Ashpa Sumaj - Los Chalchaleros перевод на английский

Ashpa Sumaj

Desde lejos he llegao
De la tierra del mistol
Estoy quemao por el sol
Y curtido por los vientos
Yo canto con este acento
Santiagueño soy, señor

Me gusta el patay, la añapa
Y el arrope de chañar
Agua muerta pa tomar
Mate, tortilla y chipaco
Y unas hojas de tabaco
Con chala para pitar

Cuando me quiero alegrar
Yo me voy pa las trincheras
A bailar la chacarera
Debajo de los itines
Con arpa, bombo y violines
Y unas cajas vidaleras

Pa lo que guste mandar
Soy seguro servidor
Regular zapateador
Y bueno pa las tabeadas
Del pago de los Taboada
Santiagueño soy, señor

Canto vidalas del monte
Y zambas del salitral
Las que nunca he de cambiar
Por cantares de otro suelo
He'i cantar como mi abuelo
Pa'l tiempo del carnaval

No tiene mi tierra oro
Ni trigales ni ganados
Ni tampoco verdes prados
Ni otros signos de riqueza
Pero tiene por grandeza
El alma que Dios le ha dado

La belleza de mi tierra
La que florece en canciones
Leyendas y tradiciones
Qué bien supo conservar
Y que siempre han de guardar
Santiagueños corazones

Entre todas, la mejor
Quizás en el mundo entero
Y según yo considero
Y aquí lo digo a conciencia
Es mi pago, mi querencia
Es Santiago del Estero

Beautiful Ashes (Ashpa Sumaj)

From afar I have arrived,
From the land of the mistol tree,
Burned by the sun, my love,
And tanned by the winds so free.
I sing with this accent, you see,
From Santiago I am, my dear lady.

I enjoy patay, añapa sweet,
And chañar syrup, a delicious treat.
Agua muerta to quench my thirst,
Mate, tortilla, and chipaco first.
And some tobacco leaves to roll,
With corn husk to light, my soul.

When I want to feel some glee,
I go to the festive spree,
To dance the chacarera with you,
Beneath the algarrobo's hue.
With harp, drum, and violins' sound,
And vidala boxes all around.

For whatever you may command,
I'm your faithful servant at hand.
A regular dancer, I confess,
And good at the gatherings, no less.
From the land of the Taboadas I hail,
From Santiago, without fail.

I sing vidalas of the mountain high,
And zambas from the salt flats dry.
Songs I'll never trade away,
For tunes from another land, nay.
I sing like my grandfather of old,
For the carnival, stories told.

My land has no gold to behold,
Nor wheat fields, nor cattle bold.
Nor meadows green and vast,
Nor other signs of wealth amassed.
But its greatness, please understand,
Is the soul that God has planned.

The beauty of my land so dear,
Which flourishes in songs so clear,
Legends and traditions kept,
Which we have carefully swept
And will always hold in our hearts' embrace,
Santiago's loving space.

Among all lands, the very best,
Perhaps in the whole world, I'd suggest,
And as I truly see,
And here I say it consciously,
Is my home, my beloved place,
It's Santiago del Estero's grace.