It is without doubt a great gamble for a poor talent like the one fortune gave me to hatch a book whose pages ought to be full of sunlight, of harmony and of that candour which along with a profound tenderness, along with an unceasing lullaby of kind, caressing and heartfelt words, constitutes the greatest charm of our popular songs. Galician poetry, all music and vagueness, all grievances, sighs and sweet pampering smiles, sometimes murmuring with the mysterious winds of the woods, other times sparkling with the sunbeam that falls delightfully serene on the waters of a sombre river flowing full underneath the branches of flowering willows, requires a sublime and crystalline spirit to be sung—if we may express ourselves thus—a fertile inspiration like the greenery that garnishes our privileged terrain and above all a delicate acumen to acquaint others with so many first-rate glories, so much elusive ray of beauty radiating from every tradition, from every idea expressed by this people whom many dub stupid and whom perhaps judge insensitive or aloof to poetry divine. No one owns fewer of the great qualities required to accomplish so difficult a task than I although equally no one could be found more deeply stirred by an honest desire to sing the wonders of our land in that soft and caressing dialect which is styled barbarian by those who ignore that it surpasses the other languages in sweetness and harmony. For this reason, despite finding myself with little strength and having learned in no other school than that of our poor peasants, guided exclusively by those songs, those tender words and those idioms never forgotten which sounded so sweet to my ears since the cradle and which were gathered up by my heart as its own heritage, I ventured to write these songs endeavouring to relate how some of our poetic traditions preserve still a certain patriarchal and primeval freshness and how our sweet and resonant dialect is as suitable as the foremost for every type of versification.
Truly my strength fell far short of my expectations and for that reason—realizing what a great poet could accomplish in this matter—I lament my inadequacy even more. O Libro dos Cantares of Mr. Antonio Trueba, which inspired and encouraged me to undertake this work, crosses my mind like a remorse and the tears almost well in my eyes when I ponder how Galicia would be raised to the place she deserves had Mr. Trueba of the Cantares been the one picked to make her beauty and customs known. But my unhappy homeland, as unlucky in this as in everything else, must content herself with some cold and insipid pages which barely deserve to stand afar off the gates of the Parnassus were it not for the noble sentiment that created them. May even this earn the reprieve of those who will in all fairness criticize my shortcomings for I hold that whoever endeavours to dispel the falsehoods which tarnish and offend her homeland unjustly has earned credit toward some exoneration!
Songs, tears, complaints, sighs, evening twilights, festive pilgrimages and picnics, landscapes, pasturelands, stands of pine, solitudes, river banks or shorelines, traditions, in short everything which due to its essence and colour is worth singing about, everything which had an echo, a voice, a drone however subdued—as long as it came to stir me—I was bold enough to celebrate in this plain book to state albeit once, albeit clumsily, to those who without reason or knowledge despise us that our land is worthy of praise and that our language is not what they debase and stammer in the most educated provinces with derisive laughter (which to speak the truth, however harsh it may be, demonstrates the crudest ignorance and the most unforgivable injustice that one province can commit against a sister province regardless of how poverty-stricken this one might be). What is saddest about this affair is the false image given abroad about the sons of Galicia and about Galicia herself whom they generally judge to be what is most contemptible and ugly in Spain when she is perhaps what is most beautiful and laudable.
I do not wish to hurt anybody's feelings with what follows although to tell the truth this short outburst could well be forgiven she who was offended so much by everyone. I who traversed several times those lonesome stretches of Castile which call up the desert, I who toured bountiful Extremadura and the vast Mancha where the blinding sun scorches monotonous fields and where the colour of dry straw lends a tired hue to a landscape which fatigues and depresses the spirit without the relief of a single precious blade of grass that might distract the wandering gaze adrift in a cloudless sky as tiresome and unchanging as the land it looks down upon, I who visited the celebrated outskirts of Alicante where the olive trees with their dark green colour planted in rows which rarely come into view seem to weep at seeing themselves so alone and I who visited that famous orchard region of Murcia so renowned and so praised and which tiresome and monotonous as the rest of that country displays its vegetation like landscapes coloured on a piece of cardboard—trees aligned symmetrically in tight rows for the delight of the children—can not but feel outrage when the sons of those provinces blessed by God with plenty, but not with a beautiful countryside, make fun of this Galicia able to compete in climate and in finery with the most spellbinding countries on earth, this Galicia where nature is spontaneous and where the hand of man defers to the hand of God.
Lakes, waterfalls, torrents, flowerful meadows, valleys, mountains, serene blue skies like Italy's, overcast and melancholy horizons yet always as beautiful as those acclaimed ones of Switzerland, peaceful and sedately serene river banks, stormy capes that terrify and awe because of their gigantic and mute wrath...immense seas...what more can I add? There is no pen that can tally so much enchantment assembled together. The ground covered with dear grasses and flowers all year long, the hills full of pines, oaks and willows, the brisk winds that blow, the fountains and cascades pouring forth frothing and crystalline summer and winter over smiling fields or in deep, shaded hollows...Galicia is a garden always where one inhales pure aromas, cool and poetry...and in spite of this such is the dullness of the ignorant, such the ignoble prejudice that wars against our land, that even those who were able to gaze on so much beauty—and we leave aside those who are majority and who mock us without having ever seen us even from a distance—the same ones yet who came to Galicia and enjoyed the delights that she offers dared to say that Galicia was...a disgusting farmhouse!! And these perhaps were sons...of those scorched lands from which even the small birds flee!...What shall we say to this? Only that such inanities about our country resemble those of the French when they talk about their unbroken string of victories over the Spaniards: Spain never, never defeated them, rather she invariably ended up beaten, defeated and humiliated...and the saddest part about this is that this infamous lie is currency among them as currency it is among parched Castile, the barren Mancha and every other province of Spain—none comparable in true beauty of their countryside to ours—that Galicia is the most despicable corner on earth. It has been said wisely that everything in this world has requital and so Spain comes to suffer from a neighbouring nation that offended her always the same injustice which she, even more censurable, commits against a humiliated province that never crosses her mind except to debase her further. Much I feel the injuries that the French favour us with, but at this moment I am almost grateful to them because they provide me with a means of making more tangible to Spain the injustice that she in turn commits against us.
This was the main motive that impelled me to publish this book which I know better than anyone begs the indulgence of everybody. Without grammar or rules of any kind the reader will often find writing mistakes, idioms that will jar the ears of the purist, but at least, and to justify these defects to some extent, I took the greatest pains to reproduce the genuine spirit of our people and I think that I have succeeded in some measure...albeit feeble and limp. May heaven decree that somebody more talented than I will describe in their true colours the enchanting canvases which can be found here even in the most secluded and forsaken spot so that therewith may at least gain in repute, if not in profit, and be regarded with the deserved respect and admiration this unfortunate Galicia!
2013:150 Years Since the First Edition of Cantares Gallegos
On February 24, 2013, the Rosalía de Castro Foundation, the Royal Galician Academy, the University of Vigo and the Galician Bagpipers Association invited pipers to play in unison across Galicia to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the publication of Cantares Gallegos. Below is a short sample of locations and participants.
A Coruña, in front of the house where De Castro lived for some time
The noun "homeland" is genderless in English, but not in Galician: "miña terra" is a feminine pair. Every occurrence of the feminine pronoun in "Airiños, airiños aires" refers to the writer's homeland, not to a person, so it can also be translated as "my homeland" or "home" (1.4, 16.12).
Translator's Notes
The poems of "Cantares Gallegos" abound in the use of the affectionate diminutive peculiar to the Galician language. "Airiños, airiños aires" employs sixteen. The affectionate diminutive of a word ending in "a" is iña (feminine case) and the affectionate diminutive of a word ending in "o" is iño (masculine case). The plural variance is iñas and iños. Affectionate diminutives make the exercise of translating harder and something of artwork, but to ignore them altogether is to miss the full emotivity of the poem. On the plus side Galician affectionate diminutives afford the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme or lyrical sharpness to the text as part of the exercise of finding the best modifier which conveys size, frailty, sympathy or endearment depending on the context.
All the words in "Airiños, airiños aires" whose singular form ends in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice made where useful. Please note that not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
airiños. Dim. and pl. of "aire" (air, wind). There are two possible interpretations. The first and most common weighs the intensity of the wind and would translate as "light winds" or "breezes." The second views the wind with affection and would translate as "beloved winds" or "sweet winds" (cf. 14.1). The bulk of this poem endorses the second interpretation more than the first. However I picked the translation "breezes" to restrain the emotion, given that it pervades the rest of the poem already.
airiños aires. This is an unconventional grammatical construct where a noun, "airiños," plays the part of an affectionate adjective. Hence an affectionate bias is required. "Airiños" can be translated as "sweet airs" and adjectivized to "sweet airy" while the noun "aires" means simply "winds." Combining both yields, "sweet airy winds." Another possible combination: beloved blowing winds.
amoriño. Dim. of "amor" (love) translated "truelove." Other options: cherished love, darling, sweetheart.
casiña. Dim. of "casa" (house) translated "dear house." Other options: house that I love, little house, precious house, small house.
compañeiriños. Dim. and pl. of "compañeiro" (companion) translated "mates." Other options: buddies, chums, pals.
corazonciño. Dim. of "corazón" (heart) translated "poor heart" to reflect the writer's despondency (5.7) .
cunchiñas. Dim. and pl. of "cuncha" (seashell) translated simply "seashells." The affectionate diminutive was ignored because these shells are used for percussion (e.g. middle band player in this video).
folliña. Dim. of "folla" (leaf) translated "poor leaf" to reflect the writer's despondency. Another option: hapless leaf.
gaitiña. Dim. of "gaita" (bagpipe) translated "dear bagpipe." Other options: beloved bagpipe, Galician bagpipe (10.10), native bagpipe.
galleguiños. Dim. and pl. of the Castilianism, "gallego," (Galician) translated "Galician...that I love." Another option: dear Galician.
miña, miñas (my). Not a diminutive.
mortiña. Dim. of "morta" (dead) translated "pass away sadly" Other options: grievously dead, peacefully dead, placidly dead, unhappily dead. However the second and third options clash with her restless shout to the passing wind.
mouriña. Dim. of "moura" (either a Castilianism of "mora" meaning Moorish woman or a localism of "mourana" meaning a person of yellowish-brown skin). I opted for the Castilianism so "mouriña" can be translated as "pretty Moorish woman." Other options: cute Moorish woman, humble Moorish woman.
mouriña moura. As with "airiños aires," the translation of this hyperbole benefits from adding the alternate interpretation, here "moura" as "a person of yellowish-brown skin" or "tan." The unconventional grammatical construct then translates as "tan, pretty Moorish woman" (7.5).
Note: Verses 7.4-6 (dark skin) contradict verses 6.3-4 (pale skin) and intimate the possibility that there were two slightly different drafts of the same poem which mingled accidentally. It also bears pointing out that Spanish and Galician dictionaries tag "ralea" (7.6) as a demeaning term (lit. caste, lineage). However De Castro employs the affectionate diminutive "mouriña" alongside it, implying that no affront is intended.
muchiña. Dim. of "mucha" (shriveled, withered). The phrase, "quedando muchiña," is translated, "withering away alas!" Other options: sadly withering away, wasting away alas!
paxariño. Dim. of "paxaro" (bird) translated "little bird" connoting size and affection when the protagonist fancies becoming a bird (11.1) and translated "small bird" when she stops fantasizing (13.1).
quitadoiriños. Dim. and pl. of "quitadoiro" (reliever, remover) translated "cherished healers." Other options: dear relievers, kind removers, soothing allayers.
sospiriños. Dim. and pl. of "sospiro" (sigh) translated "sad sighs." Other options: sorrowing sighs, tender sighs.
toliña. Dim. of "tola" (crazy, disturbed, mad) translated "delirious" since the protagonist would be delighted to be able to fly back home (11.4). Other options: ecstatic, giddy mad, wild.
Bloodsucking witch (6.5). In Galician folklore a witch that enters a house at night to suck the blood of a sleeping child. This short film relates the legend of this witch. It is interesting to note that the tale has two meigas, one good, one bad. The good one (a "wise woman" who dwells on the far side of the woods) saves the last surviving child with her advice (min. 3:47-4:40).
Vaca vermella (10.2). Literally "red cow," a term used by dairy farmers, but a better approximation to the cow-coat's colour for a city dweller is, "golden-red."
Pombas que arrulás nas eiras (10.4). The word "arrulás" discloses that these pigeons are turtle doves (Galician: rulas).
Mozos que atruxás bailando (10.5). "Atruxar" is the blend of a yodel and a prolonged yell. Examples: Minutes 0:04-0:11, 1:48-1:52 and 3:10-3:15 of this video.
