La Hoguera (8-III-2015): Benedicto

Casi como un deber ineludible e inexcusable, nuestro programa de ayer fue un homenaje y un recorrido por la carrera del cantautor gallego Benedicto: el auténtico pionero de una canción popular en gallego. Un hombre que ha luchado por numerosas causas justas y que sigue luchando en las más duras batallas de la vida. ¡Unha aperta, compañeiro!

Escuchar:

http://www.ivoox.com/hoguera-benedicto-garcia-audios-mp3_rf_4283019_1.html

Casares’ “Poema de emerxencia para Antonio Machado”, sung by Xerardo Moscoso

Xerardo Moscoso was a Mexican-Galician songwriter, member of the Galician songwriter colective Voces Ceibes. Born in Mexico as a son of Galician emigrants, he came to Lugo to study, and then, joined Voces Ceibes. In 1973 is threatened by a Falangist (Nota Bene: a Falangist -Sp. falangista- is a member of the extreme-right party Falange Española, or of the unique party of the dictatorship Falange Española Tradicionalista y de las JONS); when he went to make a denounce to police, he is intimidated by them, due to his political filiation. So he decided to go out bound to Switzerland. He went back in 1976 to Spain, but is denounced after a concert with Paco Ibáñez in Vigo, and, as he had the Mexican citizenship, and, although he tried, the Francoist authorities denied him the double citizenship, he is forced to leave Spain; so he come back to Mexico. Nowadays, he runs in Mexico –where he lives- the Theater group La Gaviota.

Xerardo’s musical career is not too long (due to all those things and others): just two Eps, circa 1968, and one LP, Acción Galega (Galician Action), recorded in Switzerland and published in 1977. In the second of his EPs, Xerardo sings a poem called “Poema de emerxencia para Antonio Machado”, a thrilling poem dedicated to the great Spanish poet, die in exile at the French village of Collioure, symbol of the defeated Republican democracy and culture, as well as an example for those artists that want to make of their art a cry of justice and freedom. The poem is writen by Casares: I honestly must admit that I don’t know who is this poet yet, not even if he wrote in Galician or in Spanish.

Poema de emerxencia para Antonio Machado

Eiquí silencio,
ó norte Colliure
i unha morte que enxendra
corazóns prá libertade.

O milagre dun pobo
ente de amor,
o calor da tua cinza
que ente que nos ergue
contra perezosos tempos.

Na terra da charanga e dos pandeiros
Hai unha espranza que inda agarda
encher de futuro iste silencio.

Emergency poem for Antonio Machado

Here silence,/ at north Collioure/ and a dead that engenders/ hearts for the freedom.// The miracle of a people/ entity of love,/ the heat of your ash/ that is entity that raises us/ against lazy times.// In the land of charanga and of tambourines*/ there is a hope that still awaits/ fill up with future this silence.

Lyric: Casares

Musci: Xerardo Moscoso

* This verse is a reference to Machado’s poem “El mañana efímero” (The fleeting morning), where he begins saying: “The Spain of charanga and tambourine…” (approximate translation)

Spanish translation: https://albokari2.wordpress.com/2007/02/23/poema-de-emerxencia-para-antonio-machado/

“Radikales peligrosos” o “El regreso del Peatón con Opinión”

Éstos son los -según algunos políticos, periodistas y fuerzas de seguridad- peligrosos radicales que organizaron el 25-S y que fueron absueltos (no sé si es la palabra) por el juez Santiago Pedraz:

Cuando los vi en televisión, el corazón casi me da un vuelco al reconocer al hombre del medio por un vídeo que había visto, y eso que, curiosamente, a mí me cuesta recordar las caras. A partir del segundo 50 aproximadamente, podemos ver lo que este hombre estaba haciendo durante el 25-S:

En esos momentos, el hombre no estaba en las vallas que cercaban el Congreso. La policía le acusó de varias cosas que no se corresponden para nada con las imágenes que vemos. Y es que podemos aseverar que de desagradecidos está el mundo, y que si este hombre es un radikal peligroso, yo también quiero serlo: así de claro.

Por su parte, la sentencia del juez Pedraz ha levantado ampollas entre los otros actores de estos sucesos. De todas las personas y las cosas que han dicho, quiero resaltar una, porque me preocupa especialmente: la respuesta de doña Soledad Becerril, elegida por las cortes como Defensora del Pueblo:

¿Qué es la figura del Defensor del Pueblo, según la Constitución?:

Artículo 54.

