prose in English. The ironed-out translation is often preferable.
Folklore
Minutes 0:40-1:44 and minutes 3:00-4:00 of the final scene from the Argentinian movie "Un Novio para Laura" (1955) render a fair approximation to the setting (girl and boy in love spending the night together at the seaside) and festive tone of "¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?" in the voice of Lolita Torres.
—Cantan os galos pra o día;
érguete, meu ben, e vaite.
—¿Como me hei de ir, queridiña;
como me hei de ir e deixarte?
—Deses teus olliños negros,
como doas relumbrantes,
hastra as nosas maus unidas
as bágoas ardentes caen.
¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?
¿Como me hei de ir e deixarte,
si ca lengua me desbotas
e co corazón me atraes?
Nun corruncho do teu leito
cariñosa me abrigaches;
co teu manso caloriño
os fríos pés me quentastes;
e de aquí xuntos miramos
por antre o verde ramaxe
cal iba correndo a lúa
por enriba dos pinares.
¿Como queres que te deixe?
¿Como que de ti me aparte,
si máis que a mel eres dulce
e máis que as froles soave?
—Meiguiño, meiguiño meigo,
meigo que me namoraste,
vaite de onda min, meiguiño,
antes que o sol se levante.
—Aínda dorme, queridiña,
antre as ondiñas do mare,
dorme por que me acariñes
e por que amante me chames,
que solo onda ti, meniña,
podo contento folgare.
—Xa cantan os paxariños,
érguete, meu ben, que é tarde.
—Deixa que canten, Marica;
Marica, deixa que canten...
Si ti sintes que me vaia,
eu relouco por quedarme.
—Conmigo, meu queridiño,
mitá da noite pasaches.
—Mais en tanto ti dormías,
contenteime con mirarte,
que así, sorrindo entre soños,
coidaba que eras un ánxel,
e non con tanta pureza
ó pé dun ánxel velase.
—Así te quero, meu ben,
como un santo dos altares;
mais fuxe..., que o sol dourado
por riba dos montes saie.
—Irei, mais dáme un biquiño
antes que de ti me aparte,
que eses labiños de rosa
inda non sei como saben.
—Con mil amores cho dera,
mais teño que confesarme,
e moita vergonza fora
ter un pecado tan grande.
—Pois confésate, Marica,
que cando casar nos casen,
non che han de valer, meniña,
nin confesores nin frades.
¡Adios, cariña de rosa!
—¡Raparigo, Dios te garde!
"The roosters sing to the dawning day;
Get up, my good, and go."
"How can I go, dearie;
How can I go and leave you?
"The burning tears fall
Like glittering beads
From your lovely dark eyes
To our clasped hands.
How can I depart if I love you?
How can I go and leave you
If you send me away with the tongue
Yet with the heart draw me near?
In a corner of your bed
You sheltered me fondly;
With your gentle, sweet heat
You warmed my cold feet;
And together we watched from here
Through the green foliage
How the moon tracked
Above the stands of pine.
How do you pretend that I leave you?
How can I stay away from you
If you are sweeter than honey
And milder than the flowers?"
"Darling wizard, dear bewitching wizard,
Wizard who made me fall in love with you,
Depart from here, darling wizard,
Before the sun rises."
"Sleep yet a while, dearie,
Amid the gentle waves of the sea,
Sleep—for then you would caress me
And call out to me like a lover;
It's only with you, little girl,
That I can relax contented."
"Already the little birds sing;
Get up, my boon, it's late."
"Let them sing, Marica;
Marica, let them sing...
If you are sorry to see me go,
I rave for to stay."
"With me, my dearie,
You spent half the night."
"Still while you slept
I contented myself with gazing at you,
And as you slept, smiling between dreams,
I fancied that you were an angel;
And not with as much chastity
Would I've kept vigil at the feet of an angel."
"That's how I want you, my boon,
Like a saint upon the altar;
But depart..., the golden sun
Shows above the hilltops."
"I will, but give me a wee kiss
Before I slip away from you,
For I do not yet know how
Those rosy, sweet lips taste."
"I would with thousandfold love,
But I must go to confession
And it would be a great shame
To own so great a sin."
