Текст и перевод песни Mina - Lacreme napulitane (2001 Remastered Version)

Lacreme napulitane (2001 Remastered Version)

Mia cara madre,
Sta pe trasì Natale
E a stà luntane cchiù me sape amaro
Comme vurria allummà duie tre biangale
Come vurria sentì nu zampugnaro!
E le ninne mieie facitele o presepio
E a tavola miettite o piatto mio
Facite quanno è a sera d'a Vigilia
Comme si mmiezzo a vuie stesse pur'io
E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
A nuie napulitane
Co' nuie ca nce chiagnimmo 'o cielo 'e Napule
Comme è amaro stu ppane!
Mia cara madre,
Che ssò, che ssò 'e dinare?
Pe che se chiagne a Patria nun so niente
Mo tengo quacche dollaro e me pare
Ca nun so stato maie tanto pezzente!
Ma sonno tutt'e notte 'a casa mia
E d'e criature mieie ne sento 'a voce
Ma a vuie ve sonno comme a 'na Maria
Nt'e state 'mpietto 'nnato figlio 'ncroce.
E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
A nuie napulitane
Co' nuie che ce chiangimmo o cielo 'e Napule
Comme è amaro stu ppane!
M'avite scritto
Che Assuntulella chiamma
Chi l'ha lassata e sta luntana ancora
Che v'aggia a dì? Si 'e figlie vonno 'a mamma
Facitela turnà chella signora
Ma no, nun torno. Me ne resto fore,
E resto a faticà pe tutte quante.
E s'aggio perso patria, casa, onore
I sò carne 'e maciello: so emigrante
E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
A nuie napulitane
Co' nuie che ce chiangimmo o cielo 'e Napule
Comme è amaro stu ppane!

Neapolitan Tears (2001 Remastered Version)

My dear mother,
Christmas is coming
And being away makes it even more bitter
How I wish I could light two or three candles
How I wish I could hear a bagpipe player!
And my lullabies sing them at the nativity scene
And at the table set my plate
Do it when it's Christmas Eve night
As if I were there with you
And this America costs us tears
To us Neapolitans
As we cry for the sky of Naples
How bitter is this bread!
My dear mother,
What are, what are holidays?
Why do we cry for our homeland, I don't know
Now I have a few dollars and it seems like
I have never been so poor!
But I dream of my home every night
And I can hear the voices of my children
But to you I am like a Mary
In summer with her son on the cross.
And this America costs us tears
To us Neapolitans
As we cry for the sky of Naples
How bitter is this bread!
You wrote to me
That little Assunta calls
For the one who left her and is still far away
What can I tell you? If the children want their mother
Make that lady come back
But no, I won't go back. I'll stay out,
And I'll keep working for all of you.
And if I have lost country, home, honor
I am the flesh of a butcher: I am an emigrant
And this America costs us tears
To us Neapolitans
As we cry for the sky of Naples
How bitter is this bread!