Translations of Fabrizio de André
The Old Town
In the streets on which
the sun the good Lord made
refuses to shine –
keeping people warm
in other parts of town
takes up all his time –
a young girl sings the song
that whores have used so long
to broadcast their charms:
what you still don’t know
is something I can show
you only here between my arms.
And if, with her young years,
her competence is clearly
open to question
a little practice will
give her all the skill
she needs for perfection.
Ah by Juno how it
used to be so different
in days of yore
when a person had to
have a real vocation
just to be a simple whore.
One leg over here,
one leg over there,
bloated with wine
four retired old boys
(and one and all half-poisoned),
passing the time.
And come rain or shine,
this is where you’ll find them,
always together
Bibulously guzzling,
fouly imprecating
women, government and weather.
They’re just searching for
a little happiness,
inside a glass
in order to forget
the many times that they’ve been
kicked in the ass
Some small joy there’ll be,
in their agony,
with wine on their lips
and across their face
a little smile will race,
as they all cash in their chips.
Elderly professor,
in that darkened hallway,
who comes to meet you?
Could it be the only
one who still has got
something to teach you?
The one of whom, by day,
with great contempt you say
that she’s a wife-at-large;
the same one who by night,
adjusts to your delights
the prices that she’s going to charge.
As you close the door,
you’ll feel you need some more
if you’re to get your fill,
putting off until
the last day of the month
paying the bill.
And when you cash your pension
check you’ll find there’s nothing
left to enjoy.
You pay 10,000 lire
just so you can hear her
tell you you’re a naughty boy.
Down towards the port,
where the air is fraught
with smells of decay
thieves of every kind
and murderers you’ll find,
come night or day.
And if you can brave
the narrow alleyways
along the old wharf
you’ll see the crazy guy who,
for three thousand lire,
sold his mother to a dwarf.
An upright citizen’s
opinion of such men
is bound to be harsh:
You’ll probably think that they
should all be locked away
to die behind bars.
But if you look at them
from top to bottom then
you’ll certainly see
if they’re not pure inside,
they’re still their mothers’ pride;
they’re victims of society.
La città vecchia
Nei quartieri dove
il sole del buon Dio
non dà i suoi raggi
ha già troppi impegni
per scaldar la gente
d’altri paraggi,
una bimba canta
la canzone antica
della donnaccia
quello che ancor non sai
tu lo imparerai
solo qui tra le mie braccia.
E se alla sua età
le difetterà
la competenza
presto affinerà
le capacità
con l’esperienza
dove sono andati
i tempi di una volta
per Giunone
quando ci voleva
per fare il mestiere
anche un po’ di vocazione.
Una gamba qua,
una gamba là,
gonfi di vino
quattro pensionati
mezzo avvelenati
al tavolino
li troverai là,
col tempo che fa,
estate e inverno
a stratracannare
a stramaledire
le donne, il tempo ed il governo.
Loro cercan là,
la felicità
dentro a un bicchiere
per dimenticare
d’esser stati presi
per il sedere
ci sarà allegria
anche in agonia
col vino forte
porteran sul viso
l’ombra di un sorriso
tra le braccia della morte.
Vecchio professore
cosa vai cercando
in quel portone
forse quella che
sola ti può dare
una lezione
quella che di giorno
chiami con disprezzo
pubblica moglie
quella che di notte
stabilisce il prezzo
alle tue voglie.
Tu la cercherai,
tu la invocherai
più di una notte
ti alzerai disfatto
rimandando tutto
al ventisette
quando incasserai
delapiderai
mezza pensione
diecimila lire
per sentirti dire
“micio bello e bamboccione”.
Se ti inoltrerai
lungo le calate
dei vecchi moli
In quell’aria spessa
carica di sale,
gonfia di odori
lì ci troverai
i ladri gli assassini
e il tipo strano
quello che ha venduto
per tremila lire
sua madre a un nano.
Se tu penserai,
se giudicherai
da buon borghese
li condannerai
a cinquemila anni
più le spese
ma se capirai,
se li cercherai
fino in fondo
se non sono gigli
son pur sempre figli
vittime di questo mondo.
Notes: The song was originally written so that, in the 19th triplet, what the elderly professor calls by day the person he is seeking out at night is “specie di troia” (a kind of whore). RAI refused to play the song on the radio and de André changed it to the better-known version “pubblica moglie” (public wife, or wife-at-large). This is a case where censorship leads to great artistic improvement! In this recording, however, the original version is preserved.
Simon J. Evnine 