The Mexican corrido

Fleur du Printemps has also answered our appeal to our Readers to send us the songs telling about their history, presenting us this beautiful bouquet of the corridos of the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). The photos commenting the texts are by the photographer of the Revolution Agustín Victor Casasola (1874-1938).

The corridos are the Mexican offsprings of the Spanish romance. They express feelings and ideas, triumphs and defeats, pains and happiness which are so overflowing to constitute a collective importance for the Mexican folk. The corrido is the language of the people. At one time it played the role of the press: the news used to spread all over the countryside in songs, rather than in newspapers which were no important sources of information in an overwhelmingly illiterate country. Only the most important events or the great personalities deserved to be sung about in a corrido, but they sometimes also immortalize scenes of the everyday life of the internal parts of the country.


The corrido is characterized by spontaneity, and by a simple language and melody. It uses few poetic tools, but it is very concise, and gives more importance to the rhythm than to the form. Its classical form is the quatrain 8a 8b 8a 8b which also permits more than one poems to be sung with the same melody. This is why they can also easily be modified and actualized, so that one corrido lives on in several versions.


According to the man of letters, politician, speaker and poet of native Mexican blood Andrés Henestrosa, the circumstances favorable to the birth of the corrido were provided by the formation of national feeling and identity. It was born together with the Independence, but it reached its climax during the Revolution, with the collective rejection of “Porfirism” that took its name from the Mexican dictator Porfirio Díaz (1876-1911) and of forced Europization (Díaz was one of the great promoters of French culture among the Mexican high society). This was the longest and most supported phase of national rebirth, the one with the deepest roots in Mexican reality, and therefore the most popular one.


The Revolution originated in the conflict between the new parties, as the old ones ceased to exist with the arrival of Porfirio Díaz to the power. The resistance against his reelection was organized by Francisco I. Madero who also launched the armed rebellion. Later the movement was divided in factions, as in fact it was never united but by the hatred against the common enemy, that is Díaz. The factions were formed according to the most influential generals and the regions where they camped. The most important ones were Venustiano Carranza in the North (it was him to prepare the Constitution of 1917, still in force in Mexico), Emiliano Zapata in Central Mexico, Pancho Villa, Pascual Orozco and Álvaro Obregón in the North (Obregón was to become the co-founder of the Partido Nacional Revolucionario, predecessor of the Partido Revolucionario Institucional that maintained the power from the foundation of the PNR in 1929 until 2000).


However, Pancho Villa and Emiliano Zapata were the personalities embraced by the greatest popular devotion, and their names have been used to give credit to certain movements, like the Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN) or the Frente Popular Francisco Villa (FPFV).

I have chosen some of the most famous corridos, and some of those that I like the most, hoping that you would also love them. Enjoy.


La Rielera. I learned this corrido while singing in the school choir, and I have always loved it. The rielera – the railwaywoman – worked for the railways, in this case for the central railways connecting the city of México with the North. Lerdo, Gómez and Torreón are cities in the northern states (Durango and Coahuila) which at that time were important mining regions, especially Torreón. This song is from the period of the Revolution splitting into factions, when the Carrancistas (of Venustiano Carranza) fought against the Villistas (of Francisco Villa).

I’m a railwaywoman and I love Juan he’s my life and I’m his delight; when they say the train is leaving, adiós, my railwaywoman, your Juan is leaving. When the engine-driver says that the train is leaving for San Juan, I already bring his basket with which he’s going to refine. I have a pair of pistols with an ivory head to defend myself, if necessary, against those of the railway. I have a pair of pistols with a precise aiming with one shot for my lover and another for my enemy. Adiós, boys of Lerdo, of Gómez and of Torreón the maintainers are already leaving the turn is over forever. I have a pair of horses for the Revolution one is called Robin and the other Sparrow. They say the Carrancistas are like scorpion when the Villistas are coming they run away with lifted tail. I know that as you see me in uniform you believe I come to ask of you although I come to you, brown girl, to look for your favors. As you see me in boots you believe me to be a soldier although I’m only a poor railwayman at the Central Railways.

Yo soy rielera y tengo mi Juan, él es mi vida yo soy su querer; cuando me dicen que ya se va el tren, adiós mi rielera ya se va tu Juan. Cuando dice el conductor, va salir para San Juan, le llevo su canastita con la que va a refinar. Tengo mi par de pistolas, con sus cachas de marfil, para darme de balazos con los del ferrocarril. Tengo mi par de pistolas con su parque muy cabal, una para mi querida y otra para mi rival. Adiós muchachos de Lerdo, de Gómez y de Torreón, ya se van los garroteros, ya se acabo la función. Tengo mi par de caballos para la Revolución, uno se llama el Jilguero y otro de llama el Gorrión. Dicen que los carrancistas parecen un alacrán, cuando ven a los villistas alzan la cola y se van. So porque me ves de traje crees que te voy a pedir, solo quiero prieta chula tus favores conseguir. Si porque me ves con botas piensas que soy melitar, [militar] soy un pobre rielerito del Ferrocarril Central.

La Adelita. This is one of the most famous Mexican corridos. The Revolution was not only the case of the soldiers. The troops were also followed by women and children who took care of the solders and feeded them, healed the ill and the wounded, etc. [This is a scene with the famous actresses María Félix and Dolores del Río, in a film from the golden age of the Mexican cinema, that presented the women following the soldiers in the time of the war.]

On the top of the rocky mountain there was an army camped and a courageous women followed them fallen in love with the sergeant. Everyone appreciated Adelita who loved the sergeant as she was courageous and beautiful even the colonel estimated her. And they heard that it was told by him who loved her so much: If Adelita wanted to be mine if Adelita wanted to be my wife I’d buy her a silk garment to take her to dance in the caserm. And if Adelita went with another I’d follow her over land and sea with a battleship on the sea and with a military train on land. And as the cruel battle was over and the army retired to the camp the sobbing of a woman was heard her crying filling the whole camp. The sergeant heared it, and fearing to loose his adored forever concealing his pain in himself he sang like this to his lover: And they heard that it was told by him who was dying so much: And if I died in the battle and my body was buried there Adelita, I ask you for God to come there and cry over me.

En lo alto de una abrupta serranía, acampado se encontraba un regimiento, y una joven que valiente lo seguía, locamente enamorada del sargento. Popular entre la tropa era Adelita, las mujer que el sargento idolatraba, que además de ser valiente era bonita, que hasta el mismo coronel la respetaba. Y se oía, que decía, aquel que tanto la quería: Y si Adelita quisiera ser mi esposa, si Adelita fuera mi mujer, le compraría un vestido de seda para llevarle a bailar al cuartel. Y si Adelita se fuera con otro, la seguiría por tierra y por mar, si por mar en un buque de guerra, si por tierra en un tren militar. Y después que termino la cruel batalla y la tropa regresó a su campamento, se oye la voz de una mujer que sollozaba, su plegaria se escucho en el campamento. Al oírla el sargento temeroso, de perder para siempre a su adorada, ocultando su dolor bajo el esbozo a su amada le cantó de esta manera: Y se oía, que decía, aquel que tanto se moría: Y si acaso yo muero en campaña, y mi cadáver lo van a sepultar, Adelita por Dios te lo ruego, que con tus ojos me vayas a llorar.