¡Muiñeira, muiñeira! (10.12). The muiñeira is a bagpipe melody in triple rhythm similar to the melodies of the Scottish Highlanders.1 Although the reel is the premier melody of the Scottish Highlands it is usually played in duple rhythm with a time signature of 4/4 whereas the jig is played in triple rhythm with a time signature of 6/8.2 Technically therefore the muiñeira resembles a jig more than a reel. In practice the average listener will find it difficult to distinguish between them (test yourself: here are some reels, here are some jigs). Some traditional muiñeiras are: Muiñeira de Chantada, Muiñeira de Lugo and Muiñeira de Pontesampaio.
Among the white skulls (16.8). An ossuary open to the air.
1 X. R. Barreiro Fernández, F. Díaz-Fierros, G. Fabra Barreiro, et al. Los Gallegos. Madrid: Ediciones Istmo, 1984, 2nd ed., p. 216.
2 James R. Cowdery. The Melodic Tradition of Ireland. Ohio: The Kent State University Press, 1990, pp. 17-18.
Onomatopoeias
Xas-co-rras-chás (10.7). Sound of two seashells being rubbed together, delivered approximately by "shas-caw-russ-chas" in the translation. A more accurate rendition with the Oxford Pronunciation Guide for English Dictionary is /ʃɑs:/ /ko:/ /rɑs:/ /tʃɑs:/
Xurre-xurre (10.8). Sound of the tambourine (example) delivered approximately by "shur-ray shur-ray" in the translation or by /ʃure:/ /ʃure:/
Run-run (14.8). Droning sound of the wind approximated by "roon-roon."
Musical Adaptation
Pop star of the seventies and eighties Víctor Manuel covers the song on this next video,
Airiños, airiños aires,
airiños da miña terra;
airiños, airiños aires,
airiños, levaime a ela.
Sin ela vivir non podo,
non podo vivir sin ela,
que adonde queira que vaia
cróbeme unha sombra espesa.
Cróbeme unha espesa nube
tal preñada de tormentas,
tal de soidás preñada,
que a miña vida envenena.
Levaime, levaime, airiños,
como unha folliña seca,
que seca tamén me puxo
a callentura que queima.
¡Ai!, si non me levás pronto,
airiños da miña terra,
si non me levás, airiños,
quisais xa non me conesan,
que a frebe que de min come
vaime consumindo lenta
e no meu corazonciño
tamén traidora se ceiba.
Fun noutro tempo encarnada
como a color da sireixa,
son hoxe descolorida
como os cirios das igrexas,
cal si unha meiga chuchona
a miña sangre bebera.
Voume quedando muchiña
como unha rosa que inverna,
voume sin forzas quedando,
voume quedando morena
cal unha mouriña moura,
filla de moura ralea.
Levaime, levaime, airiños,
levaime a donde me esperan
unha nai que por min chora,
un pai que sin min n'alenta,
un irmán por quen daría
a sangre das miñas venas
e un amoriño a quen alma
e vida lle prometera.
Si pronto non me levades,
¡ai!, morrerei de tristeza,
soia nunha terra estraña
donde estraña me alomean,
donde todo canto miro
todo me dice: «¡Extranxeira!».
¡Ai, miña probe casiña!
¡Ai, miña vaca vermella!
Años que balás nos montes,
pombas que arrulás nas eiras,
mozos que atruxás bailando,
redobre das castañetas,
xas-co-rras-chás das cunchiñas,
xurre-xurre das pandeiras,
tambor do tamborileiro,
gaitiña, gaita gallega,
xa non me alegras dicindo:
«¡Muiñeira, muiñeira!».
¡Ai, quen fora paxariño
de leves alas lixeiras!
¡Ai, con que prisa voara,
toliña de tan contenta,
para cantar a alborada
nos campos da miña terra!
Agora mesmo partira,
partira como unha frecha,
sin medo ás sombras da noite,
sin medo da noite negra;
e que chovera ou ventara,
e que ventara ou chovera,
voaría e voaría
hastra que alcansase a vela.
Pero non son paxariño
e irei morrendo de pena,
xa en lágrimas convertida,
xa en sospiriños desfeita.
Doces galleguiños aires,
quitadoiriños de penas,
encantadores das auguas,
amantes das arboredas,
música das verdes canas
do millo das nosas veigas,
alegres compañeiriños,
run-run de tódalas festas,
levaime nas vosas alas
como unha folliña seca.
Non permitás que aquí morra,
airiños da miña terra,
que aínda penso que de morta
hei de sospirar por ela.
Aínda penso, airiños aires,
que dimpois que morta sea,
e aló polo camposanto,
donde enterrada me teñan
pasés na calada noite
runxindo antre a folla seca,
ou murmuxando medrosos
antre as brancas calaveras,
inda dimpois de mortiña,
airiños da miña terra,
heivos de berrar: «¡Airiños,
airiños, levaime a ela!».
Breezes, sweet airy winds,
Breezes of my homeland;
Breezes, sweet airy winds,
Breezes, take me home.
Without her I can not live,
I can not live without her,
For go where I may
A thick shadow hovers over me.
Over me hovers a thick cloud
So pregnant with storms,
So with yearnings pregnant,
That it poisons my life.
Carry me away, breezes, carry me,
Like a poor dry leaf,
For dried up too left me
The fever that burns.
Aye! If you don't carry me away soon,
Breezes of my homeland,
If you don't carry me away, breezes,
Perhaps they won't recognize me,
For the fever that feeds off me
Keeps consuming me slowly
And treacherous harries
My poor heart also.
I was upon another time carmine
As the cherry's colour;
I am today discolored
As the churches' candles,
As if a bloodsucking witch
Had imbibed my blood.
I am withering away alas!
Like a rose in wintertime,
I am losing my strength daily,
I am turning dark-skinned
Like a tan, pretty Moorish woman,
Daughter of Moorish lineage.
Carry me away, breezes, carry me,
Carry me to where wait for me
A mother who weeps for me,
A father who struggles without me,
A brother for whom I'd give
The blood of my veins
And a truelove to whom I vowed
Life and soul.
If you don't carry me away soon
Aye! I will die of sadness,
Alone in a strange land
Where they call me a stranger,
Where everything I gaze upon—
Everything—says to me, "Foreigner!"
Ah, my poor dear house!
Ah, my golden-red cow!
Lambs that bleat in the highlands,
Turtle doves that purr in the fields,
Lads who yell-yodel dancing,
Roll of the castanets, Shas-caw-russ-chas of the seashells, Shur-ray shur-ray of the tambourines,
Drum of the drummer,
Dear bagpipe, Galician bagpipe,
You no longer gladden me saying:
"Jig! Jig!"
Ah, who were a little bird
Of slim, nimble wings!
Ah, with what haste I would fly,
Delirious from so much joy,
To sing the morning song
On my homeland's meadows!
This very instant I'd part,
I'd part like an arrow,
Without fear of the night's shadows,
Without fear of the black night;
And whether it rained or blew hard,
And whether it blew hard or rained,
I would fly and fly
Until she came into view.
But I am not a small bird
And I'll be dying slowly of sorrow,
Anon in tears transmuted,
Anon in sad sighs dissolved.
Sweet Galician winds that I love,
Cherished healers of heartbreaks,
Enchanters of the waters,
Lovers of the coppices,
Music of the green stalks
Of corn in our valleys,
Merry mates, Roon-roon of every celebration,
Carry me away on your wings
Like a poor dry leaf.
Do not let me die here,
Breezes of my homeland,
For I even think that when I'm dead
I shall pine for her.
I even think, sweet airy winds,
That after I am dead,
And over there at the graveyard
Where they will have interred me
You pass by in the silent night,
Clattering among the dry leaves
Or whispering fearful
Among the white skulls,
Even after I pass away sadly,
Breezes of my homeland,
I shall cry out to you: "Breezes,
Breezes, take me home!"
Source: CEIP Pedrouzos (Brión). Xunta de Galicia. Consellería de Educación e Ordenación Universitaria
2. Conversation With a Pumpkin On All-Hallows' Eve (Miña Santiña, miña Santasa)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Background
The Galician countryside celebrated the eve of All Hallows by making jack-o'-lantern's out of squashes, melons and pumpkins. They were placed on the margins of country lanes with the playful intention of frightening late-night passersby. The tradition was partly revived in the village of Cedeira in the year 2001 with a contest and display of carved pumpkins in the town's main square. The holiday now termed Samaín forms part of the activities during the month of October in many kindergartens and primary schools of Galicia.
The feast of the pumpkins was closely associated with the harvest festival known as "Magosto" whose star delicacies are roasted chestnuts and grilled corn on the cob. Samaín and Magosto are celebrated jointly in many kindergartens and primary schools of Galicia.
De Castro's bittersweet poem has three interwoven themes. The first is Halloween, which in Galicia went by the name of "feast of the pumpkins" or "feast of the skulls." The protagonist, a naive peasant girl, has just finished carving a jack-o'-lantern and is debating whether to embellish it with her earrings and necklace (see for example min. 1:05-1:12 of this video). She asks the magical pumpkin, the "Dear Saint," to teach her how to stitch, become a seamstress and climb the social ladder. The second theme, spun humorously via the literary device of a talking pumpkin, is the surrounding society's dispiriting cant. The squash sneers and snorts as a neighbour might. The third theme is the girl's resilience, she grows weary of the discouraging talk and brushes the jack-o'-lantern aside.
De Castro agonized over the suffering of the average Galician peasant woman,
And there is so much suffering in this dear Galician land! Whole books could be written about the eternal misfortune that besets our peasants and sailors, the sole true working people of our country. I saw and felt their hardships as though they were my own, but what always moved me, and consequently could not help but find an echo in my poetry, were the countless sorrows borne by our women: loving creatures toward their own folk and toward strangers, full of spirit, as hardy as soft-hearted and also so wretched that one would think they were born only to overcome as many travails as may afflict the weakest and most naive portion of humanity. Sharing the hard, outdoor tasks of farming fifty-fifty with their husbands, braving courageously the anxieties of motherhood indoors, the domestic chores and the wants of poverty. Alone most of the time, having to work from sunrise to sunset, barely able to sustain herself, having without help to take care of her children and perhaps of a sickly father, they seem destined to never find rest but in the grave.
Emigration and the King continually take away the lover, the brother, her man—the breadwinner of an often large family—and thus deserted, mourning over their misery, they live out a bitter life amid the uncertainties of hope, the bleakness of solitude and the anxieties of never-ending poverty. And what breaks their heart most is that their men all drift away, some because they are drafted, others because example, necessity, sometimes lust, forgivable though blind, compels them to abandon the dear home of whom they once loved, of the wife become mother and of the many unfortunate children, too small the darlings to suspect the orphanhood they are condemned to.
When these poor martyrs hazard to reveal their secrets confidentially to us, to mourn for their loves always kept alive, to lament over their woes, one discovers in them such delicacy of sentiment, such rich treasures of tenderness, so great a spirit of self-denial that unawares we feel ourselves inferior to those obscure and valiant heroines who live and die performing wonderful deeds forever untold, yet full of miracles of love and unplumbed depths of forgiveness. Stories worthy of being sung by poets better than I and whose holy harmonies ought to be played on one single note and one lone chord, on the chord of the sublime and on the note of pain.
(Prologue to Follas Novas. Santiago de Compostela. March 30, 1880)
Translator's Notes
"Miña Santiña, miña Santasa" plays with the ambiguous verb "puntear" which can mean to stitch (1.6, 2.6) or to do a sequence of dancing steps (6.6, 11.6).
The poem makes extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language. The affectionate diminutive ends in iña (singular feminine) or iño (singular masculine) but not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
All the words in "Miña Santiña, miña Santasa" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a short explanation of the choice made where necessary. Galician affectionate diminutives offer the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The aim is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
bailadoriña. Dim. of "bailadora" (dancer) translated "fair dancer." Other options: darling dancer, good dancer.
cariña. Dim. of "cara" (face) translated "pretty...face"; the moniker "cara bonita" (pretty face) that appears three lines down (1.5) confirms this equivalence. Another option: lovely face.
corpiño. Dim. of "corpo" (body, frame) translated simply "body" because the context does not resolve the dichotomy "frail" or "pretty."
costureiriña. Dim. of "costureira" (seamstress) translated "dear...seamstress" (2.1, 6.1) and translated "poor seamstress" (8.1, 10.11) to mirror the mounting confrontation between the girl and the pumpkin.
liña (thread). Not a diminutive.
lixeiriños. Dim. and pl. of "lixeiro" (brisk, fast, nimble) translated "nimbly nimble" to equate the ambition of the girl to escape poverty with her desire to go dancing.
meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive. Translated "child" because the pumpkin's attitude is paternalistic or derogatory throughout.
meniña traballadora. Translated "working lass."
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
rapaciña. Dim. of "rapaza" (girl, teenage girl) translated "dear girl."
