Analect 2.539x

24 July 2009. Gray, with flecks of rain. Gray pool, cold.

Tata Cedrón, singing to a group of friends, in Buenos Aires... The poems of Hómero Manzi--


El Ultimo Organito

Las ruedas embarradas del último organito
vendrán desde la tarde buscando el arrabal,
con un caballo flaco y un rengo y un monito
y un coro de muchachas vestidas de percal.

Con pasos apagados elegirá la esquina
donde se mezclan luces de luna y almacén
para que bailen valses detrás de la hornacina
la pálida marquesa y el pálido marqués.

El último organito irá de puerta en puerta
hasta encontrar la casa de la vecina muerta,
de la vecina aquella que se cansó de amar;
y allí molerá tangos para que llore el ciego,
el ciego inconsolable del verso de Carriego,
que fuma, fuma y fuma sentado en el umbral.

Tendrá una caja blanca el último organito
y el asma del otoño sacudirá su son,
y adornarán sus tablas cabezas de angelitos
y el eco de su piano será como un adiós.

Saludarán su ausencia las novias encerradas
abriendo las persianas detrás de su canción,
y el último organito se perderá en la nada
y el alma del suburbio se quedará sin voz.

Hómero Manzi

* * *

The Last Organ Grinder

The muddy wheels of the cart of the last street organ player
will emerge from the late afternoon searching for the arrabal,
with a skinny horse, a lame one, and a little monkey
and a chorus of young girls dressed in percale.

With muted steps he'll choose his corner
where the light of the moon mixes with that of the corner store
in order that they dance waltzes just within the alcove
the pale marquesa and the pale marquis.

The last street organ player will go from door to door
until he encounters the house of the neighbor, now dead,
the house of that same woman who grew tired of love;
and there he will grind out tangos, until the blind man weeps
the inconsolable blind man from that poem of Carriego,
who smokes and smokes and smokes, sitting there in the darkened doorway.

He will have a white music box, the last street organ player
and the asthma of autumn will run through his sound,
and the heads of tiny angels will adorn its sides
and the echo of its piano will be as a farewell.

The awaiting brides, enclosed in their houses, will greet his absence
opening the Persian blinds just behind his song,
and the last organ player will be lost in nothingness
and the soul of neighborhood will be left without a voice.

Hómero Manzi