El Mayor de los Dorados. The dorados (“gilded ones”) were the “elit forces” of Pancho Villa, the most famous general together with Emiliano Zapata. Villa fought in the North. Parral is in Chihuahua, a border state near to the United States. This corrido is also from the splitting of the Revolution in factions. Álvaro Obregón was a very important and very competent general, later President of Mexico.

I was the soldier of Francisco Villa of the world famous general who, even if sitting on a simple chair did not envy that of the President. Now I live on the seashore remembering those immortal times Ay… Ay… Now I live on the seashore remembering Parral and Villa. I was one of the dorados made a Major by chance and made crippled by the war while defending the country and honor. I remember of times past how we fought against the invader today I recall the times past the dorados of whom I was a Major. My horse, ridden so many times by me died under me in Jiménez a bullet intended to me run across his body. While dying, he neighed of pain and gave his life for the country Ay… Ay… while dying, he neighed of pain how much I cried when he died! Pancho Villa, I keep you in my memories and in my heart even if sometimes we were beaten by the troops of Álvaro Obregón. I was always your loyal soldier until the end of the Revolution Ay… Ay… I was always your loyal soldier fighting always in front of the cannons.

Fui soldado de Francisco Villa de aquel hombre de fama mundial, que aunque estuvo sentado en la silla no envidiaba la presidencial. Ahora vivo allá por la orilla recordando aquel tiempo inmortal. Ay… Ay… Ahora vivo allá por la orilla recordando a Villa allá por Parral. Yo fui uno de aquellos Dorados que por suerte llegó a ser Mayor, por la lucha quedamos lisiados defendiendo la patria y honor. Hoy recuerdo los tiempos pasados que peleamos contra el invasor, hoy recuerdo los tiempos pasados de aquellos Dorados que yo fui Mayor. Mi caballo que tanto montara en Jiménez la muerte encontró, una bala que a mí me tocaba a su cuerpo se le atravesó. Al morir de dolor relinchaba por la patria la vida entregó Ay… Ay… Al morir de dolor relinchaba cómo le llorara cuando se murió. Pancho Villa te llevo grabado en mi mente y en mi corazón y aunque a veces me vi derrotado por las fuerzas de Álvaro Obregón. Siempre anduve como fiel soldado hasta el fin de la revolución Ay… Ay… Siempre anduve como fiel soldado que siempre ha luchado al pié del cañón.

Caballo Prieto Azabache. (My dark horse) Ah, this is one of my favorite corridos. It speaks of a soldier crying for his horse who had saved his life when the troops of Villa were going to execute him. The Mauser were the firearms used in the Revolution. They were first imported from Germany to Mexico by Porfirio Díaz who also founded a local factory to produce them.

My dark horse, how could I forget you, I own you my life when the troops loyal to Pancho Villa were going to execute me It was a cloudy night and I was surprised by an outpost and having disarmed me they sentenced me to death. As I was already in the death cell Villa was saying to his aide-de-camp put this horse for me aside as it is educated and obedient. I know I cannot escape but I kept thinking about it and you, my dark horse were thinking exactly like me. I remember being asked of what is my last desire before the death and I told, I wanted to die sitting on my dark horse. And when I was put on you and were going to execute me you only expected my command and jumped over the wall. With three Mauser bullets in your body you galloped, my dark one, saving my life what you’ve done for me, my horse, my friend, I will never forget you. I was unable to save yours and I can only cry of grief therefore, my dark horse I will not forget you ever.

Caballo prieto azabache, como olvidarte te debo la vida. Cuando iban a fusilarme, las fuerzas leales de Pancho Villa. Fue aquella noche nublada, una avanzada me sorprendió. Y…después de… de…sar…marme, fui condenado al paredón. Ya cuando estuve en capilla, le dijo Villa a su asistente, me apartas ese caballo por educado y obediente. Sabia que no iba a escaparme, solo pensaba en mi salvación, Y tú mi prieto azabache también pensaste igual que yo. Recuerdo que me dijeron pide un deseo pa'[para] justiciarte yo quiero morir monta'o [montado] en mi caballo prieto azabache. Y cuando en ti me montaron y prepararon, la ejecución, mi voz de mando esperaste te abalanzaste sobre el pelotón. con tres balazos de mauser, corriste azabache, salvando mi vida, lo que tu hiciste conmigo caballo amigo no se me olvida. No pude salvar la tuya, y la amargura me hace llorar, por eso prie…to a…za…bache, no he de olvidarte nunca jamás.

La Cucaracha. (The cockroach) One of the most popular songs of the Revolution in Mexico and the best known one in abroad. As children, we were taught a very innocent version in the school, with no marijuana and no revolutionaries in the lyrics.

The cockroach, the cockroach cannot walk any more as he has no more marijuana to smoke. The Carrancistas are leaving they are leaving with empty stomach for the Villistas say they are going to die of hunger. Poor cockroach is bitterly complaining that he has no ironed clothes because of the lack of carbon. (Choir) Poor Madero is left by almost everyone Huerta, the drunken bandit is only good for an ox to plough. We take unstarched clothes day after day and without such chic we are considered blockheads. (Choir) Everyone is fighting for the chair which is the source of much money Pancho Villa at the North and at the South viva Zapata! I am excited to laugh at one thing: to see Pancho Villa without a shirt and I am terrified by one thing: to see the vile Huerta in a shirt. (Choir) I need a good Ford to arrive to the place where the Convention was sent by Zapata. A colorful parrot says to a mottled one whoever jokes with my country let him be taken by the … (Choir) Some plunder a lot and then are hidden far away protected by the law while we are considered guilty. (Choir) How beautiful are the camp-followers when dancing the fandango Viva Pánfilo Natera the pride of Durango. The cockroach is already dead he is taken to be buried he is followed by four eagles and by the mouse of the church.

La Cucaracha, la cucaracha, ya no puede caminar, porque no tiene, porque le falta, marihuana que fumar. Ya se van los carrancistas, ya se van por el alambre, porque dicen los villistas, que se estarán muriendo de hambre. Pobre de la Cucaracha, se queja con decepción, de no usar ropa planchada, por la escasez de carbón. (Coro) Pobrecito de Madero, casi todos le han fallado, Huerta el ebrio bandolero, es un buey para el arado. La ropa sin almidón, se pone todos los días; y sin esas boberías, se me figura melón. (Coro) ¡Todos se pelean la silla que les deja mucha plata; en el Norte Pancho Villa, y en el Sur Viva Zapata! Una cosa me da risa: Pancho Villa sin camisa, otra cosa me da horror, al vil Huerta en camisón. (Coro) Necesito algún "fortingo" para hacer la caminata, al lugar donde mandó a la convención, Zapata. Una guacamaya pinta le dijo a una colorada, quien se meta con mi patria, se lo carga la… (Coro) Hay unos que roban mucho, y luego huyen muy lejos, validos de fuero y mando y de que nos creen pen…itentes. (Coro) Qué bonitas soldaderas cuando bailan el fandango. Viva Pánfilo Natera, el orgullo de Durango. Ya murió la Cucaracha ya la llevan a enterrar, entre cuatro zopilotes y un ratón de sacristán.

