Milonga de Albornoz (Spanish)
Alguien ya contó los días. Alguien ya sabe la hora. Alguien para Quien no hay ni premuras ni demora.
Albornoz pasa silbando una milonga entrerriana; bajo el ala del chambergo sus ojos ven la mañana.
La mañana de este día del ochocientos noventa; en el bajo del Retiro ya le han perdido la cuenta
de amores y de trucadas hasta el alba y de entreveros a fierro con los sargentos, con propios y forasteros.
Se la tienen bien jurada más de un taura y más de un pillo; en una esquina del sur lo está esperando un cuchillo.
No un cuchillo sino tres antes de clarear el día, se le vinieron encima y el hombre se defendía.
Un acero entró en el pecho, ni se le movió la cara; Alejo Albornoz murió como si no le importara.
Pienso que le gustaría saber que hoy anda su historia en una milonga. El tiempo es olvido y es memoria. Uploaded by | P. T. |
Source of the quotation | http://spanishpoems.blogspot.hu |
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Milonga of Albornoz (English)
Someone already counted the days, Someone already knows the hour, Someone with Whom there are Neither premotions nor demur.
Albornoz walks by whistling An Entre Ríos milonga; Under the brim of his chambergo His eyes see the morning,
The morning of this day Of eighteen-hundred ninety; Down in the Retiro They've already stopped counting
Loves and cardgames Till dawn and tangles Of iron with sergeants, Kith and strangers.
Well-sworn amongst them are More than one tough and more than one rogue; At a streetcorner on the Southside A knife is waiting for him.
Not one knife but three, Before day's lightening, They were all on top of him And the man was himself defending.
Somebody's steel entered his chest, Nor did his face once move; Alejo Albornoz died As if it was nothing at all to him.
I think that he would like To know presently his story Continues in a milonga. Time Is oblivion and memory.
Uploaded by | P. T. |
Source of the quotation | http://spanishpoems.blogspot.hu |
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