Una Ley orgánica regulará la institución del Defensor del Pueblo, como alto comisionado de las Cortes Generales, designado por éstas para la defensa de los derechos comprendidos en este Título, a cuyo efecto podrá supervisar la actividad de la Administración, dando cuenta a las Cortes Generales.

Constitución Española de 1978, Título I, Capítulo IV

http://noticias.juridicas.com/base_datos/Admin/constitucion.t1.html#a54

Es decir, tal como yo lo entiendo, es una figura creada para defender a los ciudadanos de posibles y eventuales abusos por parte de la Administración, sea ésta general, autonómica o local; según el artículo 162 puede interponer ante el Tribunal Constitucional, el Recurso de Amparo, en nombre de personas naturales o jurídicas, y el de Inconstitucionalidad, en referencia a las leyes que se dicten por cualquiera de las administraciones. Lo que quiero decir con todo esto es que, a mi parecer, la señora Becerril –como en otra ocasión- se está extralimitando en sus funciones, haciendo declaraciones y tomando una competencia que no la compete en absoluto. Hace pensar que, si estos encausados, o cualquier otro, hubieran, por cualquier razón legítima, acudido a ella buscando el amparo que la Consitución garantiza a todo ciudadano, ella lo hubiera rechazado… Y no habría pasado nada porque como la respalda la mayoría absoluta del Congreso. La función de la defensora del pueblo es la de, como dice su nombre, proteger a los ciudadanos, y no a los políticos, en cuanto ejercen su función de políticos, y mucho menos al partido político al que pertenezca. Es por eso que yo creo que esta figura constitucional no puede emplearse para respaldar el comportamiento de los políticos, en cuanto ejercen su función de políticos, más que nada porque apenas necesitan esa protección, y además porque, pudiendo estar de acuerdo o no en que el juez Pedraz se extralimitara, no tiene ninguna potestad al respecto, porque hasta donde yo sé, este juez no ha faltado en ningún momento a principio constitucional alguno del Título I, y nadie le ha pedido recurso de amparo a este respecto. Se me ocurren muchas cosas para reformar las leyes que rigen la política española, y una de esas cosas es que la figura del Defensor, o Defensora, del Pueblo, necesita una revisión y una reforma urgente: esta figura debería ser lo más neutral posible, y no debería ser un instrumento más de poder del partido político, sea el que sea, que en ese momento se encuentre ejerciendo el papel gubernamental.

Pero, a fin de cuentas, yo no soy más que un peatón con opinión:

Benedicto’s “O aparato”

This is a funny Benedicto’s song, from his 1979’s LP Os nomes das cousas (The name of the things), where the great Galician songwriter makes a wise critic about the television in a swing music style. I guess the most of the things that Benedicto is talking about are so known all around the world: consumerism, manipulated information by the interested groups, inegnuousity of the audience (that sometimes become into faith), consciensce numbing, etc. Anyway, in the Spanish society of the last 70s, it has its social importance: after the years of economical development of 50s and 60s, it was considered as a social backwardness not to have one of those wonderful apparatus:

O Aparato

No meu pobo hai unha rúa
nesa rúa hai unha casa
e na casa pasan cousas
pasan moitas cousas raras.

Disque en lugar preferente
xunto á figura dun santo
coma se unha iglesia fora
hai agora un aparato.

Adornado de puntillas
ben limpiño con plumeiro
seica nos días de festa
zúmbanlle o botafumeiro.

O aparato deste conto
asemella un bicho-caixa:
ten dous cornos, tamén rabo
por diante moita cara.

Ó tocarlle nunha orella
sutilmente preparada
asubía moi finiño
bota a falar e non para.

Debe ter falar moi sabio
ou falar en lingoa estraña
porque cando o bicho empeza
alí todo o mundo cala.

Ten monecos que se moven
sempre dentro da súa caixa
e por moito que lles miren
eles nunca a vista baixan.

Dice que mira por todos
que por todos é mandado
debe ser corto de vista:
do goberno é noticiario.

Trapalladas non lle gostan
as verdades sempre canta
se di que mañán non chove
hai que saca-los paraugas.

Conselleiro da familia
a felicidá sinala:
pode estar na lavadora
na botella ou nunha laca.

Dádo-los tempos que corren
como as cousas van moi caras
el discurre xa por todos
e a cabeza así non gastan.

No meu pobo hai unha rúa
nesa rúa hai unha casa
e na casa pasan cousas
pasan moitas cousas raras.