La Valentina. Another famous song of the Revolution, and one of my favorites. Even if it does not speak about the war, but about one fallen in love with “Valentina”, while he knows how dangerous it is to love her.

Valentina, Valentina, I would like to tell you what a passion rules me that made me to come here. They say that your love is a curse that follows your lover but let the devil take it I also know how to die. Even if I drink tequila today tomorrow I’ll drink sherry even if I’m seen drunk today tomorrow they’ll not see me like that. Valentina, Valentina, I fall on my knees at your feet if tomorrow they will kill me I’ll only be killed only once.

Valentina, Valentina, yo te quisiera decir que una pasión me domina y es la que me hizo venir. Dicen que por tus amores un mal me van a seguir, no le hace que sean el diablo yo también me sé morir. Si porque tomo tequila mañana tomo jerez, si porque me ven borracho mañana ya no me ven. Valentina, Valentina, rendido estoy a tus pies, si me han de matar mañana que me maten de una vez.

There are also corridos that are a veritable history class in verse, like for example these ones.

El corrido mexicano

Fleur du Printemps has also answered our appeal to our Readers to send us the songs telling about their history, presenting us this beautiful bouquet of the corridos of the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920). The photos commenting the texts are by the photographer of the Revolution Agustín Victor Casasola (1874-1938).

Los corridos son el sucesor mexicano del romance español. Expresan sentimientos e ideas, triunfos, derrotas, dolores, alegrías tan grandes que toman un cariz colectivo entre el pueblo mexicano. El corrido es el lenguaje de las mayorías. Servía, en su tiempo, como fuente periodística; las noticias corrían por el país siendo cantadas más que en periódicos, que no eran una fuente fundamental de información en un país predominantemente analfabeta. Sólo los hechos más notables o los grandes personajes eran dignos de un corrido, pero también algunas escenas de la vida diaria en los pueblos del interior.


El carácter del corrido es la espontaneidad, su lenguaje y música simples; utiliza pocos recursos poéticos pero es de gran concisión, da mayor importancia al fondo que a la forma. Su forma clásica es la cuartera 8a 8b 8a 8b que incluso permite que varios sean cantados con una sola melodía. Ese carácter circunstancial permite que sea actualizable, modificable. De ahí que haya muchísimas versiones de un solo corrido.


Según Andrés Henestrosa (literato, político, orador, poeta… indígena mexicano) el corrido nació hasta que hubo una cabal conciencia y sentimiento nacional, una patria. Nació con la Independencia pero alcanzó su clímax con la Revolución, con el repudio colectivo al porfirismo (Porfirio Díaz, dictador mexicano 1876-1911) y al europeísmo (Díaz era un gran impulsor del afrancesamiento de la alta sociedad mexicana). Esta fue la etapa más larga y sostenida por la redención nacional, la más plena de realidades mexicanas, es decir, la más popular.


La Revolución se originó del conflicto entre nuevos partidos, pues habían dejado de existir con la llegada al poder de Porfirio Díaz. Francisco I. Madero era líder del partido contra la reelección y fue quien comenzó la rebelión armada. Posteriormente el movimiento se dividió en facciones pues, en realidad, nunca estuvo unificado más que en contra del enemigo común: Díaz. Las facciones se dividían conforme al general que las encabezaba y a la región en la que se encontraban. Entre los generales más importantes estuvieron Venustiano Carranza en el Norte (se encargó de hacer la Constitución de 1917, que aún rige el país), Emiliano Zapata en el Centro, Pancho Villa, Pascual Orozco y Álvaro Obregón en el Norte (Obregón sería el co-fundador del Partido Nacional Revolucionario, predecesor del Partido Revolucionario Institucional que mantuvo el poder desde la fundación del PNR en 1929, hasta el año 2000).


Sin embargo, Pancho Villa y Emiliano Zapata son los personajes con mayor devoción popular, sus nombres se utilizan en la actualidad para dar antecedentes a ciertos movimientos, tal es el caso del Ejército Zapatista de Liberación Nacional (EZLN) o del Frente Popular Francisco Villa (FPFV).

Elegí algunos de los más famosos y otros que me gusten mucho, espero que a ustedes también. Disfrútenlos


La Rielera. Este corrido lo aprendí cuando cantaba en el coro de mi escuela y siempre me gustó. La rielera trabajaba en el ferrocarril; en este caso hablan del ferrocarril central, que conectaba la ciudad de México con el Norte, Lerdo, Gómez y Torreón son ciudades de Estados del Norte (Durango y Coahuila) que entonces eran zonas mineras importantes, en especial Torreón. Esta canción es de la época en que la Revolución se dividió en facciones y los carrancistas (de Venustiano Carranza) luchaban contra los villistas (Francisco Villa).

Yo soy rielera y tengo mi Juan, él es mi vida yo soy su querer; cuando me dicen que ya se va el tren, adiós mi rielera ya se va tu Juan. Cuando dice el conductor, va salir para San Juan, le llevo su canastita con la que va a refinar. Tengo mi par de pistolas, con sus cachas de marfil, para darme de balazos con los del ferrocarril.

Tengo mi par de pistolas con su parque muy cabal, una para mi querida y otra para mi rival. Adiós muchachos de Lerdo, de Gómez y de Torreón, ya se van los garroteros, ya se acabo la función. Tengo mi par de caballos para la Revolución, uno se llama el Jilguero y otro de llama el Gorrión.

Dicen que los carrancistas parecen un alacrán, cuando ven a los villistas alzan la cola y se van. So porque me ves de traje crees que te voy a pedir, solo quiero prieta chula tus favores conseguir. Si porque me ves con botas piensas que soy melitar, [militar] soy un pobre rielerito del Ferrocarril Central.

La Adelita. Este es uno de los corridos más famosos en México. La Revolución no sólo fue asunto de soldados, a las tropas las seguían mujeres y niños, quienes se encargaban de abastecer y alimentar a los soldados, de cuidar a los enfermos y heridos, etc. [Esta es una escena de las famosas actrices María Félix y Dolores del Río, de la época de oro del cine mexicano, que representa a las mujeres que seguían a los soldados durante la guerra.]