"Go to confession then, Marica,
But when they marry us well married,
Neither confessors nor friars
Will avail you any, little girl.
Good-bye, pretty rose face!"
"Un repoludo gaiteiro" makes modest use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language—singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine).
All the words in "Un repoludo gaiteiro" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice made. Galician affectionate diminutives provide the translator with an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme or lyrical sharpness to the text. The aim is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys size, frailty, sympathy or endearment as dictated by the context.
camiño (path, route, trail, way). Adverbial form: on the...to. Not a diminutive.
espiñas. Pl. of "espiña" (thorn). Not a diminutive.
gaitiña. Dim. of "gaita" (bagpipe) translated "dear bagpipe." Other options: beloved bagpipe, Galician bagpipe, native bagpipe.
louquiñas. Dim. and pl. of "louca" (crazy, disturbed, mad) translated "poor raving girls." "Louca" and "tola" are synonymous.
mañanciña (early morning hours). Not an affectionate diminutive.
meniña. Meaning: "little girl," here simply translated "girl" to form the compound "single (i.e. unmarried) girl."
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
tiña (past tense of "ter," to have). Not a diminutive.
toliñas. Dim. and pl. of "tola" (crazy, disturbed, mad) translated "adorably daffy" since the girls are madly in love.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
De pano sedán vestido (1.2). Sedan is a French town of 20,000 inhabitants
situated on the banks of the river Meuse in the Ardennes. The town became a major textile center between 1641 and the First World War and gave its name to a glossy figure eight needlepoint (example). Thus "cloth of Sedan" may describe a garment imported from Sedan or a local cloth stitched with the Sedan needlepoint.
Camiño da romería (4.1). A traditional romería is a festive picnic near a chapel or monastery on the holiday of its namesake.
¡Canta risa nas fiadas! (6.2). A fiada was a gathering of women in the evening to make yarn in a festive atmosphere of storytelling, games and song.
Musical Adaptation
Amancio Prada in an unpublished recording with the short-lived group Rumbadeira in 1994
Un repoludo gaiteiro
de pano sedán vestido,
como un príncipe cumprido,
cariñoso e falangueiro,
antre os mozos o pirmeiro
e nas siudades sin par,
tiña costume en cantar
aló pola mañanciña: Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Sempre pola vila entraba
con aquel de señorío,
sempre con poxante brío
co tambor se acompasaba;
e si na gaita sopraba,
era tan doce soprar,
que ben fixera en cantar
aló pola mañanciña: Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Todas por el reloucaban,
todas por el se morrían,
si o tiñan cerca, sorrían,
si o tiñan lonxe, choraban.
¡Mal pecado! Non coidaban
que c'aquel seu frolear
tiña costume en cantar
aló pola mañanciña: Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Camiño da romería,
debaixo dunha figueira,
¡canta meniña solteira
«Quérote», lle repetía!...
I el ca gaita respondía
por a todas emboucar,
pois ben fixera en cantar
aló pola mañanciña: Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Elas louquiñas bailaban
e por xunta del corrían,
cegas..., cegas, que non vían
as espiñas que as cercaban;
probes palomas, buscaban
a luz que as iba queimar,
pois que el soupera cantar
aló pola mañanciña: Ó son da miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
¡Nas festas, canto contento!
¡Canta risa nas fiadas!
Todas, todas, namoradas,
déranlle o seu pensamento;
i el que de amores sedento
quixo a todas engañar,
cando as veu dimpois chorar
cantaba nas mañanciñas: Non sean elas toliñas,
non veñan ó meu tocar.
A pudgy bagpiper
Dressed in cloth of Sedan,
Well-mannered like a prince,
Affectionate, talkative and courteous,
First among the young men
And without peer in the cities,
Had a habit of singing
By the wee hours of the morning: With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
He always entered the village
With a gentleman's bearing,
He always with steadfast vigour
Played to the beat of the drum;
And if he blew the bagpipe
So sweet was his blowing
That he had done right in singing
By the wee hours of the morning: With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
All the girls yearned for him,
All the girls died for him,
If he was close by they smiled,
If he was far away they cried.
