Lyrics and translation Orlando Vera Cruz - Si Tenés Cachorro

Si Tenés Cachorro

En este punto se oyó
Suspiro de hembra en la rueda
Y a la voz de su patrón
Secretiándole las cuerdas:
"Si tenés cachorro,
Esperá que crezca
Pa' verlo costero,
Rumbeador pa' el pago,
Mocobí enterito,
Y esperá que cambie
Su voz pa' que cante:
No hay en todo el mundo pago como el mío,
Porque hay esperanzas
En todos sus montes
Y cielos estrellas
Toldando sus nidos;
Porque sus zanjones
Cantan cuando lloran,
Lloran cuando cantan
Sus rezos en indio.
No hay en todo el mundo
Pago como el mío...

Si tene's cachorro
-Dios te lo conserve-
Llevalo a tu río;
Tocá su moyera
Con agua fresquita
Pa' darle bautismo,
Y busca dos guenos
Cantores del pago
Y hacelos padrinos;
Que ella sea calandria;
Costera orgullosa
Con miel en el pico,
Y él, zorzal islero
Payador matrero
Bien sanjavierino.
Si tenés cachorro
-Dios te lo conserve-
Llevalo a tu río;
Tiralo de panza
Por los arenales;
Del pelo en las aguas
De golpe sumilo;
Tumbalo de oreja
Sobre las corrientes
Pa' que oiga el canto indio
Y hacé que su mano
S' estire a la estrella
Y el ojo al lucero saliendo del nido

Si tenés cachorro
-Suerte del destino-
Que sepa al hermano
Miraqr con cariño;
Que arda en la querencia
Como un trafoguero;
Que sea aguay altivo
De raíz en las islas
Con sombras pa' tuitos;
Pa' que cuando vaya
Pa' las capitales
No te lo encandile
Cualquier lucerito,
Pa' que no se tiente
Con bailes extraños
Quebrando caderas
Con el hembrerío.
¡Que aprienda guitarra¡
Que lleve pañueloo
De galleta al cuello;
Que chamamesée
Pegando alaridos;
Que sea tape puro
De golpe en la boca,
Costero derecho,
Mocobí enterito,
De esos que al cacique
De raza dijunta
Le alzaron la lanza
Quebrando su punta
Pa' hacer sus cuchillos.
Que firuletée
Con las acordeonas;
Que a "latagá" puro
Se le queme el pecho;
Qu' encienda de noche
Su todo escondido
P' hacer un incendio
Cada madrugada
Y ansí, amanecido,
Que se espine a lo hombre,
Que suba barrancas
Y robe esperanzas
Pa' echarlas cantando
Sobre el lomo 'el río...
Que fije pacuses;
Que popée en el taco
Del timbó más gaucho;
Que cruce en agnada
Por el Veroncito;
Que trence un asiento
Su mano embrujada;
Que robe a l'avispa
L'azuca del pecho
De un ceibo florido,
Y que entrampe nutrias
Y que chifle polkas
Y coma capincho...
Si tenés cachorro,
Que la carne 'e potro
Le engrase el hocico;
Que ase los macases;
Que abra por el lomo
Los sábalos gordos
Alzaos en horquetas
Sobre el braserío.
¡Que grite en paisano¡
Que asiente a chiflidos
Las garzas ariscas,
Que baile con chinas,
Que torée milicos,
Que a boca cerrada
Llame yacareses
Y que a bola de uno
Les pegue en el "caique"
Pa' que panza arriba
Boyen en el río...

Si tenés cachorro,
Con punta de lanza
Marcale la frente;
Con ala 'e paloma
Y a miel de panales
Cruzale la boca
Los oídos y el pecho
Diciéndole: hijo mío
Doblá la rodilla
De frente a tu río;
Rezá con tu padre
La oración costera
De los pagos indios;
Juro ser un tape
De los de alarido;
Juro ser un ceibo
Pal manso conmigo;
Juro ser arroyo
Pa' canoa en apuros,
Tigre pal contrario;
Zorzal pal amigo,
Y entrar a la muerte
Como entre a la vida:
De vincha y de lanza,
Bien sanjavierino...

Dios te lo conserve
Si tenés cachorro,
Porque es una suerte
Vivir floreciendo...

If You Have a Son

At this point a sigh was heard
Of a woman at the spinning wheel
And to the voice of her master
Whispering to the strings:
"If you have a son,
Wait for him to grow
To see him as a Coast dweller,
A wanderer for this land,
A true Mocoví,
And wait for his voice to change
So that he can sing:
There is no land in the whole world like mine,
Because there are hopes
In all its mounts
And skies with stars
Covering their nests;
Because its ravines
Sing when they cry,
Cry when they sing
Their prayers in Indian.
There is no land in the whole world
Like mine...

If you have a son
-May God keep him-
Take him to your river;
Touch his little head
With fresh water
To baptize him,
And find two good
Singers from the land
And make them godparents;
Let her be a lark;
A proud Coast dweller
With honey on her beak,
And him, an island thrush
A cunning payador
A true Sanjavierino.
If you have a son
-May God keep him-
Take him to your river;
Drag him on his belly
Through the sandbanks;
From the hair in the waters
Suddenly plunge him;
Pull him by the ear
Over the currents
So he can hear the Indian song
And make his hand
Reach for the star
And his eye to the morning star rising from the nest

If you have a son
-Lucky destiny-
May he know how to look at his brother
With affection;
May he burn in the homeland
Like a bonfire;
May he be a proud Aguay
Rooted in the islands
With shade for everyone;
So that when he goes
To the capitals
He doesn't get dazzled
By just any little light,
So he is not tempted
By strange dances
Breaking hips
With women.
May he learn the guitar!
May he wear a handkerchief
Of checkered cloth around his neck;
May he chamamé
Shouting cries;
May he be pure Tape
Right from the start,
A true Coast dweller,
A complete Mocoví,
Of those who to the chief
Of extinct race
Lifted the spear
Breaking its tip
To make their knives.
May he strum
With accordions;
May his chest burn
With pure "latagá";
May he ignite at night
All his hidden self
To make a fire
Every morning
And thus, at dawn,
May he stand up to men,
May he climb ravines
And steal hopes
To throw them singing
Over the back of the river...
May he set fish traps;
May he climb the trunk
Of the most gaucho timbó tree;
May he cross flooded lands
Through the Veroncito;
May he braid a seat
With his enchanted hand;
May he steal from the wasp
The sugar from the breast
Of a flowering ceibo tree,
And may he trap otters
And whistle polkas
And eat capybara...
If you have a son,
May colt meat
Grease his snout;
May he roast macá nuts;
May he split open through the back
The fat sábalos fish
Raised on forks
Over the embers.
May he shout like a countryman!
May he beckon with whistles
The shy herons,
May he dance with girls,
May he fight soldiers,
May he call caimans
With a closed mouth
And may he hit them
One by one in the "caique"
So they float belly up
In the river...

If you have a son,
With a spear tip
Mark his forehead;
With a dove's wing
And with honeycomb honey
Cross his mouth
His ears and chest
Telling him: my son
Bend your knee
Facing your river;
Pray with your father
The Coast dweller's prayer
Of the Indian lands;
I swear to be a Tape
Of those who shout;
I swear to be a ceibo
Gentle with me;
I swear to be a stream
For canoes in distress,
A tiger for the enemy;
A thrush for my friend,
And to enter death
As I enter life:
With headband and spear,
A true Sanjavierino...

May God keep him
If you have a son,
Because it is a blessing
To live flourishing...