Tango Poetry
Just recently I have begun to include excerpts of poetry within the description of my Tango dresses. During my research I found so many lovely poems that I wanted to share them with you all so that you can enjoy the whole composition.
Here are several poems from the world of tango, deeply reflective of the passion and sensuality that is within tango. Some of them originally composed as Poetry, some of them are lyrics from Songs, translated from Spanish.
Throat with sand
You see,
the day is far from dawn,
“Polaco” Goyeneche,
sing me one more tango.
You see,
the night becomes long,
your life has a karma,
to sing, always to sing.Your voice,
that moves the tango,
saying the semicolon
that nobody sang for it.
With your voice,
with gobblins and ghosts,
breathe in the asthma
of an old bandoneón.Sing,
throat with sand
your voice has the pain
that Malena didn’t sing.Sing,
that Juárez condemns you
when hurting your pain,
with its white bandoneón.Sing,
people are applauding,
although you are dying
they don’t know your pain.Sing,
that Troilo from heaven,
underneath your pillow,
left you a verse.Singer, of a somewhat insolent tango,
you got people to hurt with your pain.
Singer, of a tightrope balancing act tango,
more than singer artist, with the vices of a singer.You see, to me and to Buenos Aires,
we always gasp for air
when your voice is not here
to you, that taught me so much,
the day that you sang a song with me.Sing,
throat with sand
your voice has the pain
that Malena didn’t sing.Sing,
that Juárez condemns you
when hurting your pain,
with its white bandoneón.Sing,
people are applauding,
although you are dying
they don’t know your pain.Sing,
that Troilo from the sky,
underneath your pillow,
left a verse.Lyrics and music by: Cacho Castaña
“Original Source: Tango-planet.com”
The Connection
I carefully escort you to the dance floor
And pause, hesitate, till you are ready.
Gently, gently, gently, I take your hand,
And put my other, o so softly, at your back.
We begin to dance
And, momentarily
We connect.
We connect.
We become inseperable, entangled.
We are enveloped in escaped sensuality, that
For the duration of this dance
Is perfectly balanced; how precious it is.
Let this dance never end because
The connection is sadly, purely, only, for the duration of this dance.
Let this dance never end because
When it ends the connection will shatter like perfect glass.
Eran Braverman
[Original Source: maidenmermaid.wordpress.com]
The Follower
O her looks!
Enchanting, beautiful and alluring; hypnotic;
In those feminine, long heels that exentuate and flatter her elegance,
In that dress which tranforms her into a picture of divinity.
The lighting is dim, obscure, with tones of blood red,
Lighting fit for the follower, giving her
A sense of mystique.
O her movements!
She pivots
And her dress
Rises and falls, flows and ebbs, lights and shadows, like waves at the shore.
She pivots
And her magnificent legs turn in impossible contradiction to her body
That for a single second the flexibility, the suppleness she displays
Is breath taking
To behold.
O her touch!
To take her in your arms, to move and sway to that melody,
To have her in that enticing close embrace
Is sublime; an unsurpassable privilege.
Her pleasure becomes your pleasure.
When she performs the castigada
In that instant
Even whilst the music plays
Even as the dance continues
The world stops,
To allow the body and soul to feel entranced.
Eran Braverman
This Is How to Dance Tango
What do the rich boys,
snobs and fashionistas know?
What do they know about tango,
what do they know about rhythm?
Here is elegance:
What a look! What presence!
What poise! What arrogance!
What a dance lesson!
This is how to dance tango,
while I draw an ocho
for these filigrees
I’m like a painter.
And now a run of steps,
a turn, a pose—
This is how to dance tango,
a flowery tango for my memory!
This is how to dance tango:
feeling in your face
the blood that rises
with every beat
while the arm,
like a serpent,
surrounds the waist
that’s going to bend.
This is how to dance tango:
the breath melding
closing your eyes
to hear better
how the violins
tell the bandoneón
why since that night
Malena hasn’t sung.
Elizardo Martínez Vilas
[Original Sources: poesiadegotan.com]
An Emotion
Come and see what I’m bringing with this union of notes and words:
it’s the song that inspired me,
an evocation that cradled me in its arms last night.
It’s the voice of tango sounded on every corner
by those who live by an emotion that dominates them.
I want to sing for this sound
that gets sweeter and more seductive all the time.
Wrapped up in this illusion last night I listened to it,
an emotion composed of things from my yesterdays:
the house where I was born,
its iron fence and its ivy,
the old carousel and the rosebush.
Its accent is the song of sentimental voices,
its rhythm is the measure that lives in my city—
it has no pretensions,
it doesn’t want to be lewd,
it’s called tango, and nothing more.
If it’s so humble and so simple
in its measures,
why add bad examples
in every phrase?
With these leftover emotions
it’s very easy to touch the heart.
Orquesta Ricardo Tanturi, singer Enrique Campos
[Original Source: poesiadegotan.com]
Malena
Malena sings the tango like no other
and she puts her heart in every verse.
Her voice perfumes with suburban weeds,
Malena has the pain of the bandoneón.
Perhaps in her distant youth her lark’s voice
took on that dark back-alley tone,
or perhaps it was that romance that she only names
when she saddens herself with alcohol.
Malena sings the tango with a shadowy voice,
Malena has the pain of bandoneón.
Your song
has the chill of a last meeting…
your song
becomes bitter in the salt of memories…
I don’t know
if your voice is the bloom of a wound,
I just know that the sound of your tangos, Malena,
makes me feel that you are better,
better than me.
Your eyes are dark as forgetfulness,
your lips pressed together like rage,
your hands two doves that feel a chill,
your veins have the blood of the bandoneón.
Your tangos are abandoned creatures
that cross the mud of the alleys,
when all the doors are closed
and the ghosts of the song wail,
Malena sings the tango with a broken voice,
Malena has the pain of the bandoneón.
Orquesta Aníbal Troilo, singer Francisco Fiorentino
[Original Sources: poesiadegotan.com]
Accomplice
Enclosed within your arms
Moving to your rhythm
Waiting to see where you lead
Letting go of my control
Freeing myself to respond
Willing part of this whole
Accomplice in your dance
Willing to take this chance
Lead and I will follow
Kaz
Becoming Tango
I can feel your timidity
When I offer my proximity
There’s no safe space
Within the close embrace
Your sweat under my palm
My body inside your arm
Our rhythms begin to coincide
Within the step and glide
When we forget our fumbling feet
Feel the music and hear the beat
Somewhere the ebb and flow
Becomes the Tango
Kaz
[Original Sources: www.facebook.com/permalink.php]