En lo alto de una abrupta serranía, acampado se encontraba un regimiento, y una joven que valiente lo seguía, locamente enamorada del sargento. Popular entre la tropa era Adelita, las mujer que el sargento idolatraba, que además de ser valiente era bonita, que hasta el mismo coronel la respetaba. Y se oía, que decía, aquel que tanto la quería: Y si Adelita quisiera ser mi esposa, si Adelita fuera mi mujer, le compraría un vestido de seda para llevarle a bailar al cuartel. Y si Adelita se fuera con otro, la seguiría por tierra y por mar, si por mar en un buque de guerra, si por tierra en un tren militar.

Y después que termino la cruel batalla y la tropa regresó a su campamento, se oye la voz de una mujer que sollozaba, su plegaria se escucho en el campamento. Al oírla el sargento temeroso, de perder para siempre a su adorada, ocultando su dolor bajo el esbozo a su amada le cantó de esta manera: Y se oía, que decía, aquel que tanto se moría: Y si acaso yo muero en campaña, y mi cadáver lo van a sepultar, Adelita por Dios te lo ruego, que con tus ojos me vayas a llorar.

El Mayor de los Dorados. Los dorados eran las "fuerzas de elite" de Pancho Villa, el general revolucionario más famoso, junto con Emiliano Zapata. Villa luchaba en el Norte, Parral está en Chihuahua, Estado fronterizo con Estados Unidos. Este corrido también es de la época de las facciones. Álvaro Obregón, fue un importantísimo y muy buen militar revolucionario, después sería presidente de México.

Fui soldado de Francisco Villa de aquel hombre de fama mundial, que aunque estuvo sentado en la silla no envidiaba la presidencial. Ahora vivo allá por la orilla recordando aquel tiempo inmortal. Ay… Ay… Ahora vivo allá por la orilla recordando a Villa allá por Parral. Yo fui uno de aquellos Dorados que por suerte llegó a ser Mayor, por la lucha quedamos lisiados defendiendo la patria y honor. Hoy recuerdo los tiempos pasados que peleamos contra el invasor, hoy recuerdo los tiempos pasados de aquellos Dorados que yo fui Mayor.

Mi caballo que tanto montara en Jiménez la muerte encontró, una bala que a mí me tocaba a su cuerpo se le atravesó. Al morir de dolor relinchaba por la patria la vida entregó Ay… Ay… Al morir de dolor relinchaba cómo le llorara cuando se murió. Pancho Villa te llevo grabado en mi mente y en mi corazón y aunque a veces me vi derrotado por las fuerzas de Álvaro Obregón. Siempre anduve como fiel soldado hasta el fin de la revolución Ay… Ay… Siempre anduve como fiel soldado que siempre ha luchado al pié del cañón.

Caballo Prieto Azabache. Ah, este corrido es uno de mis favoritos; habla sobre un soldado que llora a su caballo, quien lo salvó cuando las tropas de Villa lo iban a fusilar. Los mauser eran los fusiles de cerrojo que se utilizaron en la Revolución. Porfirio Díaz los trajo a México desde Alemania y fundó una fábrica aquí.

Caballo prieto azabache, como olvidarte te debo la vida. Cuando iban a fusilarme, las fuerzas leales de Pancho Villa. Fue aquella noche nublada, una avanzada me sorprendió. Y…después de… de…sar…marme, fui condenado al paredón. Ya cuando estuve en capilla, le dijo Villa a su asistente, me apartas ese caballo por educado y obediente. Sabia que no iba a escaparme, solo pensaba en mi salvación, Y tú mi prieto azabache también pensaste igual que yo.

Recuerdo que me dijeron pide un deseo pa'[para] justiciarte yo quiero morir monta'o [montado] en mi caballo prieto azabache. Y cuando en ti me montaron y prepararon, la ejecución, mi voz de mando esperaste te abalanzaste sobre el pelotón. con tres balazos de mauser, corriste azabache, salvando mi vida, lo que tu hiciste conmigo caballo amigo no se me olvida. No pude salvar la tuya, y la amargura me hace llorar, por eso prie…to a…za…bache, no he de olvidarte nunca jamás.

La Cucaracha. De las canciones de la Revolución más populares en México y conocidas en el extranjero. Cuando niños nos enseñaban la versión inocente en la escuela, que no hablaba de marihuana ni de revolucionarios.

La Cucaracha, la cucaracha, ya no puede caminar, porque no tiene, porque le falta, marihuana que fumar. Ya se van los carrancistas, ya se van por el alambre, porque dicen los villistas, que se estarán muriendo de hambre. Pobre de la Cucaracha, se queja con decepción, de no usar ropa planchada, por la escasez de carbón. (Coro) Pobrecito de Madero, casi todos le han fallado, Huerta el ebrio bandolero, es un buey para el arado.

La ropa sin almidón, se pone todos los días; y sin esas boberías, se me figura melón. (Coro) ¡Todos se pelean la silla que les deja mucha plata; en el Norte Pancho Villa, y en el Sur Viva Zapata! Una cosa me da risa: Pancho Villa sin camisa, otra cosa me da horror, al vil Huerta en camisón. (Coro) Necesito algún "fortingo" para hacer la caminata, al lugar donde mandó a la convención, Zapata.

Una guacamaya pinta le dijo a una colorada, quien se meta con mi patria, se lo carga la… (Coro) Hay unos que roban mucho, y luego huyen muy lejos, validos de fuero y mando y de que nos creen pen…itentes. (Coro) Qué bonitas soldaderas cuando bailan el fandango. Viva Pánfilo Natera, el orgullo de Durango. Ya murió la Cucaracha ya la llevan a enterrar, entre cuatro zopilotes y un ratón de sacristán.

La Valentina. Otra de las canciones más famosas de la Revolución, y una de mis favoritas; aunque esta no habla de la guerra, sino de un enamorado que sabe de los peligros de amar a “Valentina.”

Valentina, Valentina, yo te quisiera decir que una pasión me domina y es la que me hizo venir. Dicen que por tus amores un mal me van a seguir, no le hace que sean el diablo yo también me sé morir.

Si porque tomo tequila mañana tomo jerez, si porque me ven borracho mañana ya no me ven. Valentina, Valentina, rendido estoy a tus pies, si me han de matar mañana que me maten de una vez.

Hay corridos que son verdaderas clases de historia contadas en verso, como estos.

Dying and resurrecting

Zoroastrian dakhmeh, “tower of silence” near to Yazd in Central Iran

Plato in his dialogues often gives a myth in the mouth of some of his speakers. Sometimes one of the well known Greek myths, but much more often some intricate story of faraway origin that obviously proclaims of either having been composed by himself, or having been thoroughly transformed to his own taste. The purpose of these myths, as Catalin Partenie writes in her selection made in 2004 for the Oxford World’s Classic series, was on one hand to adjust historical, philosophical, political or scientific concepts of large breadth to the genre of storytelling customary in banquets and to present them as sanctioned by the authority of tradition, and on the other hand to expound some truth in an indirect and hidden way, and thus stimulating further thought, just like parables do. The best known one is of course the legend of Atlantis in the Timaeus that Plato pretends to derive from Egypt, but here belongs also the story of the androgynes cut in two halves, or that of the ring of Gyges in The Republic that made his owner invisible and which has also served as an inspiration for Tolkien.

