Juan Ruiz (c.1283 – c.1350),
known as the Archpriest of Hita (Arcipreste de Hita), was a medieval
Castilian poet. His personality is as attractive as it is dark and
mysterious. He is best known for his ribald, earthy poem, El Libro de
Buen Amor(The Book of Good Love). He was born in Alcalá de Henares.
Little is known about him today, save that he was a cleric and probably studied
in Toledo. Though his birth name is known to be Juan Ruiz, he is widely
referred to by his title of "archpriest of Hita."
El Libro
de Buen Amor is
a long composition, made up of more than 1,700 stanzas of various kinds, whose
guiding thread is the story of the fictional autobiography of the author (Juan
Ruiz, archpriest of Hita). It is considered one of the Spanish literary peaks
of any time, and not only of the Middle Ages.
The singer, Paco Ibañez (Valencia, 1934) is a Spanish singer and musician. He never composed his own lyrics, but used famous poems, from the Medieval and Barroque periods, from Francisco de Quevedo, Góngora o Arcipreste de Hita among others, including contemporary poets like Federico García Lorca, Luis Cernuda, Rafael Alberti and Miguel Hernández. He also recorded in Spanish some of the compositions of the great French singer & composer Georges Brassens.
EL PODER DEL DINERO
Poema de Juan Ruiz, Arcipreste de Hita / Música: Paco
Ibáñez
Hace mucho el dinero, mucho se le ha de amar,
al torpe hace discreto y hombre de respetar,
hace correr al cojo y al mudo le hace hablar,
el que no tiene manos bien lo quiere tomar.
También al hombre necio y rudo labrador,
dineros le convierten en hidalgo doctor,
cuanto más rico es uno, más grande es su valor,
quien no tiene dinero no es de sí señor.
Y si tienes dinero tendrás consolación,
placeres y alegrías y del Papa ración,
comprarás Paraíso, ganarás la salvación,
donde hay mucho dinero, hay mucha bendición.
Yo vi en corte de Roma donde está la Santidad,
que todos al dinero tratan con humildad,
con grandes reverencias, con gran solemnidad,
todos a él se humillan, como a la Majestad.
Él crea los priores, los obispos, los abades,
arzobispos, doctores, patriarcas, potestades,
a los clérigos necios da muchas dignidades,
de verdad hace mentiras, de mentiras hace verdades.
Él hace muchos clérigos y muchos ordenados,
muchos monjes y monjas, religiosos sagrados,
el dinero les da por bien examinados,
a los pobres les dicen que no son ilustrados.
Yo he visto muchos curas en sus predicaciones,
despreciar al dinero, también sus tentaciones,
pero, al fin, por dinero, otorgan los perdones,
absuelven los ayunos y ofrecen oraciones.
Dicen frailes y clérigos que aman a Dios servir,
mas si huelen que el rico está para morir,
y oyen que su dinero empieza a retiñir,
por quién ha de cogerlo empiezan a reñir.
En resumen, lo digo, entiéndelo mejor:
el dinero es del mundo el gran agitador,
hace señor al siervo y siervo hace al señor;
toda cosa del siglo se hace por su amor.
This song was included in Paco Ibáñez's third studio album, first released in France in 1969 by Polydor/Moshé-Naïm, and the following year in Spain by Polydor. In it, Paco continued to set to music the work of poets, including Rafael Alberti, Luis Cernuda, León Felipe, Gloria Fuentes, Antonio Machado, José Agustín Goytisolo, the Archpreste de Hita, José Ángel Valente and Jorge Manrique.
This video includes the uncensored version of the song. With subtitles.
This children's poem by Federico García Lorca was published in "Songs (1921-1924)" with the following dedication: "To Miss Teresita Guillén, who plays a seven-note piano."
Lorca loved children and got along very well with them. Perhaps because he never lost that childlike sense of wonder, or perhaps because they reminded him of his own happy and carefree childhood in the beautiful Vega of Granada.
This simple poem is capable of conveying a profound sadness; the two lizards have lost their wedding rings. How could this have happened?
Este poema infantil de Federico García Lorca se publicó en ‘Canciones (1921-1924)’ con esta dedicatoria: “A mademoiselle Teresita Guillén tocando un piano de siete notas”. A Lorca le gustaban mucho los niños y se entendía bien con ellos. Quizás porque nunca perdió esa fantasía tan normal en los niños o quizás porque ellos le recordaban su propia infancia, feliz y despreocupada en la hermosa Vega de Granada. Este sencillo poema es capaz de transmitir una gran tristeza; los dos lagartos perdieron sus anillos de desposados ¿Cómo pudo suceder esto? (See the translation into English of this poem below)
Spain
[After the lyrics you can listen to the version of this song-poem by Isabel Parra (Chile)]
EL LAGARTO ESTÁ LLORANDO (A poem of Federico García Lorca) (Music by Paco Ibáñez) El lagarto está llorando. La lagarta está llorando. El lagarto y la lagarta con delantalitos blancos.
Han perdido sin querer, el lagarto y la lagarta, han perdido sin querer su anillo de desposados.
Ay, su anillito de plomo, ay, su anillito plomado, ay. Miradlos qué viejos son, el lagarto y la lagarta. Miradlos qué viejos son, qué viejos son los lagartos. Ay, cómo lloran y lloran, cómo lloran los lagartos. Ay, cómo lloran y lloran, ay, ay, cómo están llorando.
Version of Isabel Parra (Chile)
Mr. Lizard is crying
Mr. Lizard is crying.
Mrs. Lizard is crying.
