can play acordeón like a Mexican
can caress with passion and heart
brown hands on ivory keys
the instrument screams
blood runs through veins
from instrument to musician
and back again
boiling at each heartfelt grito
as the soul runs in rapturous elation
and the sun chooses its own path in the sky
liberated from the here and now
to the hear it now as it speaks
not to be interrupted by the word of god
or such petty things as lines drawn in the sand
because corridos are living proof that a
here and there does not exist
as the wind
Lo más caro en la existencia.
Pobrecito mi patrón,
Piensa que el pobre soy yo.
—- —- —- —-
I can’t think of a direct translation to English of these two stanzas of poetry, by the musician, Facundo Cabral; but the first says something like “there are more poor people in the world than there is gold.” The second line then affirms that the lives of the poor are more valuable than gold.
The second stanza, says more or less, “My poor boss thinks that I am the poor one.” In reflecting the attitudes of the first stanza, Cabral is saying that his boss (by extension, people in power) have a poverty of the soul, and for this he feels sorry for them and their futile grabs for more wealth— more gold.
It’s beautiful writing, sprung from the struggles of Latin America, against US-backed dictators and corporate domination.