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| Shapes of nostalgia: On the return-motif in "Madreselva" and "Caminito" |
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Essay and translations by Jake Spatz Madreselva (1930) by Luis Cesar Amadori Caminito (1926) by Gabino Coria Peñaloza |
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| There is a handful of tango lyrics that seems, to me, definitive of the sentimental classic—the Platonic ideals, I'm tempted to say, from which other lyrics descend. Two of them, "Madreselva" (Honeysuckle) and "Caminito" (Little road), are paragons of the form, and I'd like to examine their similarities here. I believe they're worth a comment in themselves, if only to spend another moment with them, as with an old blanket; and I think they'll add a glimmer to some other lyrics by comparison, notably those of the great Homero Manzi. | ||
| "Madreselva" is a simple song, which evokes the suburbs, the teenage years (with their incessant reveries of childhood), and that eerie tickle in the loins known as puberty: | ||
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Vieja pared del arrabal, tu sombra fué mi compañera. De mi niñez sin esplendor la amiga fué tu madreselva. Cuando, temblando, mi amor primero, con su esperanza besó mi alma, yo, junto a vos, pura y feliz, cantaba así mi primera confesión: |
Old city wall around the slum, your shadow once was my companion. As I grew up and all was drab, I had a friend in your honeysuckle. When, all a-tremble, my very first love with all of its hope left a kiss on my soul, I stood at your side, happy and pure, and sang you the first real confession I made: |
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| This "confession" is sung like a low chant, like a prayer against fate, like an incantation: | ||
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Madreselvas en flor que me vieron nacer, y en la vieja pared sorprendieron mi amor... Tu humilde caricia es como el cariño primero y querido que siento por él! Madreselvas en flor, que trepándose van, es su abrazo tenaz y dulzón como aquel... Si todos los años tus flores renacen hacé que no muera mi primer amor! |
Honeysuckle in bloom, that watched over my birth, and by the old city wall, caught me falling in love... your humble caresses are like the affection, the first and the warmest, I feel in my heart! Honeysuckle in bloom, that goes climbing along, your embrace is as strong and as sweet as its own... If year after year all your flowers reopen, don't let my first love come to an end! |
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| Had this been all the song that was written, it would be par for the course, as far as sentimental popular songs go. Yet here there are two lines that redefine the song's perspective, sung, invariably, with a strange melody, a fainter, almost banshee moan: | ||
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Pasaron los años, y mis desengaños yo vengo a contarte, mi vieja pared... |
Years have gone by now... they've opened my eyes... I've come to confide in you, my old city wall... |
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| After this crushing interlude, the second verse begins, and we are stuck in the present again. We realize that the song has opened in a flashback, a reminiscence, a return of the adult to the "old city wall" of his youth. So powerful was his memory, that we saw only the past. The speaker's memory, the wish of his chant, has reminded him of events as, in contrast, they actually happened... He's not standing at the wall in gladness, but in disappointment. Now we come up to speed with reality: | ||
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Así aprendí que hay qué fingir para vivir decentemente. Que amor y fe mentiras son, y del dolor se ríe la gente. Hoy que la vida me ha castigado y me ha enseñado su credo amargo, vieja pared, con emoción me acerco a vos, y te digo como ayer: |
I've come to learn you must pretend if you're to live a life of decency. That love and faith are only lies, and people laugh when you're in pain. Now that life has played me for a fool and taught me the rule of its own bitter creed, old city wall, with brimming heart I come to you, and say the same as yesterday: |
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| The chorus returns with its spooky melody, intensified with regrets and nostalgias. A few significant lines are different this time around, in keeping with a technique I call the "recycled stanza": | ||
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Madreselvas en flor, que me vieron nacer, y en la vieja pared sorprendieron mi amor: tu humilde caricia es como el cariño primero y querido que nunca olvidé. Madreselvas en flor, que trepandose van, es tu abrazo tenaz y dulzón como aquel. Si todos los años tus flores renacen porque ya no vuelve mi primer amor... |
Honeysuckle in bloom, that watched over my birth, and by the old city wall caught me falling in love: your humble caresses are like the affection, the first and the warmest, that I'll never forget. Honeysuckle in bloom, that goes climbing along, your embrace is as strong and as sweet as its own... If year after year all your flowers reopen, why doesn't my first love now come back again? |
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| "Madreselva" is a prime example of a lyric poem that owes its major effect to the strong presence of plot. That plot is so clean and so poetic in itself, I want to call it classical. The sentimental content in itself is not that interesting. But in the song's structure it gains a life-cycle, an identity, an emotional magnitude. | ||
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