Paroles et traduction Amelita Baltar - La Bicicleta Blanca

La Bicicleta Blanca

La Bicicleta Blanca

Horacio Ferrer

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,
Miralo con mucho amor: puede que sea, otra vez...

El flaco que tenía la bicicleta blanca;
Silbando una polkita 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 esa 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, si 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 quedes triste,
Todo no fue inútil,
No pierdas la fe...
En un cometa con pedales
¡dale que te dale!
Yo sé que has de volver...

The White Bicycle

The White Bicycle

Horacio Ferrer

You saw him, I'm sure you did too, sometime:
I'm talking about that eternal lonely cyclist,
So alone, that he roams the streets at night.
He wears the cuffs of his trousers tucked into his socks and a
Beret pulled down to his ears, have you noticed? Nobody knows, no,
Where the hell he comes from, nobody ever knows where the devil he's going.
Anyway, if you see him pass by,
Look at him with a lot of love: it might be, once again...

The skinny guy who had the white bicycle;
Whistling a polka, he crossed the city.
His wheels, they were pitiful: so small and square
That the poor guy got his beard tangled in the pedals!

He carried, on the handlebars, the horns of a goat.
Behind, in a little cart, he carried a fish and a loaf of bread.
Panting like a puppy, he climbed the hills,
And he encouraged himself, shouting as he pedaled.

"Come on, God!... Come on, God!...
Push, skinny little heart!
You know that winning
Isn't about arriving, it's about keeping going..."

Everyone, meanwhile, on the sidewalks,
Rolling around with laughter
We applauded him to death!
And he, with eyes like a soap opera,
Greeted, thanked,
And knew how to repeat:

"Come on, God!... Come on, God!...
Give it your all, come on, God!..."

But one night, his horrible bicycle with a trailer started to sow
A huge phosphorescent trail. Incredible!:
The thieves were returning wallets on the buses;
The powerful were ending hunger;
The UFOs were revealing the mystery of peace; the mayor,
In person, was filling the potholes in the street, and even I, kid,
Me, who is sorrow itself,
I cried with joy dancing the cyclist's polka under that light.

Then, I don't know, I swear!, why with sinister rage,
I don't know why we did it, we did it unintentionally!,
To the skinny guy, poor skinny guy!, by assault and from behind,
We started to break his white bicycle.

We beat him like a drum, disgustingly, hard, big time:
We smashed it into a thousand pieces... and, in the end, I saw that he,
Biting his beard, shouted: "May I save you!..."
He looked at his bicycle, smiled, and left on foot.

(Our skinny old man who walked on the earth:
How did you forget that we are not angels but men and women?)

Skinny guy,
Don't be sad,
It wasn't all in vain,
Don't lose faith...
On a comet with pedals
Keep on going!
I know you'll be back...