Santiña. Dim. of "Santa" (saint) translated "Dear Saint."
todiñas. Dim. of "todas" (all) translated "dear all."
toxiños. Dim. and pl. of "toxo" (gorse) translated simply "gorses." The affectionate diminutive was ignored because the pumpkin speaks sarcastically and gorse size is irrelevant.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Miña Santiña, miña Santasa (1.1). The appellatives "my Dear Saint" and "my Great Saint" must be taken playfully.
Cómprelle a seda (3.6). The literal translation is "Silk becomes her"; however this singular form of the pronoun contradicts the grammatical number of its antecedent, "seamstresses," hence it was changed to them.
Falaime solo das muiñeiras (5.3). The muiñeira is a bagpipe melody in triple rhythm similar to the melodies of the Scottish Highlanders.1 Although the reel is the premier melody of the Scottish Highlands it is usually played in duple rhythm with a time signature of 4/4 whereas the jig is played in triple rhythm with a time signature of 6/8.2 Technically therefore the muiñeira resembles a jig more than a reel. In practice the average listener will find it difficult to distinguish between them (test yourself: here are some reels, here are some jigs).
Soul of copper—choker of silver—youth laughing—old age weeping (8.2-3). The jack-o'-lantern speaking like a witch proposes a riddle to the reader. So what had the soul of copper, a choker of silver and prompted the young to laugh, the old to weep? In the context of the jack-o'-lantern's banter the answer to the riddle is most likely the daguerreotype (France, 1839). Thus the pumpkin is asking for a photograph of the seamstress conversing with a dude.
Romería (9.2, 10.8). Traditionally a festive outing and picnic in the land close to a chapel or monastery on the holiday of its namesake.
Witch's eyes—monkey face— (11.2). Evil eyes, grinning face: a jack-o'-lantern.
1 X. R. Barreiro Fernández, F. Díaz-Fierros, G. Fabra Barreiro, et al. Los Gallegos. Madrid: Ediciones Istmo, 1984, 2nd ed., p. 216.
2 James R. Cowdery. The Melodic Tradition of Ireland. Ohio: The Kent State University Press, 1990, pp. 17-18.
Folklore
The entire atmosphere of "Miña Santiña, miña Santasa" is the magical world of the Galician countryside. The poem mentions a respected, sometimes feared, figure of that world, the meiga (11.2): witch or sorceress. She is on occasion beautiful, desirable and benevolent, esteemed for her knowledge of herbal remedies, psychology and magical powers of healing, but she can also be ugly, fearsome and evil, respected and feared for her curses and for her ability to cast spells. A popular Galician saw cautions skeptics, "I don't believe in witches myself, but exist they do."
Source: Todo Colección
The only Galician woman tried for sorcery was a wealthy widow of the seaside town Cangas do Morrazo. Her name was Maria Soliña and the year was 1621. Today her conviction is seen as a frame-up by the Spanish Inquisition and by unscrupulous local officials eager to seize her wealth and properties.
The witch has broadly speaking become a lovable myth across Galicia, and so the wistful waltz "A Bruxa" (The Witch) recorded first by Milladoiro and covered below by the Argentinian Celtic folk group Xeito Novo and by the North American An Dro.
"Miña Santiña" was published originally with a line length of five syllables. While this staccato format suits a very brief poem its use in longer poems annoys. Accordingly the original poem has been compressed here to half the usual number of lines and the line length expanded to ten syllables.
Boldface annotation added to assist the reader's comprehension identifies the speaker.
Theatrical Staging
Since the Middle Ages, perhaps from earlier times, the Galician farmer kept the yield of his farm in an outdoor storehouse raised off the ground to keep mice at bay. The granary or hórreo stood on a granite platform supported by two parallel rows of capped stone pillars or it rested on the staddle stones; a farmer employed a ladder to go inside it. These sheds on stilts usually have a standing cross at each end of the roof ridge which gives them the air of a shrine. Pumpkins were usually left outside the granary on a shelf, on a staddle stone or hung from a wall and so the jack-o'-lantern of "Miña Santiña, miña Santasa" would in the girl's imagination bear a resemblance to the figure of a saint in a wall shrine common inside the churches and chapels of her day.
—Miña Santiña, miña Santasa,
miña cariña de calabasa.
Hei de emprestarvos os meus pendentes,
hei de emprestarvos o meu collar;
hei de emprestarcho, cara bonita,
si me deprendes a puntear.
—Costureiriña comprimenteira,
sacha no campo, malla na eira,
lava no río, vai apañar
toxiños secos antre o pinar.
Así a meniña traballadora
os punteados deprende ora.
—Miña Santiña, mal me quixere
quen me aconsella que tal fixere.
Mans de señora, mans fidalgueiras
teñen todiñas as costureiras;
boca de reina, corpo de dama,
cómprelle a seda, foxen da lama.
—¡Ai rapaciña! Tí te-lo teo:
¡Seda as que dormen antre o centeo!
¡Fuxir da lama quen naceu nela!
Dios cho perdone, probre Manuela.
Lama con honra non mancha nada,
nin seda limpa honra emporcada.
—Santa, Santasa, non sos comprida,
decindo cousas que fan ferida.
Falaime solo das muiñeiras,
daquelas voltas revirandeiras,
daqueles puntos que fan agora,
de afora adentro, de adentro afora.
—Costureiriña do carballal,
colle unha agulla, colle un dedal;
cose os buratos dese ten cós,
que andar rachada non manda Dios.
Cose, meniña, tantos furados
i ora non penses nos punteados.
—Miña Santasa, miña santiña,
nin teño agulla nin teño liña,
nin dedal teño, que aló na feira
rouboumo un majo da faltriqueira,
decindo: "As perdas dos descoidados
fan o lotiño dos apañados."
—¡Costureiriña que a majos trata!
Alma de cobre, collar de prata,
mocidá rindo, vellez chorando...
Anda, meniña, coida do gando.
Coida das herbas do teu herbal:
terás agulla, terás dedal.
—Deixade as herbas, que o que eu quería
era ir cal todas á romería.
¡I alí co aire dar cada volta!
Os ollos baixos, a perna solta.
Pés lixeiriños, corpo direito;
¡pero, Santiña..., non lle dou xeito!
Non vos metades pedricadora;
bailadoriña facéme agora.
Vós dende arriba andá correndo;
facede os puntos i eu deprendendo.
Andá que peno polos penares...
Mirá que o pido chorando a mares.
—¡Ai da meniña! ¡Ai da que chora!
¡Ai, porque quere ser bailadora!
Que cando durma no camposanto,
os enemigos faránlle espanto,
bailando enriba das herbas mudas,
ó son da negra gaita de Xudas.
I aquel corpiño que noutros días
tanto truara nas romerías,
ó son dos ventos máis desatados
rolará logo cos condenados.
Costureiriña, n'hei de ser, n'hei,
quen che deprenda tan mala lei.
—¡Ai, que Santasa! ¡Ai, que Santona!
Ollos de meiga, cara de mona,
pór n'hei de pórche os meus pendentes,
pór n'hei de pórche o meu collar,
xa que non queres, xa que non sabes
adeprederme a puntear.
Girl: My Dear Saint, my Great Saint,
My pretty pumpkin face.
I will lend you my earrings,
I will lend you my necklace,
I will lend them to you, pretty face,
If you show me how to stitch.
Pumpkin: Dear obsequious seamstress,
Hoe the earth in the meadow, thresh in the field,
Wash by the river, go gather up
Dry gorses in the pine forest.
That's how a working lass learns
The stitches by and by.
Girl: My Dear Saint, such advice would come
From someone who wished me ill.
The hands of a lady, the hands of a squire
Sport dear all the seamstresses,
A queen's palate, a lady-in-waiting's figure,
Silk becomes them, they run from the mire.
Pumpkin: My dear girl! You have gid:
Silk for the girls who sleep in the rye!
Flee from the mire who was born in it!
May God forgive you, poor Emmanuelle,
Mire with integrity doesn't soil a bit
Nor does silk cleanse a sullied reputation.
Girl: Saint, Great Saint, you are not genteel,
Saying things that hurt.
Talk to me only about the jigs,
About those spinning turns,
About those dancing steps they do now,
Swing in, swing out.
Pumpkin: Dear seamstress of the oak forest,
Pick up a needle, pick up a thimble,
Sew the tears of whoever has them, for God
Does not prescribe walking about in tatters.
Sew, child, those many rips
And don't think now about the dancing steps.
Girl: My Great Saint, my dear saint,
I don't have a needle, I have no thread
Or thimble, for away at the fair
A dude stole them from my pouch
Saying, "The loss of the careless
Is the bounty of the canny."
Pumpkin: Poor seamstress who talks to dudes!
Soul of copper—choker of silver—
Youth laughing—old age weeping...
Go on, child, tend the livestock,
Mind the grassplot in your pasture:
You'll own a needle, you'll own a thimble.
Girl: Forget the pasture, what I wanted was
To go with the others to the romería.
And there whirl round and round with the air!
Eyes lowered, limber leg,
Nimbly nimble feet, straight back,
But my Dear Saint...I can't hack it!
Don't go and act the preacher,
Make me now a fair dancer.
Go on, hurry; perform up there
The dancing steps and I'll do the learning.
Go on, I pine for the heartaches...
See, I beg you crying seas.
Pumpkin: Woe to the child! Woe to the one
Who weeps! Woe for she wants to be a dancer!
Once she is laid to rest in the graveyard
Her enemies will terrify her
Dancing on the mute grass
To the sound of Judas' black bagpipe,
And that body which in days past
Partied so much at the romerías
Will roll over and over with the damned
To the sound of the wildest winds.
Poor seamstress, I won't be, I won't be
The one who gives you such evil instruction.
Girl: Ah, what Great Saint! Ah, what
Prissy Saint! Witch's eyes—monkey face— Then I won't put my earrings on you, Then I won't put my necklace on you,
Since you don't want to—since you
Don't know how to—teach me to dance.
Source: Aula del 2º ciclo de Primaria del Colegio Valle Inclán de Ferrol
3. Flight To Wonderland (Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Explanation
In the tome "Cantares Gallegos" De Castro often constructs a poem around a popular couplet or quatrain which is quoted in italics. In "Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde" she borrows the leading two lines of the folk song "Pousa" whose first quatrain reads,
Fun ó muíño do meu compadre;
Fun polo vento, vin polo aire.
É como cousa de encantamento;
Fun polo aire, vin polo vento.
I went to the mill of my child's godfather,1
I went riding the wind, I came riding the air.
It's like a thing of enchantment,
I went riding the air, I came riding the wind.
1 The modern version of "Pousa" puts "tavern" for "mill."
Translator's Notes
"Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde" makes extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language. The affectionate diminutive ends in iña (singular feminine) or iño (singular masculine) but not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
All the words in "Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice that was made. Galician affectionate diminutives lend the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The objective is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys small size, frailty, concern or endearment depending on the context. This objective ends in a personal choice when more than one translation is available as is often the case. Sometimes an affectionate diminutive is best ignored because the context is unclear, because the extra term jars the smooth flow of the translation or because it makes the text too syrupy. The exercise can be fun, difficult and challenging. The extra work is worthwhile because it offers the English reader an approximation to what De Castro called "those tender words and those idioms never forgotten which sounded so sweet to my ears since the cradle and which were gathered up by my heart as its own heritage."
casiña. Dim. of "casa" (house) translated "precious...house." Other options: darling house, dear house, little house.
camiño (path, route, trail, way). Not a diminutive.
estreliñas. Dim. and pl. of "estrela" (star) translated "twinkling stars" to project affection surreptitiously through a subliminal recall of the much-loved nursery rhyme "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Other options: little stars, pretty stars.
luniña. Dim. of "luna" (moon) translated "bright moon" because the night is brilliant (3.1). An earlier version, "small moon," is a better lexical translation but lacks realism, for when does the moon seem smaller than usual? Other options: silvery moon, smiling moon, warm moon.
meniñas. Pl. of meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive.
muíño (mill). Not a diminutive.
palomiñas. This turned out to be a very difficult word to translate. "Palomiñas" can be the dim. and pl. of "paloma" (dove, pigeon) but in some unspecified parts of Galicia the word "palomiña" can mean "butterfly" (not a diminutive). According to 1.4-5 the "palomiñas" are said to "beat their wings with an easy and gentle flutter" and this description suits a butterfly better than a pigeon. Therefore the optimal translation is "butterflies."
pombiñas. Dim. and pl. of "pomba" (dove, pigeon) translated "darling doves."
rapaciñas. Dim. and pl. of "rapaza" (girl, lass, teenage girl) translated "lassies."
sitiño. Dim. of "sitio" (place, spot) translated "charming place." Other options: adorable place, cuddly place (previous choice), enchanting nook, endearing spot, lovable site, lovely corner.
Folklore
The water mill (muíño) was a place of work and social relaxation and sometimes a venue of consented promiscuity after hours. A gathering of neighbours to grind grain was termed a muiñada. Most mills were built on a wooded river bank (example).