Base sin! They didn't realize
That with that flirty fettle of his
He had a habit of singing
By the wee hours of the morning: With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
On the way to the romería,
Underneath a fig tree,
How many a single girl
Would tell him again, "I want you"!
And he replied with the bagpipe
To trick them all
Since he had done right in singing
By the wee hours of the morning: With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
The poor raving girls danced
And raced to him blinded,
Blind lasses who didn't see
The thorns that compassed them,
Poor doves who went seeking
The light that would scorch them
Since he had sung knowingly
By the wee hours of the morning: To the sound of my dear bagpipe
I will surely dupe the lassies.
How much joy at the festivities!
How much laughter at the spindle parties!
All the girls, love-struck every one,
Had given him their thought;
And he who thirsty for love
Had wished to hoodwink them all
When he later saw them weeping
Sang in the wee hours of the morning: Let them not be adorably daffy,
Let them come not when I play.
"Quíxente tanto, meniña" contains the four affectionate diminutives listed below. Galician affectionate diminutives bring the opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The task for the translator is to discover the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
camiñiño. Dim. of "camiño" (path, route, trail, way) translated "lovely way" to get staggered alliteration with "Saint Louis". Other options: country lane, narrow path, short trail.
caraveliño. Dim. of "caravel" (carnation) translated "fair carnation." Other options: humble carnation, ordinary carnation, pretty carnation, small carnation.
meniña. Translated "lassie." Not an affectionate diminutive except when used figuratively. Other options: baby, child, little girl.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
On the lovely way to Saint Louis (2.2). Today Saint Louis (San Lois) is part of Pontecesures, a town of 3,136 inhabitants (2011) situated 3.4 kilometers south of Padrón beside the river Ulla. The economic mainstays of Pontecesures and the surrounding region are dairy farming and sea lamprey fishing.
Raquel Pato composed a short piano piece for this poem (Ms. Pato is Head of the Music Department at the As Lagoas High School in Ourense). Her composition was recorded by singer Rosa Cedrón and musician Cristina Pato in the 2010 album Soas. They perform the piece on the two entries below.
"Quíxente tanto, meniña
tívenche tan grande amor,
que para min eras lúa,
branca aurora e craro sol;
augua limpa en fresca fonte,
rosa do xardín de Dios,
alentiño do meu peito,
vida do meu corazón."
Así che falín un día
caminiño de San Lois,
todo oprimido de angustia,
todo ardente de pasión,
mentras que ti me escoitabas
depinicando unha frol,
porque eu non vise os teus ollos
que refrexaban traiciós.
Dempois que si me dixeches,
en proba de teu amor
décheme un caraveliño
que gardín no corazón.
¡Negro caravel maldito,
que me fireu de dolor!
Mais a pasar polo río,
¡o caravel afondou!... Tan bo camiño ti leves
como o caravel levou.
"I loved you so much, lassie,
I had for you such great love,
That to me you were the moon,
The white dawn and the bright sun,
Clean water from fresh fountain,
Rose of God's garden,
Cherished breath of my chest,
The life of my heart."
Thus I wooed you one day
On the lovely way to Saint Louis
Entirely burdened with anguish,
Entirely burning with passion,
While you listened
Picking apart a flower
So I wouldn't spy the reflection
Of deception in your eye.
After answering, "Yes,"
You handed me a fair carnation
As confirmation of your love
Which I guarded in my heart—
Damned black carnation
That pierced me with pain!—
Yet when the river I crossed
The carnation dropped and sank...! May you keep to as good a route
As the carnation took.
All the preceding poems have made extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language—singular termination iña (feminine) or iño (masculine)—and "Alborada" is no exception. Preceding poems have already shown that some words which end in iña or iño are not affectionate diminutives.
