Paroles et traduction Feten Feten - Camotero

Camotero

En el anochecer, cuando,
En este edificio de condominio situado en el último tramo de la
Avenida Río Mixcoac,
Tecleaba yo una porción de la urgida prosa con la que cotidianamente
Me gano la vida, sonó el pregón no verbal pero casi humano del
Carrito camotero, o, para ser más preciso,
Sonó el chiflido entre dolido y tiernamente melancólico del carrito
Del vendedor de camotes y plátanos asados, ese vehículo tubular, d
E metal, con humeante chimenea,
Que parece una pequeña locomotora y que emite un
Ululato como de trenecito que parte o que llega.
El sonido causado por la exhalación del vapor caliente a través de la
Enhiesta chimenea de hojalata,
El largo soplo de tono casi lamentoso que tantas veces oí en el
Barrio de San Miguel de mi niñez y que no sé si definir como chiflido
En tono grave, o como ululato,
O como pitido bitonal (que es como lo define mi amigo el poeta
Gerardo Deniz, que cuando niño también lo oía en el barrio de San
Rafael) me fulminó de nostalgia:
Era como el suspiro agónico de la ciudad de México de muchos años
Atrás, de cuando era la Ciudad de "la región más transparente del
Aire", y aún no esta ya casi
Invivible Esmógico City de nuestro descontento.
La ráfaga de nostalgia me llevó a la ventana con el intento de
Atisbar al legendario "trenecito" camotero; y allá, tras el cristal,
En el cercano tramo de Río Mixcoac, entreví, en efecto, a
L carrito empujado, se diría que centímetro a centímetro, po
R el heroico vendedor de camotes que trataba de abrirse camino dentro
De la marabunta de autos particulares y taxis y autobuses de
Pasajeros y camiones de carga que,
Detenidos intermitentemente por los semáforos del cruce de avenidas,
Runflaban, petardeaban, tosían,
Claxoneaban como desesperados por llegar...
A otro cruce de semáforos.
¿Cómo se habían metido el camotero y su transportadorcito
En aquel torrente de lentísimo y casi imperceptible fluir?
No sé, pero el bitonal ululato de la chimenea
Pregonera sonaba como el aullido de quien clama auxilio.

Sweet Potato Man

At dusk, when,
In this condominium building located in the last stretch of
Rio Mixcoac Avenue,
I was typing a portion of the urgent prose with which I earn
My daily bread, there came the non-verbal but nearly human cry of the
Sweet potato cart, or, to be more precise,
There came the whistle, between pained and tenderly melancholic, of the
Sweet potato and roasted banana vendor's cart, that tubular vehicle
Of metal, with a smoking chimney,
That looks like a little locomotive and that emits a
Howl like a little train that's leaving or arriving.
The sound caused by the exhalation of hot vapor through the
Towering tin chimney,
The long breath of almost plaintive tone that I heard so many times in the
Neighborhood of San Miguel in my childhood and which I don't know whether to
Define as a graves tone whistle, or as a howl,
Or as a bitonal beep (which is how my friend the poet
Gerardo Deniz defines it, who when he was a child also heard it in the neighborhood of San
Rafael) struck me with nostalgia:
It was like the death rattle of Mexico City of many years
Ago, of when it was the City of "the most transparent region of
The air", and not yet this
Nearly unlivable Smog City of our discontent.
The gust of nostalgia carried me to the window with the intention of
Catching a glimpse of the legendary little sweet potato train; and over there, behind the
Glass, in the nearby stretch of Rio Mixcoac, I did indeed glimpse
The little cart being pushed, one would say centimeter by centimeter, by
The heroic sweet potato vendor who was trying to make his way through
The swarm of private cars and taxis and passenger buses and
Cargo trucks which,
Intermittently stopped by the traffic lights at the intersection, were
Roaring, backfiring, coughing,
Honking desperately to get to...
Another traffic light.
How had the sweet potato vendor and his little transporter
Gotten into that torrent of very slow and nearly imperceptible flow?
I don't know, but the bitonal howl of the chimney
Cried out like the howl of someone crying for help.