The muíño lent its name to the muiñeira or jig whose lyrics often abound in puns, irony, jokes, jests and jives, a reflection of the jovial atmosphere found at every water mill. For example the third stanza of the muiñeira do Santo Amaro states:
Ser solteiro é boa cousa
E ser casado tamén;
Deixarei pra cando morra
Pensar o que me convén.
Being single is a fine thing
And so is being married:
Which is the more convenient
I'll decide after I'm buried.
Fun un domingo, fun pola tarde,
co sol que baixa tras dos pinares,
cas nubes brancas sombra dos ánxeles,
cas palomiñas que as alas baten,
con un batido manso e suave,
atravesando vagos celaxes,
mundos extraños que en raios parten
ricos tesouros de ouro e diamante.
Pasín os montes, montes e valles,
pasín llanuras e soledades;
pasín os regos, pasín os mares,
con pés enxoitos e sin cansarme.
Colleume a noite, noite brillante,
cunha luniña feitas de xaspes,
e fun con ela camiño adiante,
cas estreliñas para guiarme,
que aquel camiño solo elas saben.
Dempois a aurora co seu sembrante
feito de rosas veu a alumbrarme,
e vin estonces, antre o ramaxe
de olmos e pinos, acobexarse
branca casiña con palomare,
donde as pombiñas entran e saien.
Nela se escoitan doces cantares,
nela garulan mozos galantes
cas rapaciñas de outros lugares.
Todo é contento, todo é folgare,
mentras a pedra bate que bate,
mole que mole, dálle que dálle,
con lindo gusto faille compases.
Non hai sitiño que máis me agrade
que aquel muíño dos castañares,
donde hai meniñas, donde hai rapaces,
que ricamente saben loitare;
donde rechinan hasta cansarse
mozos e vellos, nenos e grandes,
e anque non queren que aló me baixe,
sin que o soupera na casa naide,
fun ó muíño do meu compadre;
fun polo vento, vin polo aire.
I went on a Sunday, I went in the afternoon,
With the sun that goes down behind the stands of pine,
With the white clouds sunshade of the angels,
With the butterflies that beat their wings
With an easy and gentle flutter,
Traversing dim, dappled skies,
Alien worlds that part into beams
Rich treasures of gold and diamond.
I crossed the hills, hills and valleys,
I crossed plains and moors,
I crossed the rills, I crossed the seas,
With dry feet and untiring.
Nightfall caught up with me, a brilliant night
With a bright moon made of jasper,
And I went down the trail with her,
With the twinkling stars to guide me,
For they alone know that path.
Afterward the dawn with her semblance
Made of roses came to give me light,
And I saw then through the foliage
Of elms and pines, snuggled away,
Precious white house with pigeon loft
Where the darling doves enter and leave.
Sweet songs are heard within it,
Gallant lads revel inside it
With the lassies of roundabout places.
All is joy, all is leisure,
While the stone that slams and slams,
Grinds and grinds, knocks and knocks,
Plays rhythms to it with lovely taste.
There is no charming place that pleases me more
Than that water mill in the chestnut forest,
Where there are lasses, where there are lads
Who richly know how to spar;
Where grate until they tire
Young and old, children and grownups,
And although they don't want me to go down there,
Without anyone in the house being aware:
I went to the mill of my child's godfather,
I went riding the wind, I came riding the air.
4. How Can I Depart If I Love You? (Cantan os galos pra o día)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Translator's Notes
"¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?" is yet another poem that uses the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language. The affectionate diminutive ends in iña (singular feminine) or iño (singular masculine) but not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
All the words in "¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with the translation. Galician affectionate diminutives offer the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The goal is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
biquiño. Dim. of "bico" (kiss) translated "wee kiss" to overlay a faint Scottish-English feel to the translation. Other options: light kiss, little kiss, peck, quick kiss.
caloriño. Dim. of "calor" (heat, warmth) translated "sweet heat" to rhyme with "feet" (3.12).
cariña. Dim. of "cara" (face) translated "pretty...face." Another option: lovely face.
labiños. Dim. of "labios" (lips) translated "sweet lips."
meiguiño. Dim. of "meigo" (magician, wizard) translated "darling wizard." The hyperbole "meiguiño meigo" was translated "dear bewitching wizard" (4.1).
meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive.
olliños. Dim. and pl. of "ollo" (eye) translated "lovely...eyes."
ondiñas. Dim. and pl. of "onda" (wave) translated "gentle waves." Other options: fair-weather waves, light surf, lovely sea, low swell, nice surf, ripples, sailing waves, small waves, tame sea.
paxariños. Dim. and pl. of "paxaro" (bird) translated "little birds." The phrase connotes size and affection.
queridiña/o. Dim. of "querida/o" (beloved, dear) translated "dearie."
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Deses teus olliños negros, / como doas relumbrantes, / hastra as nosas maus unidas / as bágoas ardentes caen (3.1-4). A case of reverse sentence structure whose literal translation is "From your precious dark eyes / Like glittering beads / To our clasped hands / The burning tears fall." Although reverse sentences are a common feature of Spanish poetry they yield ambiguous, crumpled prose in English. The ironed-out translation is often preferable. Three other reverse sentences were reworked (3.9-10, 3.11-12, 8.1-2).
Dearie, sleep yet a while amid the gentle waves of the sea (5.1-2). The couple spent the night on a boat, he is probably a fugitive from justice or a political runaway. Galicia had many political runaways after the failed Liberal uprising of 1846. The posit is buttressed by De Castro's use on line 10.3 of the imperative fuxe, from the verb fuxir (to flee or to run away) whence comes the substantive fuxitivo (fugitive). Nevertheless the word fuxe was prudently translated, "go quickly," to let the reader interpret the poem's circumstances for her/himself.
—Cantan os galos pra o día;
érguete, meu ben, e vaite.
—¿Como me hei de ir, queridiña;
como me hei de ir e deixarte?
—Deses teus olliños negros,
como doas relumbrantes,
hastra as nosas maus unidas
as bágoas ardentes caen.
¿Como me hei de ir si te quero?
¿Como me hei de ir e deixarte,
si ca lengua me desbotas
e co corazón me atraes?
Nun corruncho do teu leito
cariñosa me abrigaches;
co teu manso caloriño
os fríos pés me quentastes;
e de aquí xuntos miramos
por antre o verde ramaxe
cal iba correndo a lúa
por enriba dos pinares.
¿Como queres que te deixe?
¿Como que de ti me aparte,
si máis que a mel eres dulce
e máis que as froles soave?
—Meiguiño, meiguiño meigo,
meigo que me namoraste,
vaite de onda min, meiguiño,
antes que o sol se levante.
—Aínda dorme, queridiña,
antre as ondiñas do mare,
dorme por que me acariñes
e por que amante me chames,
que solo onda ti, meniña,
podo contento folgare.
—Xa cantan os paxariños,
érguete, meu ben, que é tarde.
—Deixa que canten, Marica;
Marica, deixa que canten...
Si ti sintes que me vaia,
eu relouco por quedarme.
—Conmigo, meu queridiño,
mitá da noite pasaches.
—Mais en tanto ti dormías,
contenteime con mirarte,
que así, sorrindo entre soños,
coidaba que eras un ánxel,
e non con tanta pureza
ó pé dun ánxel velase.
—Así te quero, meu ben,
como un santo dos altares;
mais fuxe..., que o sol dourado
por riba dos montes saie.
—Irei, mais dáme un biquiño
antes que de ti me aparte,
que eses labiños de rosa
inda non sei como saben.
—Con mil amores cho dera,
mais teño que confesarme,
e moita vergonza fora
ter un pecado tan grande.
—Pois confésate, Marica,
que cando casar nos casen,
non che han de valer, meniña,
nin confesores nin frades.
¡Adios, cariña de rosa!
—¡Raparigo, Dios te garde!
"The roosters sing to the dawning day.
Get up, my boon, and go away."
"How can I depart, dearie,
How can I go and leave you?
"The burning tears fall
Like glittering beads
From your lovely dark eyes
To our clasped hands.
How can I depart if I love you?
How can I go and leave you,
If you send me away with the tongue
Yet with the heart pull me near?
You sheltered me fondly
In a corner of your bed,
You warmed my cold feet
With your gentle, sweet heat,
And from here together we watched
Through the green foliage
How the moon tracked
Above the stands of pine. How do you pretend that I leave you?
How can I forsake you,
If you are sweeter than honey
And milder than the flowers?"
"Darling wizard, dear bewitching wizard,
Wizard who made me fall in love with you:
Get away from here, darling wizard,
Before the sun rises."
"Dearie, sleep yet a while
Amidst the gentle waves of the sea,
Sleep for then you would caress me
And call out to me like a lover,
It's only with you, lass,
That I can relax contented."
"The little birds are already singing,
Get up, my boon, it's late."
"Let them sing, Marika;
Marika, let them sing...
If you are sorry to see me go,
I rave for to stay."
"You spent half the night
With me, my dearie."
"Yet while you slept
I contented myself with gazing at you,
And as you slept, smiling between dreams,
I fancied that you were an angel,
And with not as much chastity
Would I have kept vigil at the feet of an angel."
"That's how I want you, my boon,
Like a saint upon the altar;
But go quickly...for the golden sun
Shows over the hilltops."
"I will, but give me a wee kiss
Before I slip away from you,
For I still do not know how
Those rosy, sweet lips taste."
"I would with thousandfold love,
But I must go to confession
And it would be a great shame
To own so great a sin."
"Go to confession then, Marika,
But when they marry us well married,
Neither confessors nor friars
Will avail you any, lass.
Good-bye, pretty rose face!"
5. I'm Not Afraid of You, Little Owl! (Eu ben vin estar o moucho)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Background
Once thriving the little-owl population of Galicia is in constant decline due to the indifference of successive governments to the destruction of the bird's habitat, the massive replacement of native forest land with subsidized plantations of eucalyptus.
The hoots of the little owl were deemed to announce the impending death of some neighbour, relative or the hearer himself. However farmers considered it a good omen when the bird sought shelter in a pigeon loft (source: Galicia Espallada).
Translator's Notes
"Eu ben vin estar o moucho" uses two affectionate diminutives (feminine termination iña, masculine iño). On the plus side, Galician affectionate diminutives provide provide an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme or lyrical sharpness to the text. The aim of the translator is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys size, frailty, sympathy or endearment based on the context.
All the words in "Eu ben vin estar o moucho" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with several translation options.
amoriños. Dim. and pl. of "amor" (love) translated "sweet loves." Other options: dear loves, easy loves, familiar loves, gentle loves, intimate loves, mellow loves.
camiño (da). Adverb: on the way to, bound for. Not a diminutive.
niñas. Pl. of "niña" (pupil). Not a diminutive.
pretiño. Dim. of "preto" (close to, near) translated "quite close to." Other options: adjacent to, next to, very near. Although technically pretiño is an affectionate diminutive there is no affection involved here, the object of the adverb is a cemetery (1.1.28).
remuíños. Pl. of "remuíño" (whirlpool, whirlwind). Not a diminutive.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Dark wings that spread feelings of fear (1.1.3-4). The wings of a crow or a raven.
On the hour when the roosters sing (1.1.5). A rooster crows three times at night: around midnight, between 2:00 and 3:00 AM and before daybreak (source: Galicia Espallada).
When the witches dance, dance...Their white hair flaring out (1.1.7-12). Probably a clever description of a waterspout striking land. Waterspouts are not unusual along the Galician coast (example) and ambient lighting conditions may make the vortex appear decidedly white.
I cross the brook, swimming like a seabird (2.2.11-12). That is, splashing about (min. 0:12-0:19 of this video).
Eu ben vin estar o moucho
enriba daquel penedo.
¡Non che teño medo, moucho;
moucho, non che teño medo!
I
Unha noite, noite negra
como os pesares que eu teño,
noite filla das sombrisas
alas que estenden os medos;
hora en que cantan os galos,
hora en que xemen os ventos;
en que as meigas bailan, bailan,
xuntas co demo pirmeiro,
arrincando verdes robres,
portas e tellas fendendo,
todas de branco vestidas,
tendido-los brancos pelos
contra quen os cans oubean
agoirando triste enterro;
cando relumbrar se miran
antre os toxales espesos,
cal encendidas candeas
ollos de lobo famento;
e os ramallaxes dos montes
antre sí murmuxan quedos,
e as follas secas que espallan
os aires da noite inquietos,
en remuíños se xuntan
con longo estremecemento,
indo camiño da igrexa,
soia cos meus pensamentos,
cabo da fonte da Virxe,
pretiño do cimeterio,
dempóis de sentir un sopro
que me deixóu sin alento,
eu ben vin estar o moucho
enriba daquel penedo.
II
Arrepuiñadas todas
as carnes se me puñeron,
e os cabelos no curuto
fóronse erguendo direitos;
gotas de sudor corrían
a fío polo meu peito,
e trembaba como tremban
as augas cando fai vento,
na pía da fonte nova,
que sempre está revertendo.
