Текст и перевод песни Joaquin Sabina feat. Viceversa - El joven aprendiz de pintor

El joven aprendiz de pintor

El joven aprendiz de pintor que ayer mismo
Juraba que mis cuadros eran su catecismo
Hoy, como ve que el público empieza a hacerme caso,
Ya no dice que pinto tan bien como Picaso.
En cambio la vecina que jamás saludaba
Cada vez que el azar o el ascensor nos juntaba
Vino ayer a decirme que mi última novela
La excita más que todo Camilo José Cela.
¿Y qué decir del manager audaz y decidido
Que no me recibió, que siempre estaba reunido?
Hoy, moviendo la cola, se acercó como un perro
A pedir que le diéramos vela en este entierro
Y yo le dije: no,
No, no, no, no, no, no
Ya está marchita
La margarita
Que en el pasado he deshojado yo.
El torpe maletilla que hasta ayer afirmaba,
Que con las banderillas nadie me aventajaba,
Ahora que corto orejas y aplauden los del siete
Ya no dice que cinto tan bien como Antoñete.
La propia Caballé que me negó sus favores,
La dive que pasaba tanto de cantautores
Llamó para decirme: "Estoy en deuda contigo,
Mola más tu Madrid que el aranjuez de Rodrigo."
¿Y qué decir del crítico que indignado me acusa
De jugar demasiado a la ruleta rusa?
Si no hubiera arriesgado tal vez me acusaría
De quedarme colgado en calle Melancolía
Y eso sí que no,
No, no, no, no, no, no,
Ya está marchita
La margarita
Que en el pasado he desojado yo.

The Young Apprentice Painter

The young apprentice painter who just yesterday
Swore that my paintings were his catechism
Today, as he sees that the public is starting to pay attention to me,
No longer says that I paint as well as Picasso.
On the other hand, the neighbor lady who never used to say hello
Every time that chance or the elevator brought us together
Came by yesterday to tell me that my latest novel
Excited her more than anything by Camilo José Cela.
And what can I say about the bold and determined manager
Who would not receive me, who was always in a meeting?
Today, wagging his tail, he approached like a dog,
Asking to put in a wick on this funeral pyre.
And I told him: no,
No, no, no, no, no, no
She is already withered,
The daisy
That I plucked in the past.
The clumsy bullfighter who until yesterday affirmed,
That no one surpassed me with the banderillas,
Now that I cut off the ears and the people in the seventh row applaud
No longer says that I fight as well as Antoñete.
The very Caballé who denied me her favors,
The diva who always thought of singer-songwriters as unimportant,
Called to tell me: "I owe you one,
I like your Madrid more than Rodrigo's Aranjuez."
And what can I say about the critic who indignantly accuses me
Of playing Russian roulette too much?
If I hadn't taken risks, perhaps he would accuse me
Of being stranded on Melancholy Street.
And that won't do,
No, no, no, no, no, no,
She is already withered,
The daisy
That I plucked in the past.