All the words in "Alborada" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the term chosen. Galician affectionate diminutives let the translator add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The goal of the exercise is to select the best adjective, adverb or noun which expresses affection, concern, frailty or smallness depending on the context. This selection becomes a personal choice when there is more than one translation available as it often occurs. Occasionally it is even advisable to ignore an affectionate diminutive because the context is unclear, because the extra term crimps the fluidity of the translated poem or makes the text unadvisedly cloy. The exercise can be tedious, challenging and time-consuming; but to sideline the affectionate diminutive altogether in the translation of "Cantares Gallegos" is to deprive the English reader of an approximation to what De Castro dubbed "those tender words and those idioms never forgotten which sounded so sweet to my ears since the cradle and which were gathered up by my heart as its own heritage."
auroriña. Dim. of "aurora" (dawn) translated "darling dawn." Other options: beautiful dawn, fair dawn, lovely dawn.
cunchiñas. Dim. and pl. of "cuncha" (seashell) translated simply "seashells." The affectionate diminutive was ignored because the shells typically found on any beach have various sizes and because tagging them with a label of concern or affection seems extravagant. The only viable adjectives relate to beauty, such as cute, elegant, pretty, etc., but Galicia is not known for particularly beautiful seashells. It might be objected that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, and apropos a fashion designer has drawn inspiration from common Galician seashells.
gaitiña. Dim. of "gaita" (bagpipe) translated "his trusty bagpipe" to complement the past participle "accompanied of." The pronoun was included to improve the readability of the English text. Other options: beloved bagpipe, Galician bagpipe, native bagpipe.
meniñas. Meaning: "little girls," but translated "girls" for authenticity. Not an affectionate diminutive except when used figuratively. Other options: babies, lassies.
paxariño. Dim. of "paxaro" (bird) translated "little bird." The phrase connotes size and affection (cf. "Chaveleh" from "A Fiddler on the Roof").
ponliña. Dim. of "ponla" (branch) translated "twig." Another option: branchlet.
portiñas. Dim. and pl. of "porta" (door) translated "friendly doors." Other options: hospitable doors, kindly doors, neighbourly doors, welcoming doors. The front door of a house becomes a metaphor for the people who dwell inside.
rapaciñas. Dim. and pl. of "rapaza" (girl, lass, teenage girl) translated "lassies." Another option: lovely (teenage) girls.
teñidiño. Dim. of "teñido" (dyed) translated "daintily dyed." Other options: beautifully dyed, delicately dyed. Here the diminutive does not suggest splendour but coyness.
velliñas alegriñas. Dim. and pl. of "vella alegre" (cheerful old woman) translated "cheery, charming dear grannies." The affection is shown by the phrase "dear grannies" and the adjective "charming" adds affection to the adjective "cheery." This double form has allowed the creation of one alliteration and one approximate internal rhyme (cheery, grannies).
vidriños. Dim. and pl. of "vidrio" (glass) translated "window panes." Arguably not an affectionate diminutive. A window pane was cut from a parent sheet of glass.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Atruxaremos, cantaremos o alalá! (last line). "Atruxar" is a blend of a yodel and a prolonged yell. Examples: Minutes 0:28-0:31 (somewhat muted) and 2:22-2:27 of this recording. An alalá is a traditional Galician song of remote origin; some researchers trace it back to the Gregorian chant.1 The Alalá das Mariñas is an example.
De Castro molded the meter of "Alborada" on this morning song of Ourense which a neighbourhood piper used to play. The resultant lyrics and tune became known as the Morning Song of Rosalía de Castro.
The Morning Song of Rosalía de Castro is played by bagpiper Ricardo Portela (b. 1920, d. 1992) on the first entry below.
In 2008 Abe Rábade arranged a jazz vocal together with Guadí Galego and Anxo Angueira (second entry).
In 2009 singer Fernanda Takai of the Brazilian alternative rock band Pato Fú together with Galician bagpiper Carlos Núñez fused the morning song with hip-hop (third entry).
Ricardo Portela (warning: preload attribute may delay start of video)
¡Vaite noite, vai fuxindo!
¡Vente aurora, vente abrindo
co teu rostro que sorrindo
á sombra espanta!
¡Canta, paxariño, canta
De ponliña en ponla que o sol se levanta
polo monte verde, polo verde monte,
alegrando as herbas, alegrando as fontes!
Canta, paxariño alegre, canta.
Canta por que o millo medre, canta;
Canta porque a luz te escoite,
Canta, canta que fuxeu a noite.