Aquel moucho alí ficando,
cal si fose o mesmo demo,
fito a fito me miraba
cos seus ollos rapiñeiros,
que coidéi que me roubaban
non máis que de lonxe velos.
De lume me paresían
e que me queimaron penso;
penso que eran tizós roxos
da fogueira dos infernos,
que polas niñas me entraron
hastra o corazón dereitos.
En el remorsos había
de amoriños pecadentos...
¡Ai, que ten deses amores,
non pode achar bon sosiego!
Chovía si Dios ten augua,
ventaba en todo-los ventos,
e ensarrapicada toda
a camiñar non me atrevo;
que o moucho, fita que fita,
me aspera naquel penedo;
mais acordéime da Virxe
que sempre conmigo levo;
résolle un Ave-María,
e cobrando novo alento,
como os páxaros do mare,
nadando paso o regueiro,
corro a enriba do valado,
brinco en baixo do portelo,
e dende alí berro estonces
con cantas forzas eu teño:
¡Non che teño medo, moucho;
moucho, non che teño medo!
I plainly saw the little owl perched
Atop that rocky outcrop.
I'm not afraid of you, little owl!
Little owl, I'm not afraid of you!
I
Once upon a night, night as black
As the burdens I bear,
Night daughter of the dark wings
That spread feelings of fear,
On the hour when the roosters sing,
On the hour when the winds groan,
When the witches dance, dance
Alongside the foremost devil,
Uprooting green oak trees,
Tearing out roof tiles and doors—
The witches all dressed in white,
Their white hair flaring out,
At whom the dogs howl
Foreboding sad interment—
When among the compact gorse-bushes
Can be seen gleaming
Like lit candles
The eyes of the hungry wolf,
And the masses of foliage on the hills
Murmur to each other low,
And the dry leaves scattered
By the unsettled airs of the night
Cluster together in whirlwinds
Of long-lasting shudder,
Going by way of the church,
Alone with my thoughts,
Just past the fountain of Our Lady,
Quite close to the cemetery,
After feeling a gust
That took my breath away,
I plainly saw the little owl perched
Atop that rocky outcrop.
II
Goose bumps spread
All over my body,
And the hairs on my crown
Steadily bristled;
Drops of sweat trickled
Steadily down my bosom,
And I quivered as quivers
The water when the wind blows
Upon the bowl of the new fountain
That is always overflowing.
That little owl abiding there,
As if it were the very devil,
Stared hard at me
With its scavenging eyes;
I surmised they preyed on me
From the moment I saw them afar.
To me they seemed made of fire
And I suppose they seared me;
I suppose they were crimson firebrands
From hells' bonfire
Which entered through the pupils
And went straight to the heart.
There was in it remorse
Of illicit sweet loves...
Ah, whoever has such loves
Can not find good repose!
It rained if God does store water,
It blew in all the winds,
And drenched to the bone
I dare not take another step,
For the little owl, staring hard,
Waits for me on that rocky outcrop;
But I remembered Our Lady
Whose keepsake I carry always with me,
I say a Hail Mary,
And regaining my breath,
I cross the brook, swimming
Like a seabird,
I race up onto the stonewall cap,
I jump down to beneath the narrow gate,
And from there I shout then
With all my strength:
I'm not afraid of you, little owl!
Little owl, I'm not afraid of you!
Source: Sempre En Galiza. Música galega. Dixitaliza e comparte
6. Lass of the Green Mountain (Acolá enriba)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Background
The Galician Highlands run like an eastern buffer from the Atlantic coast bordering on the Principality of Asturias south to the Portuguese frontier. The better-known mountain ranges of this chain are Os Ancares, O Courel and the Central Ourense Range. Few people dwell in this mountainous region. In De Castro's day they were despised (see poem 9).
"Acolá enriba" contains four affectionate diminutives (feminine termination iña, masculine iño). Usually there is no rigorous one-to-one mapping between this grammatical form and an English word, hence the affectionate diminutive brings an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text while staying true to the context.
All the words in "Acolá enriba" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a short explanation of the translation made.
dulciños. Dim. and pl. of "dulce" (sweet) translated "honey-sweet." Other options: sugary sweet, tenderly sweet (songs).
feitiña. Dim. of "feita" (here done by or to) translated "sustained fondly" because the subject of the sentence is a wound of love "done to" (inflicted on, sustained by) the speaker who nevertheless cherishes it.
liño (linen). Not a diminutive.
mainiña. Dim. of maina (agreeable, gentle, soft) translated "gentle gentle" to accentuate through repetition the positive form of the adjective.
meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive.
nubiña. Dim. of "nube" (cloud) translated "scud cloud." Other options: tiny cloud, vapour.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
meniña morena (1.3). The adjective morena usually means "brown-skinned" but it can also mean "brunette." Since the girl's skin colour is labelled unusually white (6.1) the second definition applies.
na sombra dos pinos (5.9). The literal translation is "pine-trees' shadow." The chosen variation, "evergreens' shadow," reflects the prevalence of an alpine coniferous tree on the Galician Highlands different from the Greek Mediterranean variety cultivated in the rest of the country.
eu lla vestira, eu lla calzara (7.1). Probably inspired by the popular romance, La Pedigüeña (The Exacting Lady).
Classical Music
Galician-Argentinian violinist and composer Andrés Gaos (b. 1874, d. 1959) composed a symphony entitled, "In the Mountains of Galicia," in 1953. Its three movements are presented below.
"Acolá enriba" was published with a line length of six syllables. Here the line length has been doubled to improve readability.
Acolá enriba na fresca montaña,
que alegre se crobe de verde retama,
meniña morena de branco vestida,
nubiña parece no monte perdida,
que xira, que corre, que torna, que pasa,
que rola e, mainiña, serena se para.
Xa envolta se mira na espuma que salta
do chorro que ferve na rouca cascada.
Xa erguida na punta de pena sombrisa,
inmoble cal virxe de pedra se mira.
A cofia de liño aos ventos soltada,
as trenzas descoida que os aires espallan.
Tendida-las puntas do pano de seda,
as alas dun ánxel de lonxe semellan,
si as brisas da tarde, xogando con elas,
as moven ca gracia que un ánxel tivera.
Eu penso, ¡coitado de min!, que me chaman,
si as vexo bulindo na verde enramada.
Mais ¡ai! os meus ollos me engañan traidores
pois vou e, lixeira na niebra se esconde;
se esconde outras veces na sombra dos pinos
e canta escondida cantares dulciños
que abrasan, que firen ferida de amor
que teño feitiña no meu corazón.
¡Que feita, que linda, que fresca, que branca
dou Dios á meniña da verde montaña!
¡Que hermosa parece, que chore, que xima;
cantando, sorrindo, disperta, dormida!
¡Ai, si seu pai por regalo ma dera!,
¡Ai, non sentira no mundo máis penas!
¡Ai!, que por tela conmigo por dama,
eu lla vestira, eu lla calzara.
Way up yonder on the cool-clime mountain,
Merrily covered with broom shrubs green,
A brunette lass in white clothing
Seems a scud cloud lost in the upland
That whirls, dashes, turns back, passes,
Veers and gentle gentle halts serene.
She looks at herself enveloped in leaping spray
From the jet that churns in the droning cascade.
She stands erect upon the dark crag's crest,
Posing like a stone madonna motionless.
She unlaces the linen bonnet to the winds;
The air flares the unattended braids.
She raises the tips of the silken shawl;
Afar they resemble the wings of an angel
If the afternoon breezes with them playing
Flap them with the flair an angel would don.
Blighted me! I fancy that to me they beckon
If I see them fanning amid the green foliage.
But alas! my traitorous eyes trick me
For I go and she hides quick in the fog
(Other times she hides in the evergreens' shadow)
And hidden she sings honey-sweet songs
That scorch, that inflict the wound of love
I have sustained fondly in my heart.
How comely! How pretty! How natural! How white
God made the lass of the green mountain!
How gorgeous she looks whether she weeps or moans,
Singing—smiling—woken—slumbering!
Ah, if her father gave her to me for a present!
Ah, I'd have no more sorrows in the world!
Ah! To have her beside me for lady,
"Un repoludo gaiteiro" makes modest use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language. The affectionate diminutive ends in iña (singular feminine) or iño (singular masculine) but not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
All the words in "Un repoludo gaiteiro" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice made. Galician affectionate diminutives provide the translator with an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme or lyrical sharpness to the text. The aim is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys size, frailty, sympathy or endearment as dictated by the context.
camiño (path, route, trail, way). Adverbial form: on the...to. Not a diminutive.
espiñas. Pl. of "espiña" (thorn). Not a diminutive.
gaitiña. Dim. of "gaita" (bagpipe) translated "dear bagpipe." Other options: beloved bagpipe, Galician bagpipe, native bagpipe.
louquiñas. Dim. and pl. of "louca" (crazy, disturbed, mad) translated "poor raving girls." "Louca" and "tola" are synonymous.
mañanciña (early morning hours). Not an affectionate diminutive.
meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive. The couplet meniña solteira (7.3) is then translated, "single girl," i.e. maiden.
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
tiña (past tense of "ter," to have). Not a diminutive.
toliñas. Dim. and pl. of "tola" (crazy, disturbed, mad) translated "adorably daffy" since the girls are madly in love.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
de pano sedán vestido (1.2). Sedan is a French town of 20,000 inhabitants situated on the banks of the river Meuse in the Ardennes. The town became a major textile center between 1641 and the First World War and gave its name first to a glossy figure eight needlepoint and later to the manufacture of woolen rugs, carpets and cloth. Thus "cloth of Sedan" may describe a garment imported from Sedan or a local cloth stitched with the Sedan needlepoint.
Camiño da romería (7.1). A traditional romería is a festive picnic near a chapel or monastery on the holiday of its namesake (example from Brazil).
¡Canta risa nas fiadas! (11.2). A fiada was a gathering of women in the evening to make yarn in a festive atmosphere of storytelling, games and song.
non veñan ó meu tocar (12.2). Double entendre. Tocar can mean to play a musical instrument or to touch.
Musical Adaptation
The Orfeón Mariñeiro do Berbés (Sailors' Orpheon from the Berbés quarter of Vigo) covers Amancio Prada's adaptation below.
Un repoludo gaiteiro
de pano sedán vestido,
como un príncipe cumprido,
cariñoso e falangueiro,
antre os mozos o pirmeiro
e nas siudades sin par,
tiña costume en cantar
aló pola mañanciña:
Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Sempre pola vila entraba
con aquel de señorío,
sempre con poxante brío
co tambor se acompasaba;
e si na gaita sopraba,
era tan doce soprar,
que ben fixera en cantar
aló pola mañanciña:
Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Todas por el reloucaban,
todas por el se morrían,
si o tiñan cerca, sorrían,
si o tiñan lonxe, choraban.
¡Mal pecado! Non coidaban
que c'aquel seu frolear
tiña costume en cantar
aló pola mañanciña:
Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Camiño da romería,
debaixo dunha figueira,
¡canta meniña solteira
«Quérote», lle repetía!...
I el ca gaita respondía
por a todas emboucar,
pois ben fixera en cantar
aló pola mañanciña:
Con esta miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
Elas louquiñas bailaban
e por xunta del corrían,
cegas..., cegas, que non vían
as espiñas que as cercaban;
probes palomas, buscaban
a luz que as iba queimar,
pois que el soupera cantar
aló pola mañanciña:
Ó son da miña gaitiña
ás nenas hei de engañar.
¡Nas festas, canto contento!
¡Canta risa nas fiadas!
Todas, todas, namoradas,
déranlle o seu pensamento;
i el que de amores sedento
quixo a todas engañar,
cando as veu dimpois chorar
cantaba nas mañanciñas:
Non sean elas toliñas,
non veñan ó meu tocar.
A pudgy bagpiper
Dressed in cloth of Sedan,
Well-mannered like a prince,
Affectionate, talkative and courteous,
First among the young men
And without peer in the cities,
Had a habit of singing
By the wee hours of the morning:
With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
He always entered the village
With a gentleman's bearing,
He always, with steadfast vigour,
Played to the beat of the drum
And if he blew the bagpipe
So sweet was his blowing
That he had done right in singing
By the wee hours of the morning:
With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
All the girls yearned for him,
All the girls died for him,
If he was close by they smiled,
If he was far away they wept.
Base sin! They didn't realize
That with that flirty fettle of his
He had a habit of singing
By the wee hours of the morning:
With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
On the way to the romería,
Under a fig tree,
How many a maiden
Would tell him again, "I love you"!
And he replied with the bagpipe
To trick them all
Since he had done right in singing
By the wee hours of the morning:
With this dear bagpipe of mine
I will surely dupe the lassies.
The poor raving girls danced
And raced to him blinded,
Blind lasses who didn't see
The thorns that compassed them,
Poor doves who went seeking
The light that would scorch them
Since he had sung knowingly
By the wee hours of the morning:
To the sound of my dear bagpipe
I will surely dupe the lassies.
