Текст и перевод песни Luis Eduardo Aute - Somnis de la Plaça Rovíra

Somnis de la Plaça Rovíra

A mi padre
Y a Climent Comulada, in memoriam.
A Jordi Martín, a la familia Vall
Y a todos los vecinos de la Plaça Rovira.
A mi prima Luisita Gozalbo
Y a mi familia catalana, con profundo amor.

De vegades, els somnis
Viuen la realitat
I a l'invers hi ha vida
Que fa real ho somiat

Con aquesta nit dolça
D'un agost d'envelats
Pels carrers fent la festa
Que em transporta al passat,

Un passat com un barri
De futurs sense espills
On van viure els meus avis,
On van néixer els seus fills.

Tinc records del meu pare
Quan, després del treball,
Ens baixàvem a beure
Les orxates d'en Vall.

Plaça Rovira, vella Plaça Rovira
Del meu barri de Gràcia,
I el meu cor adormit,
Plaça Rovira, em bategues guspires
D'un foc que ja era cendra...
I, més que fum,
Ets tota llum
Aquesta nit.

I a la nit ens n'anàvem
Per canviar un poc d'ambient,
Fins el Bar Comulada,
El palau d'en Climent

On las ensaladillas,
De la seva patent,
Feien que el tast dels somnis
Fos un gust pel client.

La farmàcia d'en Pere
I el quiosc deien "prou,
A tancar que ja arriba
El darrer trenta-nou".

I el Cinema Rovira,
Va ser un somni guarnit
Amb Charlot fent rialles
Pels grans i els més petits...

Plaça Rovira, vella Plaça Rovira...

I al primer son del somni,
Quan el temps va partir,
El meu pare em deia:
"Anem a casa a dormir".

I en silenci tornàvem
Lentament cap amunt
A la torre dels avis
I tots els seus difunts.

I entre el pou i las pedres
Del jardí de Massens,
La galàxia ens plorava
Pluges de Sant Llorenç.

I el meu pare em parlava
Assenyalant-me el cel:
"Fes-li, abans dels teus somnis,
Un petó al teu estel".

Plaça Rovira, vella Plaça Rovira...

Dreams of Plaça Rovira

To my father
And to Climent Comulada, in memoriam.
To Jordi Martín, to the Vall family
And to all the neighbors of Plaça Rovira.
To my cousin Luisita Gozalbo
And to my Catalan family, with deep love.

Sometimes, dreams
Live reality
And conversely, there is life
That makes what is dreamt real

With this sweet night
Of an August with marquees
Through the streets celebrating the festival
That transports me to the past,

A past like a neighborhood
Of futures without mirrors
Where my grandparents lived,
Where their children were born.

I have memories of my father
When, after work,
We would go down to drink
The horchatas of Vall.

Plaça Rovira, old Plaça Rovira
Of my neighborhood Gràcia,
And my sleeping heart,
Plaça Rovira, you beat sparks in me
Of a fire that was already ash...
And, more than smoke,
You are all light
Tonight.

And at night we would go
To change the atmosphere a bit,
To Bar Comulada,
Climent's palace

Where the ensaladillas,
Of his patent,
Made the taste of dreams
A delight for the customer.

Pere's pharmacy
And the kiosk would say "enough,
Time to close because the last
Number 39 is coming".

And the Cinema Rovira,
Was a dream adorned
With Charlot making laughter
For adults and children...

Plaça Rovira, old Plaça Rovira...

And in the first sleep of the dream,
When time went away,
My father would tell me:
"Let's go home to sleep".

And in silence we would return
Slowly upwards
To the grandparents' tower
And all their deceased.

And between the well and the stones
Of the Massens garden,
The galaxy cried for us
With rains of San Lorenzo.

And my father would talk to me
Pointing to the sky:
"Before your dreams,
Give your star a kiss".

Plaça Rovira, old Plaça Rovira...