The apparatus

In my town there’s a street/ In that street there’s a house/ and in the house happen things/ happen a lot of funny things.// As they say, in a preferencial place/ beside a saint’s figure/ as it were a church/ now there is an apparatus.// Adorned with laces*/ quite clean with the duster,/ perhaps on holidays/ they buzz it with the botafumeiro.// The apparatus of this tale/ look alike a box bug:/ it has two horns, also a tail/ in the front it has a large face [Alt. it has very cheek (see note below)]**// As it’s touched its ear/ laid subtly/ turn up very gentle/ start to talk and doesn’t stop.// It musts to have a very wise talking/ or a talking in a strange language/ because as the bug starts/ everyone there shut up.// It has puppets that move/ always inside its box/ and although the more they are looked/ they never look down.// It sais that it looks after everyone/ that it’s told by everybody/ It musts be weak-sighted:/ of Government it’s the news bulletin.// It doesn’t like the lies/ it always sings the truths/ if it sais tomorrown shall not rain/ it’s better to take the gamps.// Family’s adviser/ it points happiness:/ it might be in the washing machine/ in the bottle or in a hair spray.// In view of the actual times/ as the things are very expensive/ it already thinks instead of everybody/ and so they don’t waste their heads.// In my town there’s a street/ In that street there’s a house/ and in the house happen things/ happen a lot of funny things.

Benedicto García Villar

* An old Spanish practice, actually into abeyance: mothers and grandmothers used to decorate the TV machines with homemade laces and curious figures.

** I don’t really know if Benedicto is making a kind of wordplay between the literal meaning of to have a large face, talking about the TV screen, and the figuratively way in Galician (and Spanish) of to have very cheek. So I let the meaning to eanyone’s choice.

Spanish translation:

https://albokari2.wordpress.com/2007/02/20/o-aparato/

Celso Emilio Ferreiro’s “Olla meu irmao” (sung by Miro Casabella)

Alfonso Daniel Rodríguez Castelao, commonly known as Castelao (Rianxo, 1886 – Buenos Aires 1950), was a Galician politician, writer, doctor and a very satyrical drawer; it’s considered as the father of the Galician natioanlism. As a Galicianist and Republican intellectual, through his works, Castelao charge against the “chieftainism” (in the days of kings Alphons XII and Alphons XIII, chieftains and landlords were real running the country, running their villages, as in the Middle Age), the visions of the rural Galicia and Galicians: poverty, causes of emigration, analfabetism, etc. As politician, in the days of the second Republic, he was a parlamentarian and founder of the Partido Galeguista (Galicianist Party) and member of the Royal Academy of Galician Language. In 1934, after the incidents of Asturias, he was confined in Extremadura. But in 1936, he get back to Parlament as parlamentarian with Manuel Azaña’s Frente Popular (People Front). During th Civil War, he stood loyal to government, and made fantastic draws against fascist repression. He died in exile, in Argentina.

But Castelao’s occupations were not only politic issues: he also wrote works about Galician folklore and people costums. And so, after his dead, through the chancelorship of propaganda, i. e., Ministerio de Información y turismo (Ministry of Information and Tourism), the regime presents a folklorist Castelao, out of political issues, to conform the folklorism at service of the regime. So many leftist people and Galician nationalists get very aggravating. Betweem them, the great Galician poet Celso Emilio Ferreiro wrote a poem against this fact, but changing his name in Daniel, though the Galicians known who was Daniel. Some years later, a great Galician songwriter, Miro Casabella, put it into music and recorded in one of his first EPs:

Olla meu irmao

Olla meu irmao honrado
o que contece con Daniel,
os que o tiñan desterrado
agora falan ben del.

O palurdo de alma lerda
o tendeiro desertor,
o vinculeiro da merda
disfrazado de señor.

O lurdo carca refrito
o monifate de antroido,
o aprendiz de señorito
Marqués de Quero e non poido.

O badoco endomingado
o xoglar moi pousafol,
o forricas desleigado
o pequeno burgués mol.

O devoto do onanismo
o feligrés de pesebre,
o tolleito de cinismo
o que da gato por lebre

O rateiro de peirao
o refurgallo incivil,
valense de ti irmao [Alt. valense de Castelao]
para esconder a casta vil.

Escoita puto nefando
criado na sevidume,
non pasará o contrabando
dise teu noxento estrume.

Grotesco escriva sandeu
inxertado nun raposo,
Daniel nunca foi teu
porque Daniel é noso.

E anque a ti che importe un pito
saberás, que é cousa sabida,
que estás incurso en delito
de apropiación indebida.