How much joy at the festivities!
How much laughter at the spindle parties!
All the girls, every one love-struck,
Had given him their thought
And he who thirsty for love
Had wished to hoodwink them all
When he later saw them crying
Sang in the wee hours of the morning:
Let them not be adorably daffy,
Let them not come to my playing.
All the preceding poems have made extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language. "Alborada" is no exception. The affectionate diminutive ends in iña (singular feminine) or iño (singular masculine). Preceding poems have already shown that some words which end in iña or iño are not affectionate diminutives.
All the words in "Alborada" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the term chosen. Galician affectionate diminutives let the translator add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The goal of the exercise is to select the best adjective, adverb or noun which expresses affection, concern, frailty or smallness depending on the context. This selection becomes a personal choice when there is more than one translation available as it often occurs. Occasionally it is even advisable to ignore an affectionate diminutive because the context is unclear, because the extra term crimps the fluidity of the translated poem or makes the text unadvisedly cloy. The exercise can be tedious, challenging and time-consuming, but to sideline the affectionate diminutive altogether in the translation of "Cantares Gallegos" is to deprive the English reader of an approximation to what De Castro dubbed "those tender words and those idioms never forgotten which sounded so sweet to my ears since the cradle and which were gathered up by my heart as its own heritage."
auroriña. Dim. of "aurora" (dawn) translated "darling dawn." Other options: beautiful dawn, fair dawn, lovely dawn.
cunchiñas. Dim. and pl. of "cuncha" (seashell) translated simply "seashells." The affectionate diminutive was ignored because the shells found on any beach have various sizes typically and because tagging them with a label of concern or affection seems extravagant. The only viable adjectives relate to beauty, such as cute, elegant, pretty, etc., but Galicia is not known for particularly beautiful seashells.
gaitiña. Dim. of "gaita" (bagpipe) translated "his trusty bagpipe" to complement the past participle "accompanied of." The pronoun was included to improve the readability of the English text. Other options: beloved bagpipe, Galician bagpipe, native bagpipe.
meniñas. Pl. of meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive.
paxariño. Dim. of "paxaro" (bird) translated "little bird." The phrase connotes size and affection.
ponliña. Dim. of "ponla" (branch, limb) translated "twig." Another option: branchlet.
portiñas. Dim. and pl. of "porta" (door) translated "friendly doors." Other options: hospitable doors, kindly doors, neighbourly doors, welcoming doors. The front door of a house becomes a metaphor for the people who dwell inside.
rapaciñas. Dim. and pl. of "rapaza" (girl, lass, teenage girl) translated "lassies." Another option: lovely (teenage) girls.
teñidiño. Dim. of "teñido" (dyed) translated "daintily dyed." Other options: beautifully dyed, delicately dyed. Here the diminutive does not suggest splendour but coyness.
velliñas alegriñas. Dim. and pl. of "vella alegre" (cheerful old woman) translated "cheery, charming dear grannies." The affection is shown by the phrase "dear grannies" and the adjective "charming" adds affection to the adjective "cheery." This double form has allowed the creation of one alliteration and one approximate internal rhyme (cheery, grannies).
vidriños. Dim. and pl. of "vidrio" (glass) translated "window panes." Arguably not an affectionate diminutive. A window pane was cut from a parent sheet of glass.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
atruxaremos, cantaremos o alalá! (last line). "Atruxar" is the blend of a yodel and a prolonged yell. Examples: Minutes 0:28-0:31 (somewhat muted) and 2:22-2:27 of this recording. An alalá is a traditional Galician song of remote origin; some researchers trace it back to the Gregorian chant.1Alalá das Mariñas is an example.
De Castro molded the meter of "Alborada" on this morning song of Ourense which a neighbourhood piper used to play. The resultant lyrics and tune became known as the "Alborada de Rosalía de Castro" (Morning Song of Rosalía de Castro).
As part of the commemoration of the 150th anniversary of the publication of "Cantares Gallegos" Daniel Bellón plays the "Alborada de Rosalía de Castro" on the bagpipe (first entry). As part of the same commemoration Lucía Pérez and Rosa Cedrón gave a youthful interpretation of the "Alborada" on Radio Televisión Galicia (second entry). In 2008 Abe Rábade arranged a jazz vocal together with Guadí Galego and Anxo Angueira (third entry). Mary C. Otero Rolle wrote her own musical adaptation of the poem (fifth entry). Peque Coro Do Xan Viaño sings two stanzas (1.3, 2.2.1-4) with a distinct melody (sixth entry).
Alborada para Rosalía de Castro (De Castro's birthday, 2013)
On February 24, 2013, the Rosalía de Castro Foundation, the Royal Galician Academy, the University of Vigo and the Galician Bagpipers Association invited pipers to play the "Alborada de Rosalía de Castro" in unison across Galicia to commemorate the 150th anniversary of the publication of "Cantares Gallegos." A short sample of localities and performances of the morning song is given next,
A Coruña, at the site of Sir John Moore's cenotaph
¡Vaite noite, vai fuxindo!
¡Vente aurora, vente abrindo
co teu rostro que sorrindo
á sombra espanta!
¡Canta, paxariño, canta
De ponliña en ponla que o sol se levanta
polo monte verde, polo verde monte,
alegrando as herbas, alegrando as fontes!
Canta, paxariño alegre, canta.
Canta por que o millo medre, canta;
Canta porque a luz te escoite,
Canta, canta que fuxeu a noite.
II
Noite escura logo ven moito dura
co seu manto de tristura,
con meigallos e temores,
agoreira de dolores,
agarimo de pesares,
cubridora en todo mal,
¡Sal!
Que a auroriña o ceu colora
cuns arbores que namora,
cun sembrante de ouro e prata
teñidiño de escalrata,
cuns vestidos de diamante
que lle borda o sol amante
antre as ondas de cristal.
¡Sal! Señora en todo mal,
que o sol xa brila nas cunchiñas do areal,
que a luz do día viste a terra de alegría,
que o sol derrete con amor a escarcha fría.
Branca aurora, ven chegando
i ás portiñas vai chamando
dos que dormen esperando
ao teu folgor.
Cor de alba hermosa
lles estendes nos vidriños cariñosa,
donde o sol tamén suspende,
cando aló no mar se tende,
de fogax larada viva,
dempois leve, fuxitiva,
triste, vago resprandor.
III
Cantor dos aires, paxariño alegre,
canta, canta porque o millo medre.
Cantor da aurora, alegre namorado,
ás meniñas dille que xa sal o sol dourado;
que o gaiteiro, ben lavado,
ben vestido, ben peitado,
da gaitiña acompañado
A porta está... ¡xa!
Se espricando que te esprica,
repinica, repinica
na alborada ben amada
das meniñas cantadeiras,
bailadoras, rebuldeiras;
das velliñas alegriñas,
das que saben ben ruar.
¡Arriba todas, rapaciñas do lugar,
que o sol i a aurora xa vos vén a dispertar!
¡Arriba, arriba, toleirona mocidad,
que atruxaremos, cantaremos o alalá!
I
Depart, night, start fleeing!
Come, dawn, start breaking
With your face that smiling
Scares the shadow away!
Sing, little bird, sing
From twig to branch for the sun rises
Over the green hill, over the hill green,
Gladdening the grass, cheering the springs!
Sing, merry little bird, sing.
Sing so the corn will grow, sing;
Sing so the light will listen,
Sing, sing for the night has fled.
II
The dark night on its shift comes severe
With her mantle of sadness,
With magic spells and fears,
Harbinger of heartaches,
Haven of regrets,
Cloak to every evil,
Leave!
For the darling dawn enamours
Colouring the sky with auroral colours,
With semblance of gold and silver
Daintily dyed scarlet,
With diamond gowns
Her lover sun embroiders
Among the crystal billows.
Leave, mistress of every evil! For the sun
Already shines on the seashells in the sand,
For daylight dresses the earth with mirth,
For the sun melts the frigid frost with love.
White aurora, start arriving
And go knocking at the friendly doors
Of those who slumber awaiting
Your splendour.
Dawn's gorgeous colour
You spread fond over the window panes,
Whereon the sun also dangles,
When it lies on the sea yonder,
A bonfire's vivid blaze,
Followed by feeble, fugitive,
Sad, vague glow.
III
Minstrel of the air, jolly little bird,
Sing, sing so the corn will grow.
Minstrel of the sunrise, jolly suitor,
Tell the girls that the golden sun is out;
That the piper, well washed,
Well dressed, well combed,
Of his trusty bagpipe accompanied
Is at the door...now!
He chimes, he chimes,
Explaining and explaining himself
In the sunrise so well loved
By girls with a song on their lip,
By spright girls with dancing feet,
By the cheery, charming dear grannies,
By those who amble about the town.
Rise, lassies of the place, every one,
For sun and dawn are come to awaken you!
Rise, rise, wild youth,
We'll yell-yodel, we'll sing the alalá!
To Mr. Camilo Álvarez e Castro, Cantor of the Cathedral of Salamanca (Ao Sr. D. Camilo Álvarez e Castro, Chantre da Catedral de Salamanca)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Background
"Roxiña cal sol dourado" is related to "Lass of the Green Mountain" (poem 6).
De Castro dedicated "Roxiña cal sol dourado" to the cantor of the cathedral of Salamanca, Camilo Álvarez de Castro. This man was the only favourable critic of Cantares Gallegos. He wrote a letter to Rosalía de Castro, dated November 12, 1864, which was "full of affection and praise for the Galician poetess." He wrote his letter in the Galician language, a very unusual thing to do at the time,
What songs, Rosalía! See, I turn them over and over as is done to flour in the sieve, and I dare not touch them, for they are carnations and would wither and lose their aroma should I touch them. After these Cantares of yours I consider you a meiga (N.T. a good witch, a wizardess) [...] and be neither sated nor silent until everybody shouts, "Maybe it's true what this wizardess says about the treasures of Galicia!"
De Castro's books of poetry succeeded in making Galicians wish to rescue their language from oblivion. As the letter explained,
I arrived to the banks of the Tormes (N.T. the river that skirts the Castilian city of Salamanca) but I did not forget the Miño (N.T. the main river of Galicia). Nor did I forget the language of my parents and grandparents telling me stories in the kitchen, watching sparks dart and the dough boil in the hearth and cinders fly upward like snowflurries to the trammel chain by the light of the oil lamp [...] That is why I read your Cantares as a hungry man eats bread, as the butterflies kiss the flowers.
Translator's Notes
Some verses of "Roxiña cal sol dourado" are reverse sentences (1.1.5-7, 1.2.6-7, 1.4.5-7, 2.2.3-4, 2.5.3-4). Such sentences sacrifice logical sequencing in order to obtain rhyme or to proffer a deliberately prolix style. For example the translated sentence, "So white (her feet) they resembled two snowflakes in repose dazzling in the light of day" (1.5-7) reads in the original, "A snowflake in repose dazzling in the light of day her foot so white resembled." Reverse sentences often translate poorly into English without being rearranged.
"Roxiña cal sol dourado" is another poem of "Cantares Gallegos" that employs the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language. The affectionate diminutive ends in iña (singular feminine) or iño (singular masculine). It makes translating harder and something of artwork, but to yield to the temptation of ignoring it altogether is to deprive the reader of the full emotion stamped on the poem.