In The Republic Socrates also narrates the vision of Er of Pamphylia who dies in a battle, but then revives on the funeral pyre and tells of his journey in the afterlife, of the souls who, according to their actions while in life, descend for a thousand years of punishment under the earth or for the same amount of pleasures to the sky, and then by choosing themselves new forms of life return to the earth again.

To me the most interesting detail in this story has always been the name of the protagonist, archetype of Aeneas of Dante. This name – in contrast to all the other Platonic myths – does not sound Greek at all. As if Plato, contrary to his custom, conserved here a foreign – Pamphylian? – name that can in fact hint to the foreign origins of this myth.

The commentaries obviously slide over this name, or if they don’t, then they fabricate a whole series of gratuitous Greek etymologies eclipsing even those by Heidegger and Isidore of Seville, like for example Bernard Suzanne does:

The name of Er (èr, contracted form of ear) means “spring” (the season). But this name, whose only mention, at 614b, is the genitive form èros, evokes much more than that. It looks like the masculine form of Hera, the name of Zeus’ wife, except for the smooth breathing replacing the rough one. And if we look at what Plato has to say about the etymology of Hera in the Cratylus (404b-c), we see that he associates it with love (eros) through the adjective “lovable (eratè)”, but also with air (aer), which, applied to Er, opposes him to Gyges the earthling : hope is not in our material, earthly nature, but in our celestial, godly power of thought and understanding, and in the power of love that sets it on the move. Panphulos, the name of Er’s tribe, means “of all tribes or races”. Shorey suggests in a note that he might as well have translated “to genos Pamphulou” by “of the tribe of Everyman”. And while we are at names, the name of Er’s father, Armenius (tou Armeniou) is a close call for Harmony (armonia), a concept dear to Plato and central to the whole Republic, as well as to the myth of Er, with the “harmony of the Sirens” mentioned at its center (617c).

Reading the 5th-century History of Armenia by the first Armenian historiographer Movses Khorenatsi, in chapter I, 15 I find the story of the Armenian king Ara and the Assyrian queen Semiramis. Ara, son of Aram was an extraordinarily beautiful man, and the queen desired him to be either her husband or her lover. She sent several embassies to him with gifts, supplications, flattery and menaces, but all in vain: Ara remained faithful to his wife. Thus Semiramis finally went with her army upon him. They clashed under the mountain that received its name Ararat from Ara, and although the queen commanded the king to be brought to her alive, he fought heroically and remained dead on the battlefield. The queen had his corpse brought to her, and – a surprising turn – had it placed on the roof of her palace. When she was asked for the reason, she answered: “I have ordered my gods to lick his wounds, and he will be restored to life.” However, as the dead fails to resurrect and begins to decompose, she commands it to be cast in a ditch, while she has dressed up one of her paramours similar to Ara in Armenian clothes and presents him to the court like this: “The gods licked Ara and brought him back to life, fulfilling our wish and pleasure. Therefore from now on they are all the more to be worshiped and honoured by us, as they fulfill our pleasures and accomplish our desires.”

Our way across Lake Van from Tatvan to Van, on the way from Istambul to Iran. The environments of Lake Van were the cradle of Armenian civilization, the central region of “Greater Armenia”

It is observed that when Christian chroniclers mention such impostures in the pagan stories quoted by them, then they are usually “rationalizing” miraculous legends, disputing the power of the pagan gods to work miracles, for this is obviously a prerogative of God. It looks like Khorenatsi did the same with the story of Ara and Semiramis. For in the Armenian mythology collected from folk tradition, Ara was in fact “licked to life” by the divine dogs, the aralezks (whose Armenian name also means “Ara-lickers”), and he thus returned from the afterlife.

I think that there are too many common elements in the stories of Ara and Er to be independent from each other. Apart from their similar names, there is the name of Ara’s father ‘Aram’ which in Greek recalls the ethnonym ‘Aramaic’, thus Platon logically could have changed it for the ethnonym Armenios, ‘Armenian’ which fits better to the origin of the story – or perhaps he converted an original attribute ho armenios, ‘the Armenian’ into tou Armeniou, ‘(son) of Armenios’. Pamphylia was an existing region in southern Anatolia, in the direction of Greater Armenia when seen from Athens, especially if we consider that the sailor nation of the Greek looked with repugnance on the countries in the interior of the continents – a good example for this is the Anabasis of Xenophon marching across this same Armenian region – and they might have hinted to them like lying somewhere, anywhere behind the seashore region nearest to it. And finally the fate of the protagonist dying in a battle to then resurrect and bring news from the afterlife makes it almost impossible that it was not this very story which was heard by Plato and rearranged for his own purpose.

If it were only this much, it would be already interesting enough. However, there is another twist in the story. The corpse put on the roof, the aralezks “licking it to life”, and even the decomposed body cast into a ditch evoke the Zoroastrian funeral ritual, as it was described by another Greek source, the History of Herodotus (I, 140) like this:

What follows is reported about their dead as a secret mystery and not with clearness, namely that the body of a Persian man is not buried until it has been torn by a bird or a dog. The Magians [= the Zoroastrian priests] I know for a certainty have this practice, for they do it openly.

In the Zoroastrian religion, neither earth nor fire can be contaminated with dead corpses. Instead, they put them on “towers of silence” (in Persian dakhmeh) built on high places outside of the towns, and later they place the bones cleaned by predatory birds and sunshine in ossaries. In modern Iran still there is one such tower near to Yazd, the city of the greatest Zoroastrian community that we have also seen. And as the renowned scholar of pre-Christian Armenian culture James Russell explains in his Zoroastrianism in Armenia (1987), this religion became dominant in Armenia after its conversion into a Persian province. And near to the Armenian town where, according to Armenian mythology, the corpse of Ara was licked to life by aralezks, and which thereafter was thus called Lezk or Aralezk, on an altitude there stood a similar Zoroastrian shrine. After the conversion of Armenia to Christian religion – first among all countries, in 303 – it was converted into a church in honor of the dying and resurrecting Saviour.

I wanted to know where Lezk is and how it is called today, but in vain. The name of this locality can be found on the web only in the relations of the survivors of the Armenian Genocide of 1915. And where the map of 1914 of Van vilayet, published in the history of Van by Hovannisian, shows it – about ten kilometers to the north of Van city – there in the modern map of Turkey no locality can be found. It is possible that it was deserted in 1915 together with several other hundreds of Armenian settlements.