Look, my brother

Look, my honest brother,/ what’s happening with Daniel:/ those who got him in exile/ now are talking well about him.// The hick of dull soul/ the deserter tradesman,/ the heir of shit/ disguised as a lord.// The rehash rude square (1)/ the carnival puppet,/ the rich kid apprentice (2)/ Marquis of *I want but I can’t* (3).// The Sunday vest bumpkin/ the so lazy minstrel (4),/ the *by-himself-outcast* (5) gross/ the limp petit bourgeois.// The onanism devotee/ the manger parishioner,/ the cripple of cynicism/ that who cons (6).// The pickpocket of dock/ the uncivil waste,/ they avail of you brother [Alt. they avail of Castelao]/ to hide the vile caste.// Listen fucked infamous/ grown up in serfhood,/ shall not pass the contraband/ of that disgusting muck of yours.// Grotesque fatuous scribe/ grafted in a fox,/ Daniel never was your/ because Daniel is ours.// And although you give a damn/ you should know, for that’s a known thing,/ you are committing a crime/ of misappropiation.

Celso Emilio Ferreiro

Live version

NOTES

The english translation, due to the difficult of the Galician text, has been made in base of this Spanish translation:

http://www.galiciaespallada.com.ar/ferreiroescolmabilingue.htm

Except parts from “O badoco endomingado…” to “… o pequeno burgués mol”, that there aren’t in that text. So it wa made by me, but with caution.

(1) Carca is a pejorative noun, diminutive of carcamal, “old crock” (in Spanish and Galician): in this diminutive for means a reactionary person, even a fascist. As I always like very much the 50 and 60’s English word “square”, so let it be, but maybe is not right at all.

(2) The word señorito, in this context, doesn’t mean exactly a young lord, but a person, either young or old, who think about himself as a person such important that pretends not to work and may others work for him. According to Word Refference, this is the term more apropiated.

(3) Quiero y no puedo is an expression with several aceptions. In this context means a person who wants to feign he’s an important person. I couldn’t find a translation.

(4) According to Galician Language Dictionary (http://www.edu.xunta.es/diccionarios/index_rag.html), figuratively, pousafoles is a very lazy person. If this is was Ferreiro meant, I intepreted as those kind of poets of the pos-war age, who sung about “good life”, country life, etc, and had a conception of his art as if, by the only fact of making poetry, they were in a higher status of society.

(5) This word is not exactly what it means. Desleigado means a person who rejected his vinculations with his family, or his national and cultural links, as the Galician bourgeoisie did. In English, “outcast”, is a rejected person, so I put the “by-himself”.

 (6) Dar gato por liebre is a set phrase: the expression comes from the days of misery, when tradesmen and cooks serf, instead of hare, cat. So, the expression past as a way of saying someone has been conned.

“Si vas ó convento de Herbón”, a traditional Galician folksong, sung by Benedicto

After Raimon’s recital in Santiago de Compostela, in 1968, a group of Galician songwriters decided to found a collective, similar to Catalan “Setze Jutges” (Cat. “Sixteen Judges”), where there could sing in Galician and promote their language, literature and culture through the song, also their critics to the Francoist regime: it was Voces Ceibes (Gal. “Free Voices”), and its two principal founders where Xavier González del Valle and, of course, Benedicto García. Their precepts where too strict: besides the language, the renounce to make “commercial music”, as pop, or any kind of folk music or folklore, cause Francoist regime had manipulated all the Spanish folklore as an instrument of political and commercial national propaganda.

At the beginnigs of the 70s decade, Voces Ceibes broke up, and every one of its member goes for his way. Benedicto, amazed by great Portuguese songwriter José Afonso, decides to go to Portugal and meet him. Afonso and Benedicto became in friends, and work together in several recitals and in the recording of José Afonso’s album Eu vou ser com a toupeira (1972), till 1974 (a little before the Portuguese revolution). Benedicto learnt a lot of things from José Afonso: between them, that traditional songs can be used for critical songs, and many times are so much usefull, because are songs that people know so well. So, Benedicto begun to use those traditional tunes in his concerts, and so, when he recorded his first LP Pola unión (1977), he recorded this beautiful Galician traditional song, with the help of his wife, Mayte, as duo:

Si vas ó convento de Herbón

Si vas ó convento de Herbón
vira polo direito,
vera-lo San Benitiño
botando auga polo peito.

Miña nai e maila túa
quedan no río berrando
por culpa dunha galiña
que tiña amores cun galo.