All the words in "Roxiña cal sol dourado" which end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice made where necessary. On the plus side, Galician affectionate diminutives provide the translator with an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme or lyrical sharpness to the text. The goal of the translator is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys size, frailty, sympathy or endearment depending on the context.
airiños. Dim. and pl. of "aire" (air, wind). There are two possible interpretations. The first and most common weighs the intensity of the wind and would translate as "light winds" or "breezes." The second views the wind with affection and would translate as "beloved winds" or "sweet winds." The context endorses the first interpretation, "breezes."
arboriño. Dim. of "arbore" (tree). There are two possible interpretations. The first evaluates the age of the tree or its size and delivers the translation, "sapling," employed here. The second supposes an affectionate regard for the flowering tree. The choice is really a coin toss.
auguiña. Dim. of "auga" (water) translated "tranquil water" to complement the clause, "which the wind ruffles." Other options: fine water, serene water.
campiño. Dim. of "campo" (field) translated "handy...patch" because the field is an object of affection for being a convenient place for drying the laundry. Another option: nifty field.
coitadiños. Dim. and pl. of "coitado" (unfortunate, shy) translated "poor timid ones." Another option: retiring, shy ones.
delgadiña. Dim. of "delgada" (thin) translated "slender" (attractively thin). Other options: slim, svelte, trim.
festiñas. Dim. and pl. of "festa" (celebration, party) translated "fun tricks" because the compound phrase, "facerlle festiñas," normally tabs playing with a baby to make it smile or laugh.
fontiña. Dim. of "fonte" (fountain) translated "dear fountain." Other options: brook, popular stream. A typical "fountain" of the Galician countryside consisted of a pipe incrusted in rock to serve as a spout for human consumption and a sink underneath to serve as a watering hole for the cattle (illustration). It is not clear whether this is what "fontiña" means here or simply a stream.
mañanciña (early morning hours). Not an affectionate diminutive.
meniñas. Pl. of meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive.
olliños. Dim. and pl. of "ollo" (eye) translated "lovely...eyes."
ondiñas. Dim. and pl. of "onda" (wave) translated "ripples." Other appropriate options: gentle waves, small undulations (of the braids).
ovelliña. Dim. of "ovella" (lamb) translated "poor lamb" because the girl is afflicted.
paniños. Dim. and pl. of "pano" (linen) translated "household linen" because the affectionate diminutive precludes expensive linen. Other options: common fabrics, everyday linen.
paxariños. Dim. and pl. of "paxaro" (bird) translated "little birds." The phrase connotes size and affection.
peitiño. Dim. of "peito" (breast, chest) translated "poor breast."
peniña. Dim. of "pena" (grief, sorrow) translated "intimate grief." Another option: secret sorrow.
roxiña. Dim. of "roxa" (blonde, flaxen, any colour from gold to light chestnut) translated "pretty and blonde." Other options: cute and blonde, delightfully golden, lovely and flaxen. Incidentally roxa curiously denotes the colour purple in the Portuguese language.
veiriña. Dim. of "veira" (wayside) translated "green...wayside" because De Castro loved vegetation.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
co branco pé descalzado (1.1.4). The literal translation, "with the white foot unshod," is ambiguous in the English language, the girl is neither lame nor do her feet differ in colour, hence the better translation is, "with her white feet unshod." In tandem the translation turns De Castro's "copo de neve pousado" (1.1.5) into "two fallen snowflakes" (1.1.6).
cimbréase con folgura (1.4.6). De Castro uses the present tense ("sways") where the narrative's flow requires the past tense ("swayed"). The translation opts for the past tense.
cántanlle o doce a... la... lala (2.2.6). An alalá is a distinct type of traditional song. Alalá do Ulla is one example.
Folklore
Five examples of traditional highland music follow. Xabier Díaz and Adufeiras de Salitre perform "Mountain Song" (first entry). The second and third entries are exhibitions of dance and music from the highlands of Ancares (Lugo province) and O Courel (Ourense province).
Roxiña cal sol dourado,
garrida cal fresca rosa,
iba polo monte hermosa
co branco pé descalzado...
Copo de neve pousado,
deslumbrando á luz do día,
tan branco pé parecía.
As longas trenzas caídas,
con quen os ventos xogaban,
ondiñas de ouro formaban
na branca espalda tendidas;
apertadas e bruñidas,
que espigas eran coidara
o que de lonxe as mirara.
Tiñan os cores do mare
os seus olliños dormentes;
máis doces, máis transparentes,
naide os poidera encontrare;
naide velos sin amare
o corazón sin falsía
que por antre eles se vía.
Levaba na frente a ialma,
nos doces labios a risa,
auguiña que o vento enrisa,
pousaba no fondo en calma.
Tal como gallarda palma
cimbréase con folgura
a delgadiña cintura.
Ó par da brisa temprada
que antre os salgueiros corría,
ela correndo seguía
unha veiriña encantada;
que alí mansa e sosegada
manaba unha fresca fonte
cabo da falda do monte.
II
Franca, pura, sin enganos,
canta, canta, garruleira,
ó pé da verde silveira
lavando os seus brancos panos.
Ó son dos romores vanos
que nacen ca mañanciña,
lava, lava na fontiña.
Xunto dela os paxariños
gorgorexan que é un contento;
faille festiñas o vento
cos seus hirmáns os airiños.
Os pastores, coitadiños,
cántanlle o doce a... la... lala...,
que lengua de amores fala.
Ela honesta está escoitando,
mais con sospiros responde,
que aló garda non sei donde
saudades de non sei cando.
Os paniños vai lavando,
e a tendelos se apresura
nun campiño de verdura.
Dempois no rego que pasa
verte unha bágoa serena,
filla da escondida pena
que o seu peitiño traspasa,
pois que de amores se abrasa
aquela que é fresca rosa
tan amante como hermosa.
Compañeiras van chegando,
cal máis a máis ben portada,
xarros de louza vidrada
antre os seixos van pousando.
Cai a auguiña mormuxando,
brancas vinchas se levantan,
as meniñas cantan... cantan.
As estrelas van fuxindo,
a espesa niebra enrarece,
o arboriño que frorece
por antre ela vai saíndo.
O craro sol vai subindo
por riba do firmamento,
limpo, gárrulo e contento.
Arredor todo arrescende
a olido de primadera,
i aló na azulada esfera
fogax de groria se encende;
mais a meniña n'atende
sinón ao dor, ¡mal pecado!,
que ten no peito encravado.
Danlle estrañeza os cantares,
danlle de chorar deseios,
i, os ollos de bágoas cheios,
pensa nos nativos lares;
que n'hai máis tristes pesares,
máis negra malencolía,
que a que entre estraños se cría.
Paxariños, verde prado,
branca lúa e sol ardente,
todo consolo é impotente
en mal tan desconsolado;
todo contento é trubado
pola peniña sin fondo
que hai no corazón abondo.
Por eso a meniña hermosa,
foxe da alegre fontiña,
tal como triste ovelliña
que trema de dor queixosa.
Vai sentida, vai chorosa,
mentras lle cantan con saña:
"¡Da montaña!, ¡da montaña!".
I ela, que de tal se estraña,
ferida no que máis sinte,
que a maltraten non consinte,
i así lles contesta huraña:
"Anque che son da montaña,
anque che son montañesa,
anque che son, non me pesa".
I
Pretty and blonde as the golden sun,
Luscious as a fresh rose,
Gorgeous she roved through the highland
With her white feet unshod...
So white they resembled
Two fallen snowflakes
Dazzling in the daylight.
Long braids trailing down,
Which the winds played with,
Formed ripples of gold
Lying on her white back;
Taut and burnished,
Some onlooker afar would
Suppose them ears of grain.
Her lovely sleepy eyes
Owned the sea's colours;
Sweeter or more transparent
No one could find;
No one see them without loving
The guileless heart
That showed through them.
She bore the soul on the brow,
On the sweet lips laughter,
Tranquil water that the wind ruffles
Plumbed the depths peaceful.
The slender waist
Swayed with abandon
Like a glamorous palm tree.
She covered running,
Together with the mild breeze
That scampered amid the willows,
A green enchanted wayside;
For there a fresh fountain
Flowed out gentle and calm
By the hillside.
II
Sincere, pure, without duplicity,
She sings, sings, garrulous,
At the foot of the green brambles
Washing her white linen.
To the sound of the vain rumours
That are born with the early morning
She washes, washes at the dear fountain.
Next to her the little birds
Warble to one's content,
The wind with its brothers the breezes
Plays fun tricks on her.
The shepherds, poor timid ones,
Sing to her the sweet a... la... lala...,
Language that talks about love.
She is listening honest,
But answers with sighs,
For she keeps I know not where
Yearnings of I know not when.
She keeps washing the household linen,
And hastens to put it to dry
On a handy grassy patch.
Afterwards on the passing creek
She lets a serene teardrop fall,
Daughter of the hidden grief
That pierces her poor breast through,
For she broils with loves
She who is fresh rose
As much a lover as she is beautiful.
Companions start arriving,
Each new arrival the best dressed,
Setting down glazed stoneware crocks
Amid the gravel and the small rocks.
The water falls murmuring,
White bubbles surface,
The girls sing...sing.
The stars start departing,
The thick fog thins,
The flowering sapling
Starts to stand out.
The bright sun rising tracks
Above the firmament,
Clear, garrulous, content.
Everywhere the scent of spring
Perfumes the surroundings,
And aloft on the bluish sphere
Ignites a blaze of glory;
But the girl is only aware
Of the heartbreak—base sin!—
Pegged to her breast.
She finds the songs strange,
They lean her to cry,
And full of tears the eyes,
Ponders the familiar haunts of home;
For there is no sadder sorrow
Or blacker melancholy
Than the one nurtured among strangers.
Little birds, green meadow,
White moon and blazing sun,
Every solace is impotent
For so unhappy an ailment;
Every good feeling perturbed
By the intimate, fathomless grief
That abides abundant in the heart.
That is why the gorgeous girl
Flees from the dear gladsome stream
Like a poor doleful lamb
That quivers with pain, plaintive.
She leaves offended, she leaves teary-eyed,
As they chant against her with venom:
"Hillbilly! Hillbilly!"
And she, who wonders at it,
Wounded in her innermost being,
Does not consent to their abuse,
And replies diffidently:
"Although I am from the mountain,
Although mountaineer I am—
Although I am—I don't regret it."
10. Where Many Spit, Loam Turns To Muck (Vinte unha crara noite)
(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)
Background
"Vinte unha crara noite" twice mentions a Galician tradition associated with the night of St. John's Eve (1.1.1-4, 2.2.1-4). This custom was the soaking of a bundle of medicinal and aromatic herbs in a bowl or in large tin basin under the moonlight of the summer solstice. Next morning everybody washed their face, hands or body with the fragrant, greenish water, and the bundle was put out to dry in the summer sun during several days. Once dry the bundle was hung from the back of the front door of the house and the herbs were used as the need arose. According to tradition this ritual exorcized evil spirits, warded off witches and protected against envy.
Translator's Notes
"Vinte unha crara noite" makes frequent use of the affectionate diminutive form (feminine termination iña, masculine iño). This form complicates the job of translating because an affectionate diminutive does not usually have a unique English equivalent and sometimes not even a single interpretation. Nevertheless to yield to the temptation of treating the affectionate diminutive as a nuisance and ignoring it altogether deprives the poem of its full expressiveness. On the plus side the affectionate diminutive offers the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The objective is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context.
All the words in "Vinte unha crara noite" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a short explanation of the translation made.
amoriño. Dim. of "amor" (love) translated "gentle love." Other options: sweet love, tender love.
estrelliñas. Dim. and pl. of "estrella" (star) translated "twinkling stars" to project affection surreptitiously through a subliminal recall of the much-loved nursery rhyme "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." Other options: little stars, pretty stars.
Farruquiño. Dim. of "Farruco," a colloquial variant of "Francisco" (Francis) translated "Frankie."
fresquiña. Dim. of "fresca" (cool, fresh) translated "sparkling fresh" to match the description of the girl given on 1.5-8.
honriña. Dim. of "honra" (honour) translated "good name" (3.2) and "reputation" (3.3). The diminutive here reflects the lower social status of the girl: her honour matters little to society.
meiguiña. Dim. of "meiga" (enchantress, witch, wizard) reluctantly translated "charming enchantress" because English dictionaries do not accept the entry "wizardess" though the term "wizard" is male-biased.
meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive.
miña (my). Not a diminutive.
muchadiña. Dim. of "muchada" (listless, pale, withered) translated "sadly withered." Other options: piteously pale, wretchedly listless.
noitiña (evening twilight, nightfall). Strictly speaking not a diminutive.
orballiño. Dim. of "orballo" (drizzle) translated "dew" because drizzle is rare inland during the summer (Note: St. John's Eve falls on June 23). Other options: fine spray, refreshing drizzle.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
na fonte a serenar (1.1.4, 2.2.4). "Fonte" means "fountain" but can also mean "table bowl."
Pombal (2.4.6). De Castro probably had Pombal de Abaixo in mind, 3.5 kilometers northeast of Padrón.1
Vinte unha crara noite,
noitiña de San Xoán,
poñendo as frescas herbas
na fonte a serenar.
E tan bonita estabas
cal rosa no rosal
que de orballiño fresco
toda cuberta está.
Por eso, namorado,
con manso suspirar
os meus amantes brazos
boteiche polo van,
e ti con dulces ollos
e máis dulce falar,
meiguiña, me emboucastes
en prácido solás.
As estrelliñas todas
que aló no espazo están,
sorrindo nos miraban
con soave craridá.
E foron, ¡ai!, testigos
daquel teu suspirar
que ó meu correspondía
con amoriño igual.
Pero dempois con outros
máis majos e galáns
(mais non que máis te queiran,
que haber, non haberá),
tamén, tamén, meniña,
soupeches praticar
á sombra dos salgueiros,
cabo do romeiral.
Por eso eu che cantaba
en triste soledá,
cando, ¡ai de min!, te vía
por riba da veiga llana,
con eles parolar:
"Coida, miña meniña,
das práticas que dás,
que donde moitos cospen,
lama fan."
II
¡Que triste ora te vexo!...
¡Que triste, nena, estás!...
Os teus frescos colores,
¿donde, meniña, van?
O teu mirar sereno,
o teu doce cantar,
¿donde, meniña, donde,
coitada, toparás?
Xa non te vin, meniña,
na noite de San Xoán,
poñendo as frescas herbas
na fonte a serenar.
