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Brian Baumbusch: Music

El payador perseguido- excerpt

(Brian Baumbusch)
December, 2009
By Atahualpa Yupanqui, retold by Brian Baumbusch
An excerpt from the epic poem, "El payador persegudo" or "The Persecuted Rhymer" by Argentine folk hero, Atahualpa Yupanqui. This recording comes from a full length recital in December, 2009.
Estas cosas que yo pienso
no salen por ocurrencia.
Para formar mi esperencia
yo masco antes de tragar.
Ha sido largo el rodar
de ande saqué la alvertencia.

Si uno pulsa la guitarra
pa cantar cosas de amor,
de potros, de domador,
de la sierra y las estrellas,
dicen: ¡Qué cosa más bella!
¡Si canta que es un primor!

Pero si uno, como Fierro,
por ahí se larga opinando,
el pobre se va acercando
con las orejas alertas,
y el rico bicha la puerta
y se aleja reculando.

Debe trazar bien su melga
quien se tenga por cantor,
porque solo el impostor
se acomoda en toda huella.
Que elija una sola estrella
quien quiera ser sembrador…

En el trance de elegir
que mire el hombre p’adentro
ande se hacen los encuentros
de pensares y sentires.
Después… que tire ande tire,
con la concencia por centro.

Hay diferentes montones,
unos grandes, y otros chicos.
Si va pal montón del rico
el pobre que piensa poco,
detrás de los equivocos
se vienen los perjudicos.

Yo vengo de muy abajo,
y muy arriba no estoy.
Al pobre mi canto doy
y así lo paso contento,
porque estoy en mi elemento
y áhí valgo por lo que soy.

Si alguna vuelta he cantao
ante panzudos patrones,
he picaneao las razones
profundas del pobrerío.
Yo no traiciono a los míos
por palmas ni patacones.

Aunque canto en todo rumbo
tengo un rumbo preferido.
Siempre canté estremecido
las penas del paisanaje,
la explotación y el ultraje
de mis hermanos queridos.

TRANSLATION:

All these things that I think up
don’t come to me just on a whim.
To cut out my experience’s trim
I dice it up before I swallow.
The go’round path is long to follow
from which I’ve taken all my caution.

If one decides to pluck the guitar
to sing about love’s sharp fervor,
of the colt and of the tamer,
of the stars and of the hills,
they will say then “What a thrill!
O, his singing’s such a pleasure!”

But if one like Martin Fierro
wants to be opinionated,
the poor man draws near fascinated
sure to keep his ears alert,
but the rich man chooses to desert
recoiling back and agitated.

He must trace out well his plot,
he who calls himself a singer,
because only the imposter
accommodates in every tract.
A single star will he elect
if he’s to be a good seed sower…

In the course of the electing
within himself a man must look
where encounters often strike
between his thoughts and with his feelings.
Afterwards… set off to wandering
while focusing on the inner mark.

There are different piles of wealth,
some are slight and some are vast.
If he goes for the rich man’s mass,
the poor man whose mind’s a haze,
passing through this obscure maze,
will then confront the harmful blasts.

I come here from down quite low
needless to say, I’m not very high.
For the poor man my song cries
and in this way I go content
because I’m in my element
being worthy just for what’s mine.

If along some trip I’ve sang
before the big potbellied bosses,
I’ve churned up the profound causes
behind this dreadful poverty.
I don’t betray those close to me
for coppers nor for long applauses.

Although I sing in any course
there is a course preferred by me.
I always sing while shuddering
the suffering of the countrymen,
the exploitation and demands
upon my beloved brothers heads.