Silbando - El Indio Duarte перевод на английский

Silbando

Ella le pedia con honda tristeza, no silves Lizandro.
No silves Lizandro por Dios te lo pido...¡
No ves que al oirte silvando me apenas.
Si tienes un silvo entre dientes, que en vez de una tonada,
Parece un llorar, parece una queja.
Con ese tu silvo me acuerdo, marchabas de niño a los cerros,
Y en tus soledades, entre cabras y piedras,
Pasabas silvando, silvando las horas enteras...
Con ese tu silvo que me desespera,
Te vide ya hombre en busca de cariño llegar a mi puerta.
Y con ese tu silvo te vi ayer tarde, llegar por la huella,
Trayendo a nuestro hijo muerto, muerto...¡
Cruzao, en la cruz del caballo como una maleta,
Y asi lo enterraste silvando, silvando,
Silvando entre dientes juntito a la tumba de tu pobre vieja.
No silves Lizandro por Dios te lo ruego,
No ves que al oirte silvando,
El alma presiente desgracias muy negras...¡
El, indiferente, oia a la pobre como si lloviera.
Le mataron un hijo a Lizandro en una pelea,
Hay quien dice que fue el comisario, por causa de una hembra.
Y despues de enterrar a su hijo, juntito a la tumba de su pobre vieja,
Y afilar, afilar como luz un cuchillo,
P'a saber si es verdad lo que cuentan,
Montado en su Bayo, del palenque hasta el pueblo, silvando,
Silvando, silvando entre dientes Lizandro se aleja.
En el rancho de Lizandro hay tres cruces de dos que antes eran:
La mujer que murio del disgusto, p'a siempre descansa en la tierra,
Y Lizandro, Lizandro se encuentra en la carcel...¡
Pagando su hombrada metido entre rejas.
Parece que aquel dia que al pueblo llegara, y supo la cosa cual fuera,
Pillo al comisario... y cobrole la cuenta...¡
Asentandole en medio de la panza, una puñalada,
Una puñalada por cada una legua que
Cargando el cadaver de su hijo lizandro anduviera.
Y la gente vaquiana calcula,
Que del rancho de Lizandro hasta el pueblo,
Hay mas o menos, mas o menos, 18 leguas apenas.

Whistling

She asked him with deep sadness, don't whistle Lizandro.
Don't whistle Lizandro, for God's sake I beg you...
Don't you see that when I hear you whistling, it pains me.
If you have a whistling in your teeth, that instead of a tune,
It seems like a cry, it seems like a complaint.
With that whistling of yours, I remember you as a child marching to the hills,
And in your solitude, among goats and stones,
You spent hours whistling, whistling...
With that whistling of yours that drives me to despair,
I saw you now a man in search of affection, arriving at my door.
And with that whistling of yours I saw you yesterday afternoon, arriving on the trail,
Bringing our dead son, dead...
Crossed, on the cross of the horse like a suitcase,
And so you buried him whistling, whistling,
Whistling through your teeth, next to the grave of your poor old mother.
Don't whistle Lizandro, for God's sake I beg you,
Don't you see that when I hear you whistling,
My soul senses very dark misfortunes...
He, indifferent, listened to the poor woman as if it were raining.
A son of Lizandro was killed in a fight,
Some say it was the commissioner, because of a woman.
And after burying his son, next to the grave of his poor old mother,
And sharpening his knife like light,
To find out if what they say is true,
Riding his Bay, from the corral to the town, whistling,
Whistling, whistling through his teeth, Lizandro leaves.
On Lizandro's ranch there are three crosses of two that were before:
The woman who died of grief, forever rests in the earth,
And Lizandro, Lizandro is in jail...
Paying for his bravery behind bars.
It seems that on the day he arrived in town, and learned the truth,
He caught the commissioner... and he paid him back...
Giving him in the middle of the belly, a stab,
A stab for each league that
Lizandro walked carrying the corpse of his son.
And the cowpoke people calculate,
That from Lizandro's ranch to town,
There are more or less, more or less, 18 leagues.