Xa non te vin fresquiña
cal rosa no rosal,
que muchadiña estabas
de tanto saloucar.
Ora, de dor ferida,
buscando a honriña vas,
honriña que perdeches,
mais ¿quen cha volverá?
Eu ben, miña meniña,
ben cha quixera dar,
que aquel que ben te quixo
doise de verte mal.
Mais anque dir, eu diga,
que limpa, nena, estás,
respóndenme sorrindo
por se de min bulrar
«Ben sabes, Farruquiño,
Farruco do Pombal,
que donde moitos cospen,
lama fan».
I
I saw you on a cloudless night,
At twilight Saint John's Eve,
Setting the fresh herbs to steep
In the table bowl for the night.
And you looked as pretty
As a rose in the rose bush
Drenched
In fresh dew.
That is why, enamoured,
With soft sighs
I threw my loving arms
Around your waist;
And you, charming enchantress,
With sweet eyes and sweeter talk
Beguiled me
In placid solace.
All the twinkling stars
That in space above reside
Looked at us smiling
With soft-light shine.
And they were witnesses ah!
Of those sighs of yours
Which reciprocated mine
In equal, gentle love.
Yet afterward with others
More handsome and gallant than I
(Though none who love you more,
For no one ever ever shall)
As well, as well, lass,
You were wont to chatter
Under the shade of the willow trees,
Beyond the field of rosemaries.
That is why I used to sing to you
In sullen solitude
When wretched me! I saw you
Chatting with them
Across the flat lowland:
"Be careful, my lass,
About the conversations you have,
For where many spit,
Loam turns to muck."
II
How sad I see you now!...
How sad, girl, you are!...
Your glowing colours, lass,
Whither did they part?
Your serene gaze,
Your sweet singing, lass,
Where, o ill-starred one,
Where will you find?
No longer did I see you, lass,
On the night of Saint John's Eve
Setting the fresh herbs to steep
In the table bowl for the night.
No longer did I see you sparkling fresh
Like a rose in the rose hedge,
For sadly withered you were
From weeping so much.
Now you go about scarred by pain
In search of your good name,
Reputation you surrendered,
But who will render it?
O how, how I wish, my lass,
I could give it back to you,
For he who loved you true
Suffers to see you ailing.
But however much I say and say
What a wholesome girl you are,
They reply to me smiling
To make of me fun,
"Well you know, Frankie,
Frank of Pombal,
"Has de Cantar" makes extensive use of the affectionate diminutive form peculiar to the Galician language. The affectionate diminutive ends in iña (singular feminine) or iño (singular masculine) but not every word that ends in iña or iño is an affectionate diminutive.
All the words in "Has de Cantar" that end in iña or iño are listed below together with a range of possible translations and a short explanation of the choice that was made. Galician affectionate diminutives lend the translator an opportunity to add alliteration, internal rhyme and lyrical sharpness to the text. The objective is to find the best adjective, adverb or noun which conveys smallness, frailty, concern or affection depending on the context. This objective ends in a personal choice when more than one translation is available as is often the case. Sometimes an affectionate diminutive is best ignored because the context is unclear, because the extra term jars the smooth flow of the translation or because it makes the text too syrupy. The exercise can be fun, difficult and challenging. The extra work is worthwhile because it offers the English reader an approximation to what De Castro called "those tender words and those idioms never forgotten which sounded so sweet to my ears since the cradle and which were gathered up by my heart as its own heritage."
boliños. Dim. and pl. of "bolo" (round loaf) translated "buns." Arguably not an affectionate diminutive. A bun is a small round bread roll.
festiña. Dim. of "festa" (celebration) translated "merriment." Other options: celebration, delight, festivity, fun, joy. The diminutive here suggests a brief respite from habitual privation, hard work or boredom.
fontiñas. Dim. and pl. of "fonte" (fountain) translated "dear fountains." Other options: good fountains, little fountains, popular springs, refreshing fountains. A typical "fountain" of the Galician countryside consisted of a pipe incrusted in rock to serve as a spout for human consumption and a sink underneath to serve as a watering hole for the cattle (illustration).
gaitiña. Dim. of "gaita" (bagpipe). The diminutive was ignored to benefit the meter on the last two stanzas of section I.
meniña (girl, lass). Not an affectionate diminutive.
meniña gaiteira. Translated "piperette." Not an affectionate diminutive. Another option: lass bagpiper.
mociños. Dim. and pl. of "mozo" (boy, lad, youth) translated "laddies." Other options: dear boys, dear lads, young boys.
ondiñas. Dim. and pl. of "onda" (wave) translated "gentle waves." Other options: fair-weather waves, light surf, lovely sea, low swell, nice surf, ripples, sailing waves, small waves, tame sea.
papiñas. Dim. of "papas" (a sweet homemade corn starch sauce) translated "pastry cream." Here the diminutive was ignored because a pastry cream already implies delicious, sweet or sugary flavour. Other options: sweet corn starch sauce, sugary corn starch filling, pleasing corn starch dessert. The singular noun ("papa") is not normally used for this dessert.
queixiñas. Dim. and pl. of "queixa" (complaint) translated "whimpers." Not an affectionate diminutive. A whimper is a subdued complaint or lament.
sopiñas. Dim. and pl. of "sopa" (soup). The diminutive was ignored for its ambiguity. It describes either a small serving or a hearty soup, and the context does not clarify which is the appropriate option.
velliñas. Dim. and pl. of "vella" (old woman) translated "dear old women." Other options: dear grannies, grannies.
viñas (vineyards). Not a diminutive.
viño (here wine). Not a diminutive.
Explanation of some words, terms or expressions
Dareiche unha proia (1.3.3)...
Proia
Source: C. Lliso. Proya de Pontedeume. Rutas Románicas en España
By the bank of the river that runs mid the grass of the flowerful fields (2.2.2-4). This is the river Sar most likely.
In foam with pearls washed up by the sea (3.3.5-6). Tags the abundance of crustaceans on the seaside, particularly clams and mussels.
Dios santo (4.6.1), á Virxen (4.10.1). These colloquial terms are best translated to their English equivalents, "good Lord" (instead of "holy God") and "Our Lady" (instead of "the Virgin").
Musical Adaptation
Composer Joaquín Rodrigo arranged the first four stanzas of Section IV of "Has de Cantar" to create the first movement of his "Rosaliana" score for soprano and orchestra. The piece is performed below by soprano Raquel Lojendio accompanied by the Principality of Asturias Symphony Orchestra. Carmen Rey and Nani García make a jazz adaptation of section III and of the first four stanzas of section IV on the second entry below.
Tan vivos colores
a vista trubaban;
de velos tan váreos
o sol se folgaba.
De velos bulindo
por montes e veigas,
coidou que eran rosas
garridas e frescas.
III
Lugar máis hermoso
non houbo na terra
que aquel que eu miraba,
que aquel que me dera.
Lugar máis hermoso
no mundo n'hachara
que aquel de Galicia,
¡Galicia encantada!
Galicia frorida,
cal ela ningunha,
de froles cuberta,
cuberta de espumas,
de espumas que o mare
con perlas gomita,
de froles que nacen
ó pé das fontiñas.
De valles tan fondos,
tan verdes, tan frescos,
que as penas se calman
nomáis que con velos;
que os ánxeles neles
dormidos se quedan,
xa en forma de pombas,
xa en forma de niebras.
IV
Cantarte hei, Galicia,
teus dulces cantares,
que así mo pediron
na veira do mare.
Cantarte hei, Galicia,
na lengua gallega,
consolo dos males,
alivio das penas.
Mimosa, soave,
sentida, queixosa;
encanta si ríe,
conmove si chora.
Cal ela, ningunha
tan doce que cante
soidades amargas,
sospiros amantes,
misterios da tarde,
murmuxos da noite.
Cantarte hei, Galicia,
na beira das fontes.
Que así mo pediron,
que así mo mandaron,
que cante e que cante
na lengua que eu falo.
Que así mo mandaron,
que así mo dixeron...
Xa canto, meniñas.
Coidá que comenzo.
Con dulce alegría,
con brando compás,
ó pé das ondiñas
que veñen e van.
Dios santo premita
que aquestes cantares
de alivio vos sirvan
nos vosos pesares;
de amabre consolo,
de soave contento,
cal fartan de dichas
compridos deseios.
De noite, de día,
na aurora, na sera,
oirésme cantando
por montes e veigas.
Quen queira me chame,
quen queira me obriga:
Cantar, cantareille
de noite e de día,
por darlle contento,
por darlle consolo,
trocando en sonrisas
queixiñas e choros.
Buscaime, rapazas,
velliñas, mociños,
buscaime antre os robres,
buscaime antre os millos,
nas portas dos ricos,
nas portas dos probes,
que aquestes cantares
a todos responden.
A todos, que á Virxen
axuda pedín,
porque vos console
no voso sufrir,
nos vosos tormentos,
nos vosos pesares.
Coidá que comenso...
Meniñas, ¡Dios diante!
Sing yes you must,
I'll give you boiled chestnuts;
Sing yes you must,
I'll give you loads of them.
I
You must sing,
Little piperette,
You must sing,
For I'm dying of heartache.
Sing, girl,
By the side of the fountain;
Sing, I will give you
Buns of polenta.
Sing, girl,
With delicate cadence,
I'll give you anisette crust cake
From the stone of the oven.
Pastry cream with milk
Too I will give you,
Soups seasoned with wine,
French toasts covered with honey.
Potatoes baked
With salt and with vinegar
That taste just like walnuts,
How tasty they are!
What a celebration, lass,
We will have if you sing...!
Merriment without,
Merriment within.
Sing if you will,
Cussed obstinate lass;
Sing if you will,
I'll give you an apron.
Sing if you want to,
In the language I talk;
I'll give you an apron,
I'll give you a petticoat.
With the sound of the bagpipe,
With the sound of the tambourine,
I beg you to sing,
Teenaged girl of brown skin.
With the sound of the bagpipe,
With the sound of the drum,
I beg you to sing,
Lass, for the sake of God.
II
Thus they begged me
By the seashore,
Beside the gentle waves
That roll to and fro.
Thus they begged me
By the bank of the river
That runs mid the grass
Of the flowerful fields.
Sang the crickets,
The cocks crowed,
The wind passed droning
Among the leaves.
The meadows flaunted,
The fountains flowed
Amid pastures and vineyards,
Fig trees and oaks.
The bagpipes played.
The boys danced
With modest girls
To the sound of tambourines.
How white are the bonnets!
What kerchiefs with fringe!
What carmine shawls!
Such ribbons! Such brooches!
What rich aprons!
What green petticoats!
What pretty corsets
Of bright red colour!
Such vivid colours
Strained the eyesight;
On seeing their variety
The sun beamed with delight.
On watching them bound
Over hills and lowlands
He thought they were roses,
Lush and fresh.
III
There has not been
A more beautiful place on earth
Than the one I gazed upon,
Than the one it gave me.
Nowhere in the world could I find
A more beautiful place
Than that of Galicia,
Enchanted Galicia!
Flowerful Galicia,
None like her,
Covered in flowers,
Covered in foam from the sea,
In foam with pearls
Washed up by the sea,
In flowers that bud
At the foot of the dear fountains.
Of valleys so deep,
So cool, so green,
That sorrows subside
With just seeing them;
That the angels within them
Drop off to sleep,
Now in the form of doves,
Now in the form of fogs.
IV
I'll sing to you, Galicia,
Your own sweet airs,
For so they asked me
By the seashore.
I'll sing about you, Galicia,
In the Galician tongue,
Solace for ills,
Relief from misery,
Cuddly, mellow,
Sensitive, mewling,
She charms if she laughs,
She moves hearts if she cries.
No other can sing
As sweet as she
Bitter solitudes,
Loving sighs,
Mysteries of the evening,
Murmurs of the night.
I'll sing about you, Galicia,
Beside the fountains.
For so they asked me,
For so they bade me,
That I should sing and sing
In the language I speak.
For so they bade me,
For so they told me...
I start to sing, lasses.
Look out, I begin.
With sweet gaiety,
With soft rhythm,
Beside the gentle waves
That roll to and fro.
May the good Lord grant
That these songs
Avail you relief
In your hardships;
Amiable solace,
Tempered contentment,
Just as fulfilled wishes
Fill with happiness.
By night, by day,
At dawn, in the evening,
You will hear me singing
Over hills and lowlands.
Call to me whoever will,
Whoever will binds me:
Sing I will sing
By night and by day,
To bring joy,
To bring comfort,
Turning to smiles
Whimpers and tears.
Look for me, lasses,
Dear old women, laddies,
Look for me amidst the oak trees,
Look for me amidst the cornfields,
At the doors of the rich,
At the doors of the poor,
For these songs
Heed everyone's call.
Everyone, for I asked
Our Lady to help me,
That I might console you
In your affliction,
In your troubles,
In your burdens.
