Spainish
Name:
La bicicleta blanca
Translater:
Unknown
Lyric
Lo viste. Seguro que vos también, alguna vez lo viste.
Te hablo de ese eterno ciclista, solo, tan solo,
que repecha las calles por la noche.
Usa las botamangas del pantalón bien metidas en las medias
y una boina calzada hasta las orejas, ¿te fijaste?
Nadie sabe, no, de dónde cuernos viene;
jamás se le conoce a dónde diablos va.
De todos modos, si lo vieras pasar, mirálo con mucho amor.
Puede que sea, otra vez...
El flaco que tenía la bicicleta blanca
silbando una polquita cruzaba la ciudad,
sus ruedas daban pena, tan chicas y cuadradas,
que el pobre se enredaba la barba en el pedal.
Llevaba de manubrio los cuernos de una cabra,
atrás en un carrito cargaba un pez y un pan,
jadeando a lo pichicho, trepaba las barrancas
y él mismo se animaba, gritando al pedalear:
'¡Dale, Dios!... ¡Dale, Dios!,
meté, flaquito, corazón.
Vos sabés que ganar
no está en llegar sino en seguir.'
Todos, mientras tanto, en las veredas
revolcándonos de risa
¡lo aplaudimos a morir!
Y él con unos ojos de novela,
saludaba, agradecía,
y sabía repetir.
'¡Dale, Dios!... ¡Dale, Dios!
¡Dale con todo, dale Dios!'
Pero, cierta noche, su horrible bicicleta con acoplado
entró a sembrar una enorme cola fosforescente.
¡Increíble! los pungas devolvían las billeteras en los colectivos;
los poderosos terminaban con el hambre;
los Ovnis nos revelaban el misterio de la paz;
el intendente en persona rellenaba los pozos de la calle.
Y hasta yo, pibe, yo que soy las penas,
lloré de alegría bailando bajo aquella luz la polka del ciclista.
Después, no sé, te juro, por qué siniestra rabia,
no sé por qué lo hicimos, ¡lo hicimos sin querer!,
al flaco, pobre flaco, de asalto y por la espalda,
su bicicleta blanca le entramos a romper.
Le dimos como en bolsa, sin asco, duro, en grande,
la hicimos mil pedazos y, al fin, yo vi que él
mordiéndose la barba gritó. '¡Que Yo los salve!',
miró su bicicleta, sonrió, se fue de a pie.
Mi viejo Flaco Nuestro que andabas en la Tierra, ¿cómo te olvidaste
que no somos ángeles, sino hombres y mujeres?
Flaco,
no te pongas triste,
todo no fue inútil,
no pierdas la Fe.
En un cometa con pedales
¡dale que te dale!
yo sé que has de volver.
http://www.planet-tango.com/lyrics/Bicicleta%20blanca.htm
English
Name:
The white bycicle (1970)
Translater:
Alberto Paz
Lyric
Did you see him. Certainly you too, sometimes saw him.
I'm talking about that eternal cyclist, alone, so alone,
that climbs the streets at night.
He wears the cuffs of his trousers inside his socks
and a beret pulled down to his ears, did you noticed?
Nobody knows, where in the heck he comes from;
it is never known where in the devil he goes.
Anyway, if you saw him pass by, look at him with plenty of love.
Perhaps it could be, again…
The skinny guy that had the white bicycle
whistling a polka was cruising the city,
the wheels looked pitiful, so small and square,
that the poor man entangled his beard in the pedal.
The bike handles were the horns of a goat,
behind on a cart he was pulling a fish and a loaf of bread,
panting like a puppy, he climbed the ravines
cheering himself up, shouting while pedaling:
'Go, God! … Go, God! ,
with the heart, skinny guy.
You know that to win
is not getting there but continuing.'
Everyone, meanwhile, on the sidewalks
rolling on the ground with laughter
we applauded him like crazy!
And he with romance novel eyes,
saluted and gave thanks,
and he used to repeat.
'Go, God! … Go, God!
Give it everything, go God!'
But, a certain night, his horrible bicycle with a trailer
began to cast an enormous fluorescent tail.
Unbelievable! The pickpockets were returning wallets on the bus;
the powerful were ending hunger;
the UFOs were revealing the mystery of piece;
the mayor himself was filling the potholes in the streets.
And even I, kid, I who am the heartaches,
I cried of joy dancing under that light the polka of the cyclist.
Later, I do not know, I swear to you, by what sinister rage,
I do not know why we did it, we did it without wanting! ,
to the skinny guy, poor skinny guy, we assaulted him, and from behind,
his white bicycle we started to destroy.
We hit it like a punching bag, without remorse, hard, really big,
we turned it into a thousand pieces and, finally, I saw that he,
biting on his beard, shouted. “May I save you! ”,
he took a look at his bicycle, he smiled, he walked away.
Our old Skinny guy who art on Earth, how come you forgot
that we are not angels, but men and women?
Skinny guy,
don't be sad,
all was not useless,
don't loose Faith.
In a comet with pedals
pedaling and pedaling!
I know that you will return.