Cécile (cecile_c) wrote,
Cécile
cecile_c

Te recuerdo, Amanda

Just because I feel like it...

I remember you, Amanda,
In the street after the rain
Running towards the factory where Manuel worked
The grin on your face
The rain in your hair
And nothing else mattered
Now you could be with him a little
With him
Just for five minutes
Life is eternal in just five minutes
Here comes the siren
They are back to work
And you, you’re walking
Bathing the street in your light
In those five minutes… you bloom

I remember you, Amanda,

In the street after the rain
Running towards the factory where Manuel worked
The grin on your face
The rain in your hair
And nothing else mattered
Now you could be with him a little
With him
Who went to the mountains
Who never did anything wrong, he just went to the mountains
And in five minutes
Everything was shattered
Here comes the siren
Back to work, again
Save for those who never came back
Among them Manuel

I remember you, Amanda,

In the street after the rain
Running towards the factory where Manuel worked...

With apologies to Victor Jara for the translation... But this song has spent a lot of time in my head lately, as I struggled to find a suitable ending for the story it inspired. From the comments I've received, there are few traces of the song left inside the story. Perhaps the connexion is only clear in my brain, the way that happens in dreams.

Translating words is a different way of savouring them, a form of intimate communication hidden within language itself. There can be whole stories lying inside a mistranslation, and even more in the seemingly perfect irruption of the right word springing into your mind, like another voice coming to life inside yours. Some people say there is no translation that doesn't betray its source. Strange, then, that it doesn't feel like betrayal--rather, it feels like an uncertain way of reaching out without words, coming closer and closer until you reach the impassable gap at the end of the way, like the emptiness that separates two atoms.

Only there is no emptiness in that gap, only a wealth of stories waiting to make that connexion between worlds, in spite of everything.

Tags: poetry, translation
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