However, this story has one more twist in store. In fact, the scholars of Armenian mythology compare the story of Ara and Semiramis to the most important metaphor of dying and resurrecting nature, celebrated year by year from Mesopotamia through Syria and Greece to Egypt: to the story of a goddess and her lover – Inanna and Dumuzi, Ishtar and Tammuz, Cybele and Addis, Venus and Adonis –, so beautifully evoked by Thomas Mann, where the young man is wounded to death by some infernal power, but his divine lover resurrects him, and she even manages to obtain the right to spend half of the year with him in the sunshine, so that he must spend only the other half down in the other world – usually with the infernal rival of the goddess. It is not by chance that Khorenatsi also narrates in the following chapter that Semiramis, „as she liked the region very much”, had also a castle built near to Van on a cliff, so that she could spend a part of the year – the summer – there, and go back to Ninive only for the winter. This castle, albeit ruined, still stands, and its strange position made it a favorite topic for the engravings of those few 19th-century Western travelers arriving this far away.

“Citadel of Semiramis” near to Van, engraving by Eugène Boré, 1838

The name of Tammuz and Ara were connected not only by erudite mythographers, but also by Armenian folk tradition, and one of their most popular dances bears the name of “Tamzara”, Tammúz-Ara. Since 1915 this dance has not been performed in Eastern Anatolia, but the Anatolian Armenians of the diaspora have preserved it together with the rest of their traditions. In the video below it is performed by the Armenian Folk Dance Society of New York. Even if it has no lyrics, there is enough history behind it so that we can include it in our “history sung” thread as well. We wish the violent death of this culture was also followed by a resurrection.

The power of songs

– Have you ever considered the dreadful power of songs? – the chief commissar asked the chronicler. – The battle fought in the last month, for example, inspired a tragic song. If I wished to apply your favorite images, I could put it somehow like this: the war, under cover of the song, glides across the centuries, like fog carried by the wind. The war is over, but the song flies from generation to generation. And it will give birth to new wars, because this world is made so that sooner or later everything gets repeated. The misfortunes remembered by the songs will happen again and again, round and round. How could you extirpate the baleful black bird of this song?

Ismail Kadare, The Citadel

Fleur, of whose sensitive and rich blog we are addicted readers, promised us to write about the songs of the Mexican Revolution (1910-1920) for our thread “History sung”. Until we can read it, let us listen to another song from another war of independence, on the anniversary of the battle of Kosovo of 1389, where Serbian, Albanian and Bosnian troops still fought side by side – and lost both the battle and the whole Balkan – against the Turk.

We have already published this song by the group Kulin ban performing medieval Serbian music, but this recently found beautiful video adds a lot to the athmosphere of the song. In the spirit of the above motto by the Albanian Kadare, it is worth to pay attention to the subtle changes of layers of time, from the archaic role play of the lad joining the “partisans” (this is how we translate, for want of a better expression, the old Southern Serbian term kumite), through the photographies of the kumites that used to really fight against the Turk, to the final tableau vivant frozen into one more photo, where the Serbian warrior and the Turkish photographer wear the face of the same person. We took the Serbian lyrics from the site of Kulin ban, where it is published with a somewhat “Serbized” orthography, as if highlighting that it was not written in the official Serbo-Croatian. Although in the song the warrior sets out against the Albanian Turks, we can find on the web a number of versions both of the song and of the video provided with a commentary like that: “Serbian Hero going to war to defend Kosovo.”

Cry, Zara, cry for me, we have to part from each other You from me and I from you, I go far away from you I go far away, far away from Vranja I’ll join the partisans, I’ll be a young partisan I take my royal sabre, I take my royal weapon To go to Pčinja, to go to Prešev-Kaza I cross the water of Vardar, the wide water of Vardar I will fight the Turk, the Albanian Turk Cry for me when the sun shines on you When the sun shines on you, consider that it comes from God Know that it is my face, my sweet face Know that it is my face, my sweet face When the wind blows, consider that it comes from God Tell that it is my blessed soul When the dew falls on you, consider that it comes from God Tell that it is my falling tears

Žali Zare da žalimo kako će se razdvojimo Ti od mene ja ot tebe ja će idem na daleko Ja će idem na daleko, na daleko belo Vranje Će se pišem u kumite u kumite mlat kumita. Pa će uzmem kralsku sablju i toj kralsko sve oružje Pa će idem čьk u Pčinju čьk u Pčinju Prešev-Kazu Pa će pređem Vardar vodu Vardar vodu bьš golemu Će se tepam s tija Turci tija Turci Arnauti Žali plači da žalimo kьt će slunce da ogreje Kьt će slunce da ogreje ti pomisli ot Boga je Ti da znaješ toj je mojo toj je mojo belo lice Ti da znaješ toj je mojo toj je mojo belo lice Kьt će vetar da poduvne ti pomisli ot Boga je Pa ti rekni toj je moja toj je moja blaga duša Kьt će rosa da zarosi ti pomisli ot Boga je Pa ti rekni toj su moje toj su moje drobne sluze

Six hundred years before the battle of Kosovo, across this same region ran the border of the Empire of Byzantium, defended by the akrites, the border warriors obliged to twenty-five years of military service. The Balkan borders of the empire were protected mostly by Greek and Armenian soldiers recruited in Cappadocia, the later Turkey – due tho whose influence Bogomilism, the offspring of an Armenian heresy, put firm roots in these provinces – against the Slavic tribes attacking from the north, whose descendants six hundred years later tried to defend in Kosovo the same borders against the Turkish army of Sultan Murad, of Cappadocian birth and of Greek blood, attacking from the south.

Also of Cappadocian birth is the hero of this akrites song “Εβράδυν παληοβράδυν κι ο ώλιος έδυσε” – “Evening, evil evening, the sun set down”, the border guard Yannakos, who is ambushed by the enemy, but heroically fights against them: “I slayed a thousand for Christ, and five hundred more for the Virgin Mary”. Finally he is caught, tortured, killed, and his body cut in pieces is left at the feet of the mountain “dispersed and unrecognizable”.


Εβράδυν παληοβράδυν κι ο ώλιος έδυσε - Early medieval Greek border guard song, performed by N. Constantinopoulos

Very similar to this is the Hungarian ballad of Izsák Kerekes that was collected by János Kriza in the 1860s in the Székely plateaus of Eastern Transylvania, but whose action takes place in the same Balkan world. The hero from “the famous Moha”, having said farewell to his lover:

He girded his sword on his side, and mounted on his good brown horse, and looking back, he told such words: – I will let my blood flow for my father and mother I’ll let myself be killed for my beautiful fiancée I will die today for my Hungarian nation.

Felköté a kardját mindjárt oldalára, S felfordula szépen jó barna lovára És visszatekinte s ilyen szókkal beszélt: – Kiontatom vérem apámért, anyámért, Megöletem magam szép gyűrűs mátkámért, Meghalok én még ma magyar nemzetemért.

he confronts alone the enemy army – in this case the Serbians, “from Szeben” – “cleaning a footpath while getting along between them, and opening a carriage-way while coming back between them”, until finally he is overcome by superior force.