Mr. and Mrs. Lizard
with little white aprons.
They have accidentally lost
their wedding rings.
Oh, their little leaded rings,
oh dear, their little leaded rings!
See how old they are!
How old the lizards are!
Oh dear, how they cry and cry,
oh dear, oh dear, how they are crying!
Georges Brassens is an iconic figure in France. 2011 will mark the 30th anniversary of his death. Brassens wrote 'La mauvaise réputation in 1952. Paco Ibáñez met Brassens in Paris when he was exiled in France and adapted 'La mauvaise réputation' into Spanish. It became one of his most popular songs together with other adaptations of poems of Francisco de Quevedo, Luís de Góngora, Federico García Lorca, Luis Goytisolo, Rafael Alberti, Antonio Machado among others. See below a video with Georges Brassens video below singing the original song in French.
Spain & France
La mala reputación (1952)
En mi pueblo sin pretensión, tengo mala reputación. Haga lo que haga es igual, todo lo consideran mal. Yo no pienso, pues, hacer ningún daño, queriendo vivir fuera del rebaño.
No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. Todos, todos, me miran mal, salvo los ciegos, es natural.
Cuando la fiesta nacional yo me quedo en la cama igual, que la música militar nunca me supo levantar. En el mundo, pues, no hay mayor pecado, que el de no seguir al abanderado.
No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. Todos me muestran con el dedo, salvo los mancos, quiero y no puedo.
Si en la calle corre un ladrón, y a la zaga va un ricachón, zancadilla pongo al señor, y aplastado el perseguidor. Esto sí que sí, que será una lata, siempre tengo yo que meter la pata.
No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. todos tras de mí a correr, salvo a los cojos, es de creer.
No hace falta saber latín, yo ya sé cuál será mi fin, en el pueblo se empieza a oir muerte, muerte al villano vil. Yo no pienso pues armar ningún lio, con que no va a Roma el camino mío.
No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. No, a la gente no gusta que uno tenga su propia fe. Todos, todos me miran mal, salvo los ciegos, es natural.
Georges Brassens - La mauvaise réputation (1952)
LA MAUVAISE REPUTATION (1952)
Au village, sans prétention, J'ai mauvaise réputation. Qu'je m'démène ou qu'je reste coi Je pass' pour un je-ne-sais-quoi! Je ne fait pourtant de tort à personne En suivant mon chemin de petit bonhomme. Mais les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Non les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Tout le monde médit de moi, Sauf les muets, ça va de soi.
Le jour du Quatorze Juillet Je reste dans mon lit douillet. La musique qui marche au pas, Cela ne me regarde pas.
Je ne fais pourtant de tort à personne, En n'écoutant pas le clairon qui sonne.
Mais les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Non les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Tout le monde me montre au doigt Sauf les manchots, ça va de soi.
Quand j'croise un voleur malchanceux, Poursuivi par un cul-terreux; J'lance la patte et pourquoi le taire, Le cul-terreux s'retrouv' par terre.
Je ne fait pourtant de tort à personne, En laissant courir les voleurs de pommes.
Mais les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Non les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Tout le monde se rue sur moi, Sauf les culs-de-jatte, ça va de soi.
Pas besoin d'être Jérémie, Pour d'viner l'sort qui m'est promis, S'ils trouv'nt une corde à leur goût, Ils me la passeront au cou.
Je ne fait pourtant de tort à personne, En suivant les ch'mins qui n'mènent pas à Rome.
Mais les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Non les brav's gens n'aiment pas que L'on suive une autre route qu'eux, Tout l'mond' viendra me voir pendu, Sauf les aveugles, bien entendu.
Bad Reputation
In the village, without pretension,
I have a bad reputation
Whether I make an effort or whether I stay quiet
I am regarded as an I don't know what!
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By going on my own sweet way
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No, the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
Everyone speaks ill of me,
Except for the dumbs, that goes without saying
The day of the 14th of July
I stay in my cosy bed
The marching music
Doesn't concern me
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By not listening to the bugle that sounds
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No, the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
Everyone points at me
Except for those without arms, that goes without saying
When I run into an unlucky thief,
Chased by cultural chap
I stick out my foot and why keep it quiet,
The cultural chap finds himself on the ground
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By letting apple thieves have a run
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No, the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them.
Everyone pounces on me
Except for those without legs, that goes without saying
No need to be a Jeremiah
To guess the fate that awaits me
If they find a rope to their liking
They will put it around my neck
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By following the paths that don't lead to Rome
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them.
Everyone will come to see me hanged
Except for the blind, of course.
In the village, without pretension,
I have a bad reputation
Whether I make an effort or whether I stay quiet
I am regarded as an I don't know what!
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By going on my own sweet way
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No, the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
Everyone speaks ill of me,
Except for the dumbs, that goes without saying
The day of the 14th of July
I stay in my cosy bed
The marching music
Doesn't concern me
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By not listening to the bugle that sounds
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No, the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
Everyone points at me
Except for those without arms, that goes without saying
When I run into an unlucky thief,
Chased by cultural chap
I stick out my foot and why keep it quiet,
The cultural chap finds himself on the ground
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By letting apple thieves have a run
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No, the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them.
Everyone pounces on me
Except for those without legs, that goes without saying
No need to be a Jeremiah
To guess the fate that awaits me
If they find a rope to their liking
They will put it around my neck
Yet I don't do harm to anyone
By following the paths that don't lead to Rome
But these good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them
No the good folks don't like that
You follow another way than them.
Everyone will come to see me hanged
Except for the blind, of course.