Silvio Rodríguez, musician

I am reading What You Have Heard Is True by poet Carolyn Forché, a memoir about time she spent in El Salvador in the late 1970s, when the country was in turmoil and war was on the horizon. She is "recruited," if you will, by Leonel Gómez, a coffee farmer and political activist and also a cousin of Claribel Alegría, whose work Forché has been translating. And by recruited, I mean invited (urged, ordered) to El Salvador to observe and act as a witness, as they drive to campos, towns, and military installations all over, and talk to people of all stripes, from simple campesinos to high-ranking army officers.

Silvio in 1969

On their drives, they sometimes play music. One artist they listen to frequently is the Cuban musician Silvio Rodríguez (b. 1949), widely considered one of Latin America's finest singer-songwriters. I first learned about Silvio, as he is familiarly known, from my friend Tesi, oh, back in the 1990s maybe? He has a sweet voice and a gentle way with a guitar, but his words are full of purpose: revolutionary politics and idealism are frequent themes. Not that I understand the words, so I didn't get that listening to him. But in the book, Leonel teaches Carolyn a bit about how the simple sound of many of Silvio's songs belies their serious intent. Many of his songs are, apparently, simply love songs or songs about the human condition; so he isn't necessarily considered a revolutionary songwriter per se. Sometimes he is called the Latin American John Lennon.

Here are a couple of the songs mentioned in the book. With verses in Spanish; and I do not vouch for the translations, but they should make the songs more accessible for those of you who, like me, do not have much Spanish. (The titles are linked to YouTube videos. Listen while you read along!)

Playa Girón

Compañeros poetas,
tomando en cuenta
los últimos sucesos en la poesía,
quisiera preguntar —me urge—,
qué tipo de adjetivos se deben usar
para hacer el poema de un barco
sin que se haga sentimental,
fuera de la vanguardia
o evidente panfleto,
si debo usar palabras
como Flota Cubana de Pesca
y «Playa Girón».

Compañeros de música,
tomando en cuenta esas politonales
y audaces canciones,
quisiera preguntar —me urge—,
qué tipo de armonía se debe usar
para hacer la canción de este barco
con hombres de poca niñez,
hombres y solamente hombres sobre cubierta,
hombres negros y rojos y azules,
los hombres que pueblan el «Playa Girón».

Compañeros de Historia,
tomando en cuenta lo implacable
que debe ser la verdad,
quisiera preguntar —me urge tanto—,
qué debiera decir, qué fronteras debo respetar.
Si alguien roba comida y después da la vida
¿qué hacer?
¿Hasta dónde debemos practicar las verdades?
¿Hasta dónde sabemos?
Que escriban, pues, la historia, su historia,
los hombres del «Playa Girón»

Girón Beach

My fellow poets,
Taking into account
The latest trends in poetry,
If you would allow me to ask (I feel that I must)
What kind of adjectives should one use to write
A poem about a ship?
Without sounding sentimental,
Old fashioned,
Or sounding like a polemical pamphlet
If I should I use words
Like a Cuban fishing fleet
And Girón beach

My fellow musicians,
Taking into account
Today’s daring polytonal songs,
If you would allow me to ask (I feel that I must)
What type harmonies should one use to write
The song about this ship
With men who hardly had a childhood
Men who are just tough sailors on deck
Men black, red and blue,
The men who populate Girón beach

My companions in history
Taking into account
How unforgiving the truth must be,
If you would allow me to ask (I really feel that I must)
What should I say? Which rules should I respect?
If someone steals food and then gives up his life,
What should we do?
How far should we follow these truths?
How much do we really know?
Well, let them write the story,
Their own story, the men of Girón beach

 ¿A donde van?

¿A dónde van las palabras que no se quedaron?
¿A dónde van las miradas que un día partieron?
¿Acaso flotan eternas, como prisioneras de un ventarrón?
¿O se acurrucan, entre las hendijas, buscando calor?
¿Acaso ruedan sobre los cristales
Cual gotas de lluvia que quieren pasar?
¿Acaso nunca vuelven a ser algo?
¿Acaso se van?
¿Y a dónde van?
¿A dónde van?
¿En qué estarán convertidos mis viejos zapatos?
¿A dónde fueron a dar tantas hojas de un árbol?
¿Por dónde están las angustias
Que desde tus ojos saltaron por mí?
¿A dónde fueron mis palabras sucias de sangre de abril?
¿A dónde van ahora mismo estos cuerpos
Que no puedo nunca dejar de alumbrar?
¿Acaso nunca vuelven a ser algo?
¿Acaso se van?
¿Y a dónde van?
¿A dónde van?
¿A dónde va lo común, lo de todos los días?
¿El descalzarse en la puerta, la mano amiga?
¿A dónde va la sorpresa, casi cotidiana del atardecer?
¿A dónde va el mantel de la mesa, el café de ayer?
¿A dónde van los pequeños terribles encantos que tiene el hogar?
¿Acaso nunca vuelven a ser algo?
¿Acaso se van?
¿Y a dónde van?
¿A dónde van?
¿Y a dónde van?
¿A dónde van?

Where Are They Going?

Where do the words go that did not stay?
Where do the looks that one day departed go?
Do they float eternally, like prisoners of a gale?
Or do they crouch, between the cracks, looking for heat?
Do they roll over the crystals, like raindrops they want to pass?
Are they never something again?
Do they leave?
And where are they going?
where are you going?
What will my old shoes be made of?
Where did they go to give so many leaves of a tree?
Where are the anguish, that from your eyes leaped for me?
Where did my dirty April blood words go?
Where do these bodies go right now, that I can not stop illuminating?
Are they never something again?
Do they leave?
And where are they going?
where are you going?
Where does the common go, the everyday?
The barefoot at the door, the helping hand?
Where does the surprise go, almost daily at dusk?
Where does the tablecloth go, yesterday's coffee?
Where do the small terrible charms of the home go?
Are they never something again?
Do they leave?
And where are they going?
where are you going?