Paroles et traduction Javier Krahe - Vecindario

Vecindario

Mi esposa padece furor uterino,
No damos abasto ni yo ni el vecino.
Y a mí me da pena del pobre Avelino.
Cada dos por tres me invento algún viaje
Para reponerme de su amor salvaje
Y ella, en cuanto salgo, le ordena que baje.
Ya se rasga su camisón.
Desde el descansillo lo llama: ¡Avelino!
Y el hombre respinga, se pone mohino,
Le entra como angustia, maldice su sino.
Lo ves vacilante bajar la escalera
Sabiendo de sobra qué es lo que le espera
En cuanto se encierre con tamaña fiera,
Desprovista de compasión,
Cuyo arte de amar es tan sólo el barroco,
Las líneas sencillas le dicen bien poco,
Quiere garabatos de volverse loco,
Y eso al tercer polvo lo deja hecho cisco,
Es un ser humano, no es un obelisco,
Y preferiría escuchar un disco
O mirar la televisión.
Leer poesía, comer huevos fritos,
Ver desde el balcón pasar lo aerolitos,
Pero ella lo cuadra con un par de gritos:
¡Tráete esa panoplia y vuelve a la cama,
Aún no has apagado la menor llama!
Y él ve la panoplia y es un panorama.
Y hace de tripas corazón.
Allá va el buen hombre a su hercúleo trabajo,
Mientras le hace cosas reza por lo bajo
Para que, mañana, yo regrese al tajo.
Y, por esa noche la cuestión resuelta,
En la pensión Paqui, que está allí, a la vuelta,
Mientras tanto yo duermo a pierna suelta,
Sin caerme de mi colchón.
Yo, que era la imagen del romanticismo,
Hoy, os lo confieso, me puede el cinismo,
Y al pobre Avelino le pasa lo mismo.
Cuando me lo cruzo me dice: Vicente,
Yo sólo te quiero de cuerpo presente.
No sé si está haciendo un chiste inocente,
O es que se pasa de guasón.
Y a mí qué me cuenta, que no viva arriba,
Pero ya que vive, pues que se desviva
Y haga lo posible por esa excesiva
Que, al no darle abasto, nunca se nos sacia,
Y a su mismo sexo no siendo reacia,
También me da pena de la pobre Engracia.
Pero eso es otra canción.
(Javier Krahe)

Neighborhood

My wife suffers from uterine fury,
Neither I nor the neighbor can keep up with her.
And I feel sorry for poor Avelino.
Every now and then I invent a trip
To recover from her wild love
And she, as soon as I leave, orders him to come down.
She rips her nightie.
From the landing she calls out to him: Avelino!
And the man snorts, pouts,
It makes him anxious, he curses his fate.
You see him hesitantly come down the stairs
Knowing full well what awaits him
As soon as he locks himself up with such a wild beast,
Devoid of compassion,
Whose art of loving is nothing but baroque,
Simple lines mean little to her,
She wants squiggles that drive you crazy,
And that leaves him broken by the third fuck,
He's a human being, not an obelisk,
And he'd rather listen to a record
Or watch television.
Read poetry, eat fried eggs,
Watch meteorites pass by from the balcony,
But she squares him up with a couple of shouts:
Bring that panoply and get back in bed,
You haven't extinguished the smallest flame yet!
And he sees the panoply and it's a sight.
And he puts up with it.
There goes the good man to his Herculean task,
While he does things to her, he prays under his breath
For me to return to work tomorrow.
And, for that night, the issue is resolved,
At the Paqui pension, which is right around the corner,
Meanwhile I sleep soundly,
Without falling off my mattress.
I, who was the epitome of romanticism,
Today, I confess it, I'm addicted to cynicism,
And poor Avelino feels the same.
When I cross paths with him, he says to me: Vicente,
I only want you here in body.
I don't know if he's making an innocent joke,
Or if he's just being a goofball.
And what does it matter to me, that he doesn't live upstairs,
But since he does live there, let him go crazy
And do his best for that excessive woman
Who, never being satisfied by his efforts,
And not being averse to her own sex,
Makes me feel sorry for poor Engracia too.
But that's another song.
(Javier Krahe)