Tomb of Izsák Kerekes in the churchyard of Nagymoha (Grânari)

The tomb of Izsák Kerekes still can be found in the churchyard of Nagymoha (Grânari) in Southern Transylvania, and according to its inscription he lost his life in 1704. However, the outstanding Transylvanian ethnographer István Pál Demény in his book Kerekes Izsák balladája (The Ballad of Izsák Kerekes), published in 1980 in Bucharest points out that the ballad is much older, and that the name of the hero was inserted in it only as an actualization at the time of the wars of Ferenc Rákóczi (1703-1711). The original ballad is an episode of the heroic epic poetry of the nomadic Hungarians of the first millennium, of which another version was left to us in the legend of King Saint Ladislaus (1077-1095) going to fight against the Cumans breaking into the country through the Transylvanian borders. It is as if we heard the same words of Izsák Kerekes from behind the veil of the Latin text of the chronicle: “Utilius est michi mori vobiscum, quam uxores vestras et filios videre in captivitate” – “It is better for me to die with you than to see your wives and sons in captivity.”

However, Demény also goes further, pointing out that this same song can be found, identical in all details, in the heroic epic songs of the steppe, among Mongolians and Turks. Perhaps one or another version of it was also sung by the Turkish warriors while assaulting the Citadel of Ismail Kadare, after the battle of Kosovo, or when setting out to fight against one of the Bosnian, Serbian, Albanian, Vlach, Bulgarian, Greek, Hungarian kumites – either alone, or in alliance with another of them.

Like the Cicada

Our appeal to our Readers to send us the songs telling about their history has been generously answered by Julia sharing with us her experiences of their change of regime in the early ’80s:

Having read this post of the Poemas del Río Wang, I have realized that I could not give a really comprehensive picture of the music of the protest songs or the songs of the Transición in Argentina. There are so many that I do not know or do not remember, or that I know by name but, to be sincere, has never touched me. Nevertheless, if I consider it with sincerity and renounce to be exhaustive to any extent, there are some songs that begin to emerge in my head when I think about the period.

I don’t know whether they all are of the same quality, and I also know that they do not represent the same period. Some of them I remember from the period when I was 12 and they started to speak about democracy in Argentina again, while others were handed to me by my parents. Here I offer a rather aleatory compilation, adding that the last ones are those of the most universal value.

As there are many great names in Argentina that could not be absent from a complete overview but have not became part of my real history, I thought it would be the best to select only from the songs of 1982 and 1983.

In Argentina we were ruled since 1976 by a military dictatorship calling themselves “Proceso de Reorganización Nacional”) that had won themselves a dark fame by their brutal repression killing thousands and thousands. The state terrorism acted through underground canals and its dimensions were not really known to everyone in their complete magnitude until the reappearing of democracy. We lived at that time in the climate of silent violence, censure and oppression that became almost natural.

In 1982, the Junta Militar committed its silliest mistake by starting a war against Great Britain for the Falkland Islands. Although I believe that we Argentinians all defend our sovereignty above these islands, the mortal project of attacking the British and send a large number of 18 years old boys, doing their obligatory military service, poorly equipped and poorly defended, was a desperately irresponsible undertaking from the government. Unfortunately many Argentinians, intoxicated by the mental dullness provoked by Chauvinism, applauded the de facto President of the country, Comandante Leopoldo F. Galtieri in declaring war. The defeat to be expected from the British was one of the most important factors forcing the “Proceso” to leave the power and to convoke elections in 1983.

I told about this war so much in detail because it was due to this conflict with Great Britain that in this year of 1982 the military dictatorship prohibited the radio stations from broadcasting music in English, thus producing the boom (what a mutiny, to use a word of the “enemy”) of the so-called “Rock Nacional”.

Then, in 1983 we were electrified by the imminent arrival of democracy. I was 11-12 years old (and, for an exotic detail, we lived in Ushuaia, in the most southernmost city of the world), and I remember my fascination at listening to the songs of the great Argentinian rocker Charly García, like the Inconsciente colectivo.


Charly García - Inconsciente colectivo - From the album Yendo de la cama al living, 1982

The Collective Unconsciousness Charly García A flower is born, every day the sun rises, every now and then you hear that voice, like bread, wanting to sing, in the roof of my mind, with the bees. But at the same time there is a transformer that consumes the best of you holds you back, asks more and more of you up to a point where you want to have no more to do with it. Breast suck liberty. You’ll always have it within your heart. You may be corrupted, you may forget, but she’ll always be there. Breast suck liberty. You’ll always have it within your heart. You may be corrupted, you may forget, but she’ll always be there. Yesterday I dreamt about the hungry people, the mad people. Those who went away , those who are in prison. Today I awoke singing this song that had already been written . It’s necessary to sing again once more.

Inconsciente colectivo Charly García Nace una flor, todos los días sale el sol de vez en cuando escuchas aquella voz. Cómo de pan, gustosa de cantar, en los aleros de mi mente con las chicharras. Pero a la vez existe un transformador que te consume lo mejor que tenés te tira atrás, te pide más y más y llega un punto en que no querés. Mamá la libertad, siempre la llevarás dentro del corazón te pueden corromper te puedes olvidar pero ella siempre está Mamá la libertad, siempre la llevarás dentro del corazón te pueden corromper te puedes olvidar pero ella siempre está Ayer soñé con los hambrientos, los locos, los que se fueron, los que están en prisión hoy desperté cantando esta canción que ya fue escrita hace tiempo atrás. Es necesario cantar de nuevo, una vez más.

I also remember the song Los dinosaurios which told a lot without saying, by referring to the members of the military dictatorship leaving the power and to the “disappeared”, the persons who were arrested, tortured and in the majority killed by state terrorism developing in the years of the dictatorship between 1976 and 1983.


Charly García - Los dinosaurios - From the album Clics modernos, 1983

The Dinosaurs Charly García Neighborhood friends may disappear, radio singers may disappear, those who are in the papers may disappear, the person that you love may disappear, those who are in the street may disappear, those who are on the air might disappear. Neighborhood friends may disappear. But the Dinosaurs, will disappear. I’m uneasy, my love. Today is Saturday night, a friend is in jail. Oh, my love, the world disappears. If the heavy people of the world, my love, carry such a lot of baggage in their hands, Oh, my love, I want to be lighthanded. When the world pulls you down It’s better not to be tied up to anything. Imagine Dinosaurs in bed, when the world pulls you down, it’s better not to be tied up to anything. Imagine Dinosaurs in bed. Neighborhood friends may disappear, radio singers may disappear, those who are in the papers may disappear, the person that you love may disappear, those who are in the street may disappear, those who are on the air might disappear, neighborhood friends may disappear. But the dinosaurs, will disappear.

