'O Guarracino - 1999 - Remaster; - Nuova Compagnia di Canto Popolare перевод на английский

'O Guarracino - 1999 - Remaster;

A lu Guarracino che jeva pe′ mare
Le venne voglia de se 'nzorare,
Se facette ′nu bello vestito
De spine e de scarde pulito pulito
Cu 'na perucca tutta 'ngrifata
De ziarelle ′mbrasciolata,
Co lo sciabò scolla e puzine
De ponte angrese fine fine.
Doje belle cateniglie,
De premmone de conchiglie,
′Nu cappiello aggallonato
De codarino d'aluzzo salato
Tutto posema e steratiello,
Jeva facenno lo sbafantiello,
E girava de ccà e de llà:
La ′nnammorata pe' se truva′.
La Sardella a lu balcone
Jeva sonanno l calascione;
E a suono de trommetta
Jeva cantanno 'st′arietta:
"E llarè lo mare e lena
E la figlia d"a siè Lena,
Ha lasciato lo 'nnammorato
Pecché niente l'ha rialato".
Lo Guarracino che la guardaje
De la sardella s′ annammoraje;
Se ne jette da ′na Vavosa
La cchiù vecchia e maleziosa;
L'ebbe bona rialata
Pe′ mannarle la 'mmasciata;
La Vavosa pisse pisse
Chiatto e tunno ′nce lo disse.
Ma la sardella ch"a sentette
Rossa rossa se facette,
Pe' lo scuorno che se pigliaje
Sotto a ′no scuoglio se 'mpezzaie;
Ma la vecchia de vava Alosa
Subete disse - Ah schefenzosa!
De 'sta manera non truove partito
′Ncanna te resta lu marito.
Si aje voglia de t′alloca'
Tante smorfie non aje da fa′,
Fora le zeze e fora lo scuorno
Anema e core e faccia de cuorno.
Ciò sentenno la zì Sardella
S'affacciaje a la fenestrella,
Facette ′n'uocchio a zennariello
A lo speruto ′nnammoratiello.
Ma la Patella che steva de posta
La chiammaje faccia tosta,
Tradetora, sbrevognata,
Senza parola, male nata,
Ch'avea 'nchiantato l′Allitterato
Primmo e antico ′nnammorato:
De carrera da chisto jette
E ogni cosa 'lle dicette.
Quanno lo ′ntise lo poveriello
Se lo pigliaje Farfariello,
Jette a casa s'armaje e rasulo
Se carrecaje comm′a 'no mulo,
De scoppette e de spingarde,
Povere, palle stoppa e scarde;
Quatto pistole tre bajonette
Dint′a la sacca se mettette.
'Ncopp"e spalle sittanta pistune
Ottanta bombe e ciento cannune;
E comm'a guappo Pallarino
Jeva cercanno lo Guarracino:
La disgrazia a chisto portaje
Che mmiezo a la chiazza te lo ′ncontraje
Se l′afferra p"o cruvattino
E po' lle dice: - Ah malandrino!
Tu me lieve la ′nnammorata
E pigliatella chesta mazziata.
Tuppete e tappete a meliune
Le deva paccare e secuzzune,
Schiaffe, ponie e perepesse
Scoppolune, fecozze e cunnesse,
Sceverechiune, sicutennosse
E ll'ammaccaie osse e pilosse.
Venimmoncenne ch′a lo rummore
Pariente e amice ascettere fore,
Chi co mazze, cortielle e cortelle,
Chi co spate, spatune e spatelle,
Chiste cu barre e chille cu spite,
Chi co ammennole e chi cu antrite,
Chi cu tenaglie e chi cu martielle,
Chi cu turrone e susamielle.
Patre, figlie marite e mugliere
S'azzuffajeno comm′a fere.
A meliune currevano a strisce,
De 'stu partito e de chillo li pisce,
Che bediste de sarde e d'alose,
De palaje e raje petrose,
Sareche, dientece ed achiate,
Scurme, tunne e alletterate!
Treglie, tremmole, trotte e tunne,
Fiche, cepolle, launne e retunne;
Purpe, secce e calamare,
Pisce spate e stelle de mare,
Pisce palumme e piscatrice
Voccadoro e cecenielle,
Capochiuove e guarracine,
Cannolicchie, òstreche e ancine.
Vongole, cocciole e patelle,
Pisce cane e grancetielle.
Spinole, spuonole, sierpe e sarpe,
Scauze, ′nzuoccole e colle scarpe,
Sconciglie, àmmere e ragoste,
Vennero ′nfino colle poste...
Muorze e pizzeche a beliune!
A delluvio li secozzune!
Non ve dico che bivo fuoco
Se faceva per ogne luoco!
Ttè, ttè, ttè, ccà pistulate!
Ttà, ttà, ttà, llà scuppettate!
Ttù, ttù, ttù, ccà li pistune!
Bù, bù, bù, llà li cannune!
Pistulate, scuppettate,
Li pistune, li cannune... Ah...
Ma de canta' so′ già stracquato,
E me manca mò lo sciato;
Sicché, dateme licenza,
Graziosa e bella audienza,
'Nfì che sorchio ′na meza de seje,
Co' salute de luje e de leje,
Ca me se secca lo cannarone
Sbacantannose lo premmone.

