Silvio Rodr铆guez is an indispensable figure in Cuban culture. His songs, sometimes controversial, are filled with poetry. Opinions are divided regarding his work; some idolize him, while others...not so much.
In my particular case, I deeply appreciate his work and his very own way of performing his songs. The artist has composed over 500 songs in his lifetime and has more than 20 studio albums. Without a doubt, it is a prolific body of work that reflects the history of this island鈥攁 reality sung with intelligence and critique, from Silvio's sagacious perspective.
During my university years (I don't recall the reasons), I never attended a concert by this singer-songwriter. It was always an unfulfilled longing, until this past September 19th, when it became a reality. There, on the very steps I had climbed and descended as a student over two decades ago, I stood alongside hundreds of others to enjoy the first concert of the Latin American tour the artist is currently undertaking.
From 4 p.m. the public began to arrive. By 7:00 p.m., the place was packed, marking the beginning of the most emotional two hours I have experienced in recent years. It was beautiful; the crowd sang emblematic songs in unison. Other new songs from his latest album were met with long ovations for the depth and veracity of their lyrics.
Many songs in his repertoire are created for us, Cubans. Only by being Cuban can one truly understand the full scope of his texts. With his capacity for sharp and lucid critique, he has been a prophet in every era he has lived through.
Today, I bring you three songs that I adore. I had a hard time choosing from so many that I love. They are odes to love, full of poetry, and with an emotional charge that raises goosebumps and makes your hair stand on end. Their lyrics transcend the borders of this island and touch upon universal historical events and personalities.
The English translation may alter the meaning a little, but I leave them here with the hope that it does not. 馃槈 And after each translation, I will leave a link to his official site so you can listen to them in their original language. I hope you enjoy them.
If only the leaves would not touch your body when they fall, so that you cannot turn them into glass.
If only the rain would cease to be a miracle streaming down your body.
If only the moon could rise without you, if only the earth would not kiss your footsteps.
If only your constant gaze would be exhausted, the precise word, the perfect smile.
If only something would happen to erase you suddenly: A blinding light, a shot of snow.
If only, at the very least, death would take me, so as not to see you so much, not to see you always, in every second, in every vision.
If only I couldn't touch you, even in songs.
If only the dawn would not shout cries that fall upon my back.
If only that voice would forget your name. If only the walls would not retain your sound of a weary path.
If only desire would follow after you, to your ancient reign of the dead and flowers.
If only your constant gaze would be exhausted, rhe precise word, the perfect smile.
If only something would happen to erase you suddenly: A blinding light, a shot of snow.
If only, at the very least, death would take me, So as not to see you so much, not to see you always, in every second, in every vision.
If only I couldn't touch you, even in songs. If only something would happen to erase you suddenly: A blinding light,a shot of snow.
If only, at the very least, death would take me, so as not to see you so much, not to see you always, In every second, in every vision.
If only I couldn't touch you, even in songs.
From times most ancient, guardian angels soar, ever-jealous of their sacred vow against outrage and disorder. By infant cradles, by the sad and dying, They say gentle beings with wings from another world keep watch.
When this angel streaks across the sky, there is nothing that resembles him. The goal of his hurried flight is the sentencing of a heretic. Let him not be distracted nor delay, all is now untimely. He heads for the field of flowers where the pyre awaits Bruno.
An angel plunges from the heights, a free fall that chills the bone. The order from his high command is to descend to Dos R铆os. It is the 19th and also May, foam-covered mountain mother range. When another angel on horseback, falls, with the poor of the earth.
They say at the stroke of one, a compassionate stout angel, passed before the moon soaring over the olive groves. And they recount that with foul, skill his fanning wings were shot. Just at the hour when in Spain, they murdered Federico.
A beautiful archangel beats his wings beside a great bird of iron. He strives for a man to see him, to avert a hundred thousand exiles. But the archangel grows breathless, and a blue wing is injured and the black bird opens its mouth when they cross Hiroshima.
Leaving a luminous trail over Memphis, Tennessee, there passed flying in haste a winged being in a frenzy. He was clothing himself in mourning, the cherub was weeping, He was counting the minutes of God and Martin Luther King.
The angel passes under a bridge, then circles a skyscraper. Central Park, full of people, does not notice his flight. How much utopia will be shattered, and how much imagination. When at the door of the Dakota, the bullets bring down John.
September still howls, its double chilling toll; It all happens on the same day, thanks to a similar hatred. And the same angel who there in Chile saw the President bombed, sees the two towers with their thousands, falling...unforgettably.
Desperate, the cherubim, take the skies of the earth and with their pencils of cloud paint farewells to wars. The world fills its balconies and exclaims at last:"This is my fight!". But the lord of the cannons does not look to the sky nor listen.
Poor the urgent angels, who never arrive to save us. Could it be that they are incompetent, or that there is no way to help us? To spare them further pains and the bills of the psychoanalyst. Let us be a tad better and far less selfish.
I 'm in search of a word, on the threshold of your mystery
I wish I were Ali Baba
I wish I were the mythical Sinbad
I wish I were a powerful sorcery
I wish I were an enchanter
I'm in search of a diving suit, at the foot of the sea of deliriums
I wish I were Jacques Cousteau
I wish I were Nemo the Captain
I wish I were the bathyscaphe of your abyss
I wish I were an explorer
Heart, obscure heart Heart,a heart with walls Heart,that hides itself Heart,that, where is it? Heart,a heart in flight Wounded by doubts of love
I am in search of a melody To have a way to call you I wish I were a nightingale I wish I were Lennon and McCartney Sindo Garay,Violeta, Chico Buarque? I wish I were your troubadour
Heart, obscure heart Heart,a heart with walls Heart,that hides itself Heart,that, where is it? Heart,a heart in flight Wounded by doubts of love
All rights reserved on the text and images, which are of my authorship unless otherwise indicated. I use DeepL for translation because my English is very bad. 馃き