Unha perna téñoche eiquí,
outra no teu tellado;
mira se te quero nena
que estou escarranchado.

If you go to the convent of Herbón

If you go to the convent of Herbón/ look at your right,/ you shall see dear Saint Benedict/ pouring water on his breast.// My mother and yours/ stay in the river shouting/ because of a hen/ that is in love with a rooster.// One leg I have here for you,/ the other upon your roof;/ Realize how much I love you baby,/ I’m spread-eagled.

Traditional

Spanish translation:

https://albokari2.wordpress.com/2007/02/08/si-vas-o-convento-de-herbon/

A NOTE ABOUT THE SONG: Convent of Herbón is in Padrón, province of A Coruña. At July, 11, day of St. Benedict of Nursia, the neighbours go in pilgrimage to commemorate that day. It’s very curious that Benedicto sung this song about the day of the Saint whose, in English (in Spanish and Galician the name is “San Benito”) and as a derivation from Latin, is his too.

Manuel Curros Enríquez’s “O Maio” (put into a song by Luis Emilio Batallán)

There’s a lot of celebrations along Spain that celebrates the coming of the spring, specially, the comming of May. They are celebrations dating back from Pre-Christian, and even Pre-Romans, times. One of the more beautiful is Os Maios (literally, “The Mays”), celebrated in Galicia, where kids, carrying garlands made of flowers, sing to the neighbors in exchange for sweets and nuts. The great Galician poet, Manuel Curros Enríquez, took the sens of the party and gave it a social meaning, waiting for a May of justice. (Though in Spanish, this is a very complete note about the celebrations of May: http://www.funjdiaz.net/folklore/07ficha.cfm?id=258).

O Maio

Ahí ven o maio
de flores cuberto…
Puxéronse á porta
cantándome os nenos;
e os puchos furados
pra min extendendo,
pedíronme crocas
dos meus castiñeiros. 

Pasai, rapaciños,
calados e quedos,
que o que é polo de hoxe
que darvos non teño.
Eu sonvo-lo pobre
do pobo galego:
pra min non hai maio.
¡pra min sempre é inverno!

Cando eu me atopare
de donos liberto
e o pan non mo quiten
trabucos e préstamos,
e como os do abade
florezan meus eidos,
chegado habrá entonces
o maio que eu quero.

¿Queredes castañas
dos meus castiñeiros…?
Cantádeme un maio
sin bruxas nin demos,
un maio sin segas
usuras nin preitos,
sin quintas nin portas,
nin foros nin cregos.

The May Celebration*

There comes May/ covered with flowers…/ The children got to my door/ singing to me;/ and laying to me/ their holey bonnets,/ they asked me for chestnuts/ from my chestnut trees.// Get in, kids,/ still and quiet,/ for today/ I have nothing to give you./ I am your poor/ of the Galician people:/ for me there is no May./ For me it’s always the winter!// When I felt/ free from the owners/ and my bread won’t be taken away by/ blunderbusses and lendings,/ and just like the abbot’s/ my fields shall bloom,/ then it may comes/ the May that I want.// Do you want chestnuts/ from my chestnut trees…?/ Sing to me a May**/ without witches nor demons,/ a May without harvests/ usuries nor lawsuits,/ without country houses nor doors,/ nor privileges nor clergies.

Manuel Curros Enríquez

* The title of the poem could be well translated as “May”; but as Curros Enríquez uses the article o (“the”), he may refers to the celebration that takes place in this month. So I translated it as “the May celebration”. Ok! There are a parties all along Europe called “May Day”, but these parties, ususally, have place on 1st May, and the Galician Maios are from late April to early May, even till Saint John’s day.

** As the party, the songs the kids sing, also are naming “maios”, *mays*.

Translation to Spanish:

https://albokari2.wordpress.com/2007/02/05/o-maio/

Many years later, a Galician songwriter named Luis Emilio Batallán put the poem into a delightful folk music, for his LP of 1975, named as the first verse of Curros’ poem, Ahí ven o Maio:

Miro Casabella’s “Ti, Galiza”

Ramiro Cecilio Casabella López, known as Miro Casabella, is an important Galician songwriter of the late 60s and 70s, and, for many, the best among the 70s’ Galician songwriters; about him, said our admired Benedicto García that if he sang in English, he even would be better than Bob Dylan. Beginning in the Galician songwriting colective Voces Ceibes (Gal. Free Voices), as all of them, with a style inspired in French songwriters, he recorded his first EP in 1968: Miro canta as súas canciós (Miro sings his songs). Later, in the 70s, Miro became in a more folk-inspired songwriter, taking traditional melodies from Galicia, with his combative words. He also was a member of the Galician folk band DOA. Miro Casabella is still in active. In his first EP, there was included this song, writen by Xavier Costa and J. P. Puértolas (sorry, I couldn’t find who are these men), with the music of Miro:

Ti, Galiza

Ti viches, Galiza,
teus campos cheos do sangue
dos teus mais esgreivos fillos.
Ti sentiche apodrecer no teu seo
as sementes dos anos idos.