'O Guarracino - 1999 - Remaster;

To Guarracino, sailing the seas,
Came a desire to take a wife,
He fashioned himself a fine suit,
Of thorns and thistles, clean and neat.
With a wig all ruffled,
Of jasmine flowers bundled,
With a jabot of lace and buttons,
Of the finest English bridge.
Two beautiful chains,
Of shells and precious stones,
A hat adorned,
With salted tuna tail.
All pomaded and perfumed,
He went about boasting,
And turning here and there:
To find his beloved.
The Sardine on her balcony,
Was playing the calascione;
And to the sound of a trumpet,
She sang this little song:
"The sea and the shore will tell,
And the daughter of Lady Lena,
Has left her lover,
Because he gave her nothing."
Guarracino, who watched her,
Fell in love with the sardine;
He went to a Vavosa,
The oldest and most cunning;
He gave her a good reward,
To send her a message;
The Vavosa, whispering,
Told her quietly and clearly.
But the sardine, upon hearing it,
Turned red with anger,
For the shame she felt,
She hid under a rock;
But the old Vavosa,
Immediately said - Ah, foolish one!
This way you'll never find a husband,
You'll remain unmarried.
If you want to settle down,
You don't need to make so many faces,
Away with the tantrums and the shame,
Soul and heart and a face of horn.
Hearing this, Lady Sardine,
Appeared at her window,
She made a playful eye,
At the hopeful little lover.
But the Patella, who was watching,
Called her shameless,
Traitor, immodest,
Without honor, ill-born,
For having abandoned the Allitterato,
Her first and old lover:
She ran to him,
And told him everything.
When the poor fellow heard it,
He was seized by Farfariello,
He went home, armed himself and quickly,
Loaded himself like a mule,
With rifles and shotguns,
Gunpowder, balls, wadding and thistles;
Four pistols and three bayonets,
He put in his bag.
On his shoulders, seventy pistols,
Eighty bombs and a hundred cannons;
And like a brave Pallarino,
He went looking for Guarracino:
Misfortune brought him,
To meet him in the middle of the square.
He grabbed him by the tie,
And then he said to him: - Ah, scoundrel!
You steal my beloved,
And take this beating.
Punches and slaps by the millions,
He gave him kicks and shakes,
Slams, punches and kicks,
Headbutts, pinches and slaps,
Scratches, bites and punches,
And he bruised his bones and hair.
Hearing the commotion,
Relatives and friends rushed out,
Some with sticks, clubs and knives,
Some with swords, broadswords and blades,
These with rods and those with spits,
Some with almonds and some with walnuts,
Some with pliers and some with hammers,
Some with nougat and sesame seeds.
Fathers, daughters, husbands and wives,
Fought like wild beasts.
Millions ran in stripes,
Of this party and that, the fish,
What a sight of sardines and shad,
Of palai and rock rays,
Sareche, dentex and needlefish,
Scurme, tuna and amberjack!
Mullets, trembles, trout and tuna,
Figs, onions, wool and turnips;
Octopus, cuttlefish and squid,
Swordfish and starfish,
Butterfly fish and anglerfish,
Gilt-head bream and picarels,
Scorpionfish and wrasses,
Mantis shrimp, oysters and anchovies.
Clams, mussels and limpets,
Dogfish and small sharks.
Sticklebacks, sea urchins, serpents and snakes,
Shoes, slippers and high heels,
Mussels, clams and lobsters,
They even came with the mail...
Bites and pinches by the millions!
Shakes like a deluge!
I won't tell you what a living fire,
Was made everywhere!
Bang, bang, bang, here pistol shots!
Boom, boom, boom, there gunshots!
Boom, boom, boom, here the cannons!
Bang, bang, bang, there the guns!
Pistol shots, gunshots,
The cannons, the guns... Ah...
But I'm already tired of singing,
And I'm running out of breath;
So, give me leave,
Gracious and beautiful audience,
Until I sip half a liter,
With your health and mine,
For my throat is dry,
From singing my lungs out.