II
Noite escura logo ven moito dura
co seu manto de tristura,
con meigallos e temores,
agoreira de dolores,
agarimo de pesares,
cubridora en todo mal,
¡Sal!
Que a auroriña o ceu colora
cuns arbores que namora,
cun sembrante de ouro e prata
teñidiño de escalrata,
cuns vestidos de diamante
que lle borda o sol amante
antre as ondas de cristal.
¡Sal! Señora en todo mal,
que o sol xa brila nas cunchiñas do areal,
que a luz do día viste a terra de alegría,
que o sol derrete con amor a escarcha fría.
Branca aurora, ven chegando
i ás portiñas vai chamando
dos que dormen esperando
ao teu folgor.
Cor de alba hermosa
lles estendes nos vidriños cariñosa,
donde o sol tamén suspende,
cando aló no mar se tende,
de fogax larada viva,
dempois leve, fuxitiva,
triste, vago resprandor.
III
Cantor dos aires, paxariño alegre,
canta, canta porque o millo medre.
Cantor da aurora, alegre namorado,
ás meniñas dille que xa sal o sol dourado;
que o gaiteiro, ben lavado,
ben vestido, ben peitado,
da gaitiña acompañado
A porta está... ¡xa!
Se espricando que te esprica,
repinica, repinica
na alborada ben amada
das meniñas cantadeiras,
bailadoras, rebuldeiras;
das velliñas alegriñas,
das que saben ben ruar.
¡Arriba todas, rapaciñas do lugar,
que o sol i a aurora xa vos vén a dispertar!
¡Arriba, arriba, toleirona mocidad,
que atruxaremos, cantaremos o alalá!
I
Depart, night, start fleeing!
Come, dawn, start breaking
With your face that smiling
Scares away the shadow!
Sing, little bird, sing
From twig to branch for the sun rises
Over the green hill, over the hill green,
Gladdening the grass, gladdening the springs!
Sing, merry little bird, sing;
Sing so the wheat will grow, sing;
Sing so the light will listen;
Sing, sing for the night has fled.
II
The dark night on the switch comes severe
With her mantle of sadness,
With magic spells and fears,
Harbinger of heartaches,
Haven of regrets,
Cloak to every evil,
Leave!
For the darling dawn enamours
Colouring the sky with auroral colours,
With a semblance of gold and silver
Daintily dyed scarlet,
With some diamond gowns
Her lover sun embroiders
Among the crystal billows.
Leave, mistress in every evil!
For the sun already shines on the seashells in the sand,
For daylight dresses the earth with mirth,
For the sun melts the frigid frost with love.
White aurora, start arriving
And go knocking at the friendly doors
Of those who slumber waiting for
Your splendour.
Dawn's gorgeous colour
You spread fond over the window panes
Whereon the sun also dangles
When it lies on the sea yonder
A bonfire's vivid blaze,
Followed by feeble, fugitive,
Sad, vague glow.
III
Minstrel of the air, jolly little bird,
Sing, sing so the wheat will grow.
Minstrel of the sunrise, jolly suitor,
Tell the girls that the golden sun is out,
That the piper, well washed,
Well dressed, well combed,
Of his trusty bagpipe accompanied
Is at the door...now!
Explaining and explaining himself,
Chime, chime
In the sunrise so well loved
By girls with a song on their lip,
By spright girls with dancing feet,
By the cheery, charming dear grannies
Who amble about the town.
Rise, all the lassies of the place,
For sun and dawn are presently come to awaken you!
Rise, rise, wild youth,
We'll yell-yodel, we'll sing the alalá!
At the Tomb of British General Sir John Moore (Na tomba do xeneral inglés Sir John Moore)
Bells of Bastabales (Campanas de Bastabales)
Black Shadow (Negra Sombra)
I Was Born When the Seedlings Sprout (Nasín cando as prantas nasen)
Misfortune (A Disgracia)
My Sweet Kitchen Maid (Miña carrapucheiriña)
Pharisees (Tembra un neno no húmido pórtico)
Sweet Dream (Dulce sono)
Though It Be a Sin (Díxome nantronte o cura que é pecado)
Why? (¿Por qué?)
Winter Months (Meses do inverno)
