Текст и перевод песни Cholo Valderrama - El Criollo Sortario

El Criollo Sortario

Yo soy el criollo sortario
Pringa′o de sangre guajiba
Producto de los retozos
De un pión y una petiba,
Fui pari'o una noche oscura
En un maton de escobilla
Por eso es que soy negrito
Del cogote a las canillas;
Me cortaron el ombligo
Con un piazo de peinilla,
Le echaron laza′ de puerco
Con crin de yegua amarilla,
Me untaron zumo 'e mastranto
Con gotas de agua criolina
Pues como nací mayero
En mayo hay mucha chanilla.
Cuando pegué el primer grito
Barajusté unas novillas,
Alboroté a los garceros
Y desperté unas babillas,
Grité por que había nacido
En tierras de maravilla
Y el que es llanero no llora,
Ni se calla, ni se humilla.
Así me fui levantando
A teta, taja' y cecina
En el fundo ′onde mi mama
Ayudaba en la cocina,
Compartí el patio y el juego
Con perros y con gallinas,
Y en un molinete viejo
Vi como es que se camina.
Como a un pobre le toca
Nacer y buscar salida
Ganaba sal y churupos
Cargando unas angarillas
Y saliendo a buscar leña
En una burra mojina
Y cuidando en el chiquero
Un capón y una cochina;
Yo apartaba los becerros
Y alcanzaba la comida,
Le echaba agua a la tinaja
Y al caney una barrida,
Tenia que lava′ un menudo
Aventqao en la carretilla
Y sacar media tarea
Con una media peinilla.
Me bautizó un rio crecido
Cabrestiando unas novillas,
Recibí la comunión
Con un lance de rodillas,
Me confirmó un mocho viejo
Machiro y lleno 'e cosquillas,
La primaria a puro pelo
Y el bachiller ya con silla.
Por eso nó se leer
Aunque tengo quien me escriba,
Pero entiendo lo que dicen
Cielo y sabana tendida,
El suelo trillao de huellas,
Y agua abajo y agua arriba,
El viento y las cabañuelas,
El sibio y las candelillas.
Yo no conozco a mi papá
Ni se como se apellida,
Toro no lame becerro
Ni que tenga sal po′ encima,
Pero el me dejó herencia
Brazos, piernas, y costillas,
Pa' trabajar, para andar,
Y pa′ cargar esta vida.
De remedios si me acuerdo
Que me daban curarina,
Purga 'e pasota, caribe,
El cholagogue y quinina,
Linimento veneciano,
Pastas de cafeaspirina,
Y si me portaba mal
Chaparro soba′o po' encima.
Me formé como cubiro
Respondón y arma rencillas
Y nadie me enseñó mañas
Por que las traje aprendidas,
Converso con una soga
Menguantera y atrevida
Que guaralié lo mas gordo
Y sin marca conocida.
Yo tengo cosas que sé
Y cosas que se me olvidan
Sé lo que soy, lo que valgo,
Me olvido de lo que digan,
A nadie le debo nada
Ni tengo pa' que me pidan
Por que yo no cargo plata
Por lo pesa′a y por lo esquiva.

The Lucky Criollo

I am the lucky Criollo
With Guajiro blood in my veins
Born from the playful encounters
Of a farmhand and a young girl,
I was born on a dark night
In a hut made of brushwood
That's why I'm black
From the neck to my shins;
They cut my umbilical cord
With a piece of a comb,
They tied it with a pig's lasso
Made of yellow mare hair,
They anointed me with lemon balm juice
With drops of creolin water
Because I was born in May
And in May, there are many gnats.
When I let out my first cry
I startled some heifers,
I woke up the herons
And roused some baby crocodiles,
I cried because I was born
In a land of wonder
And a true llanero doesn't cry,
Nor does he stay silent, nor does he humble himself.
That's how I grew up
On breast milk, jerky, and dried meat
On the farm where my mama
Helped in the kitchen,
I shared the yard and playtime
With dogs and chickens,
And on an old windmill
I saw how to walk.
As a poor man's fate dictates
To be born and seek a way out
I earned salt and candy
Carrying loads on a yoke
And going out to find firewood
On a stubborn donkey
And taking care of a capon and a sow
In the pigsty;
I separated the calves
And brought the food,
I poured water into the jug
And swept the porch,
I had to wash a pile of dishes
Thrown into the wheelbarrow
And weed half a field
With a half a comb.
A swollen river baptized me
While herding some heifers,
I received communion
With a sudden kneeling,
An old, one-eyed man confirmed me
Tough and full of tickles,
Elementary school on bare ground
And high school already with a chair.
That's why I can't read
Even though I have someone who writes for me,
But I understand what they say
The sky and the open savanna,
The ground trampled with tracks,
And water flowing down and up,
The wind and the weather signs,
The howler monkey and the fireflies.
I don't know my dad
Nor do I know his last name,
A bull doesn't lick a calf
Even if it has salt on it,
But he left me an inheritance
Arms, legs, and ribs,
To work, to walk,
And to carry this life.
I do remember the remedies
They gave me curarina,
Pasota purge, caribe,
Cholagogue and quinine,
Venetian liniment,
Cafeaspirina tablets,
And if I misbehaved
Rubbed chaparro on top of it.
I grew up like a cubiro
Talkative and picking fights
And nobody taught me tricks
Because I came with them already learned,
I converse with a rope
Skilled and daring
That I lassoed the fattest one
Without a known brand.
I have things I know
And things I forget
I know what I am, what I'm worth,
I forget what they say,
I owe nothing to anyone
Nor do I have anything for them to ask of me
Because I don't carry money
Because it's heavy and elusive.