Pablo Guerrero’s “They are men that die without have ever seen the sea”


54 Pablo Guerrero is one of the most tender and sweeter. Born in Esparragosa de Lares, a village of Badajoz, Extremadura, in 1946. In 1969 comes to Madrid for singing; his first songs are influenced by Extremadura’s traditional songs, but soon he’ll sing also songs with Dylan, Paco Ibáñez, Georges Brassens, Moustaki and Jose Afonso influences. His great song is "A cántaros" ("It’s pouring"), that became in a song of solidarity. Pablo’s poetry is one of the most beautiful: talking about friendship, solidarity, humanity, brotherhood, his land and, of course, love. He also recorded songs with Africans influence, and today, without the previous power of voice, his songs are more literary than musicals. Some of his best LPs are A cántaros (Pours) and Porque amamos el fuego (Because we love fire).

This is one of his first songs, and talks about the peasant from Extremadura

 

Son hombres que se mueren sin haber visto la mar

Los siglos de silencio, que tanto pesan,
te duelen más, amigo, que la tristeza,             
que la tristeza, que la tristeza
de ver que es  para el amo lo que tú siembras.

Por ahí van, por ahí van,
son hombres que se mueren sin haber visto la mar.

Trabajaron cien años,  que consiguieron,
la sombra de una encina cuando murieron,
cuando murieron, cuando murieron
cubrió por fin la tierra todos sus sueños.

Por ahí van, por ahí van,
son hombres que se mueren sin haber visto la mar.

La voz del campesino, que fue escondida,
entre cerros y valles, campo y fatiga,
campo y fatiga,  campo y fatiga
fueron voces sin eco, toda su vida.

Por ahí van, por ahí van,
son hombres que se mueren sin haber visto la mar.

Pero tu voz dormida, no es para siempre,
puedes cantar ahora, grita más fuerte,
grita más fuerte, grita más fuerte
no pidas por favor lo que te deben.

Por ahí van, por ahí van,
son hombres que se mueren sin haber visto la mar.

They are men that die without ever seen the sea

The centuries of silence,/ that weigh on so,/ hurt you more, my friend,/ than sadness,/ than sadness, than the sadness/ of seeing is for the owner that you seed.// There they go, there they go,/ they are men that die without ever seen the sea.// They worked for a hundred years, what did they get?/ the shadow of an oak when they died,/ when they died, when they died/ in the end the soil  covered all their dreams.// There they go… // The peasant’s voice, that was hidden,/ between hills and valleys,/ field and fatigue,/ field and fatigue, field and fatigue/ they were voices without an echoe along all their life.// There they go… // But your voice it’s not forever asleeping,/ you can sing now, cry louder,/ cry louder, cry louder,/ don’t ask for please what they owe you.

Pablo Guerrero

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