Chapter 11 of Translation from Galician to English of 11 poems by Rosalia de Castro

Source: "Así Es Galicia" (1964)

11. You Must Sing (Has de cantar)

(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)

Translator's Notes

"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.

Chingla from the 2023 album Cantarche ei Galicia

Raquel Lojendio and the Principality of Asturias Symphony Orchestra

Marta Pérez and Pedro Rodríguez (voice and piano)

Has de cantar,
que che hei de dar zonchos;
has de cantar,
que che hei de dar moitos.

Has de cantar,
meniña gaiteira,
has de cantar,
que me morro de pena.

Canta, meniña,
na veira da fonte;
canta, dareiche
boliños do pote.

Canta, meniña,
con brando compás,
dareiche unha proia
da pedra do lar.

Papiñas con leite
tamén che darei;
sopiñas con viño,
torrexas con mel.

Patacas asadas
con sal e vinagre,
que saben a noces,
¡que ricas que saben!

¡Que feira, rapaza,
si cantas faremos...!
Festiña por fóra,
festiña por dentro.

Canta si queres,
rapaza do demo;
canta si queres,
dareiche un mantelo.

Canta si queres,
na lengua que eu falo;
dareiche un mantelo,
dareiche un refaixo.

Co son da gaitiña,
co son da pandeira,
che pido que cantes,
rapaza morena.

Co son da gaitiña,
co son do tambor,
che pido que cantes,
meniña, por Dios.

Así mo pediron
na beira do mar,
ó pé das ondiñas
que veñen e van.

Así mo pediron
na beira do río
que corre antre as herbas
do campo frorido.

Cantaban os grilos,
os galos cantaban,
o vento antre as follas
runxindo pasaba.

Campaban os prados,
manaban as fontes
antre herbas e viñas,
figueiras e robres.

Tocaban as gaitas.
Ó son das pandeiras,
bailaban os mozos
cas mozas modestas.

¡Que cofias tan brancas!
¡Que panos con freco!
¡Que dengues de grana!
¡Que sintas! ¡Que adresos!

¡Que ricos mandiles!
¡Que verdes refaixos!
¡Que feitos xustillos
de cor colorado!

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Look out, I start...
Lasses, God leads the way!

Archived translations from Galician to English of poems by Rosalia de Castro