Los dinosaurios Charly García Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer Los cantores de radio pueden desaparecer Los que están en los diarios pueden desaparecer La persona que amas puede desaparecer. Los que están en el aire pueden desaparecer en el aire Los que están en la calle pueden desaparecer en la calle. Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer, Pero los dinosaurios van a desaparecer. No estoy tranquilo mi amor, Hoy es sábado a la noche, Un amigo está en cana. Oh, mi amor, Desaparece el mundo Si los pesados, mi amor, llevan todo ese montón de equipajes en la mano Oh, mi amor, yo quiero estar liviano. Cuando el mundo tira para abajo es mejor no estar atado a nada Imaginen a los dinosaurios en la cama Cuando el mundo tira para abajo es mejor no estar atado a nada Imaginen a los dinosaurios en la cama Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer Los cantores de radio pueden desaparecer Los que están en los diarios pueden desaparecer La persona que amas puede desaparecer. Los que están en el aire pueden desaparecer en el aire Los que están en la calle pueden desaparecer en la calle. Los amigos del barrio pueden desaparecer, Pero los dinosaurios van a desaparecer.

But without doubt the song that unified the Argentinians of any shades was the Sólo le pido a Dios by León Gieco that was written in 1978 but became a hymn of pacifism during the Falkland War of 1982 and continued to be very symbolic for all the Transición towards democracy.


León Gieco - Sólo le pido a Dios - Del álbum IV LP, 1978 - Sung in this link by Mercedes Sosa

I Only Ask God León Gieco I only ask God that pain be not indifferent to me. that dry death won’t find me empty and alone without having done enough. I only ask of God that war be not indifferent to me, it’s a big monster and it tramples hard on the poor innocence of people. I only ask God that injustice be not indifferent to me that I will not be slapped on the other cheek after a claw has torn me in this manner. I only ask God that deceit be not indifferent to me if a traitor is mightier than a few let those few not forget it easily. I only ask God. that the Future be not indifferent to me someone who has to leave and live a different culture is one to be despaired of.

Sólo le pido a Dios León Gieco Sólo le pido a Dios que el dolor no me sea indiferente, que la reseca muerte no me encuentre vacío y solo sin haber hecho lo suficiente. Sólo le pido a Dios que lo injusto no me sea indiferente, que no me abofeteen la otra mejilla después que una garra me arañó esta suerte. Sólo le pido a Dios que la guerra no me sea indiferente, es un monstruo grande y pisa fuerte toda la pobre inocencia de la gente. Sólo le pido a Dios que el engaño no me sea indiferente si un traidor puede más que unos cuantos, que esos cuantos no lo olviden fácilmente. Sólo le pido a Dios que el futuro no me sea indiferente, desahuciado está el que tiene que marchar a vivir a una cultura diferente

If I already mentioned Mercedes Sosa who sings so beautifully this song by León Gieco, I must also remember another song by María Elena Walsh that my mother had shown to me. This genial and versatile writer is an institution of children’s literature and songs in our country, but she also wrote songs “for adults”, including the Serenata para la tierra de uno, a precious song that touches me again each time I listen to it (undoubtedly a heredity from my mother). María Elena Walsh suffered a lot because of the ideological closure of the governments of Juan Domingo Perón (from 1946 to 1955 and from 1973 to 1976, followed after his death in 1974 by his wife, elected vice president) and also by the various dictatorships following them (except for some small breaths of democracy in the 60’s). This song of love to her own country and of her dedication to it beyond all the difficulties, troubles and conflicts shows the exact feelings of many Argentinians. It is obviously hard to accept, of course, that it is only us who bear responsibility for the way we live (as we had no invasions, no external attacks, neither natural catastrophes that could justify the dark moments of our history). Anyway, the lyrics of the song is very subtle, without any shade of denunciation. It only suggests almost without words how much difficulties she has to overcome in order to justify her will to live “in one’s own land”.


Serenata para la tierra de uno by María Elena Walsh, sung also by Mercedes Sosa

Serenade for One’s Own Land María Elena Walsh Because it pains me if I stay But it kills me if I leave For everything and in spite of everything, my love, I want to live in you. Because of your decency of vidala. And because of your scandal of sun, Because of your summer with jasmines, my love, I want to live in you. Because childhood language Is a secret between us two, Because you gave shelter To my heart’s dereliction. Because of your old rebellions And because of the age of your pain, Because of your endless hope, my love, I want to live in you. To scatter the seeds of guitars in you To take care of you in every flower, And to hate those that harm you, my love, I want to live in you.

Serenata para la tierra de uno María Elena Walsh Porque me duele si me quedo pero me muero si me voy, por todo y a pesar de todo, mi amor, yo quiero vivir en vos. Por tu decencia de vidala y por tu escándalo de sol, por tu verano con jazmines, mi amor, yo quiero vivir en vos. Porque el idioma de infancia es un secreto entre los dos, porque le diste reparo al desarraigo de mi corazón. Por tus antiguas rebeldías y por la edad de tu dolor, por tu esperanza interminable, mi amor, yo quiero vivir en vos. Para sembrarte de guitarra para cuidarte en cada flor, y odiar a los que te lastiman, mi amor, yo quiero vivir en vos.

Another, for us very emblematic song is the Como la cigarra. It was composed at the end of the 60's, in a period of transition from a military government to the last one by Perón which then, in 1976, would lead into the “Proceso”. It is interesting that the very author told that when she publicly sung this song before 1975, it did not attract special attention, and nobody seemed to understand it, but some years later, in 1983 it became a hymn of the rebirth of democracy. It seems that in that moment many Argentinians understood that we had been and we were like the cicada.


Como la cigarra – María Elena Walsh, 1972 - En este link cantada Mercedes Sosa (a mediados de los '70 supongo)

Like the Cicada María Elena Walsh I was killed so many times. I died so many times however, here I am reviving . I thank misfortune and I thank the hand with the dagger because it killed me so badly that I went on singing Singing in the sun like the Cicada after a year under the earth just like a survivor, that’s returning from war. So may times was I wiped away so many times did I disappear, I went to my own funeral alone and crying I tied a knot on my handkerchief but then I forget that it hadn’t been the only time and I went on singing. Singing in the sun, like the Cicada after a year under the earth just like a survivor that´s returning from war So may times will you be killed so many will you revive how many years will you spend despairing. And at the moment of shipwreck and that of darkness someone will rescue you to go on singing Singing in the sun like the Cicada, after a year below the earth just like a survivor returning from war.

Como la cigarra María Elena Walsh Tantas veces me mataron, tantas veces me morí, sin embargo estoy aquí resucitando. Gracias doy a la desgracia y a la mano con puñal, porque me mató tan mal, y seguí cantando. Cantando al sol, como la cigarra, después de un año bajo la tierra, igual que sobreviviente que vuelve de la guerra. Tantas veces me borraron, tantas desaparecí, a mi propio entierro fui, solo y llorando. Hice un nudo del pañuelo, pero me olvidé después que no era la única vez y seguí cantando. Cantando al sol, como la cigarra, después de un año bajo la tierra, igual que sobreviviente que vuelve de la guerra. Tantas veces te mataron, tantas resucitarás cuántas noches pasarás desesperando. Y a la hora del naufragio y a la de la oscuridad alguien te rescatará, para ir cantando. Cantando al sol, como la cigarra, después de un año bajo la tierra, igual que sobreviviente que vuelve de la guerra.