Déronche couces, miña santiña,
cuspíronche na faciana,
burláronse do teu senso,
profanaron o teu corpo.

Pero eles non sabían
que non facían máis
que sementar máis fondo
na ialma do teu ser,
na ialma do teu ser.

Burláronse do teu senso,
profanaron o teu corpo.

Cando veñan os novos labregos
a recoller a colleita
un barilo  xa na xurdirá 
do peito da túa terra.

Déronche couces, miña santiña,
cuspíronche na faciana,
burláronse do teu senso,
profanaron o teu corpo.

You, Galicia

You saw, Galicia, your fields full of blood/ from your more hard-working children./ You felt rotting in your breast/ the seeds of the gone years.// They kicked you, my little saint,/ they spat in your face,/ they mocked of your sense,/ they desecrated your body.// But they didn’t know/ they wasn’t doing nothing but/ seed deeper/ into the soul of your being,/ into the soul of your being.// They mocked of your sense,/ they desecrated your body.// When the new farmworker shall come/ to harvest,/ then *a good* will arise/ from the breast of your soil.// They kicked you, my little saint,/ they spat in your face,/ they mocked of your sense,/ they desecrated your body.

X. Costa – J. P. Puértolas

Miro Casabella

Translation to Spanish:

https://albokari2.wordpress.com/2007/01/27/ti-galiza/

Nine years later, Miro recovered this song for his eponymous first LP of 1977. Miro is already a more complete composer, by the influence of the great Portuguese songwriters Luís Cília and José Afonso: more progresive folk instead of the austerity of the primal songwriters. The new cover had an air more triumphalist, more combative, with the sound of the Galician bagpipes, than the first version, that was more as a complain; music was made by composer Luis Pedro Faro and Portuguese songwriter José Mario Branco:

A video I made, with Castelao’s drawings

Minutos musicales galaicos: «Airiños do Valadouro»

Ramiro «Miro» Casabella toca magistralmente la zanfoña en estos aires instrumentales de su propia autoría, que perfectamente pasan por tradicionales, en su disco de 1977 Treboada:

A Festa

Y con ésta, de nuestro querido amigo Benedicto, os deseo un buen día de año nuevo:

A festa

É festa na miña terra;
mozos e mozas veñan pra ela.
É festa na miña terra;
mozos e mozas na carballeira.

Hai gaitas, orquestas e banda;
nin vellos nin nenos deixan de bailar.
No adro alguén vende rosquillas,
perniñas de cera e, se cadra, algo máis.

O Santo vai ben floreado
con catro tricornios da guardia local,
e o cura, con tantos devotos,
non sabe qué raios de terras comprar.

Pulpeiras, sardiñas e queixo;
quen teña cartiños xa pode estoupar.
Pra viños, están do Ribeiro,
Rosal e Albariño con auga a fartar.

Hai tracas, foguetes e bombas
e mil luminarias prá festa rachar.
A noite, xesteiras e fentos,
segredos de amores terán que gardar.

http://www.ghastaspista.com/historia/osnomes.php

La fiesta

Es fiesta en mi tierra;/ mozos y mozos vengan a ella./ Es fiesta en mi tierra;/ mozos y mozas en el robledal.// Hay gaitas, orquestas y banda;/ ni viejos ni niños dejan de bailar./ En el atrio alguien vende rosquillas,/ piernecitas de cera y, si cuadra, algo más.// El Santo va bien floreado/ con cuatro tricornios de la guardia local,/ y el cura, con tantos devotos,/ no sabe qué radios de tierras comprar.// Pulperas, sardinas y queso;/ quien tenga dinerillo ya puede reventar./ Para vinos, están el Ribeiro,/ Rosal y Albariño con agua a rebosar.// Hay tracas, cohetes y bombas/ y mil hogueras para la fiesta rasgar./ La noche, retamales y helechos,/ secretos de amores tendrán que guardar.

Benedicto