Memories
Language: English
Available translation(s): SPA
A. Very Pleasant
We're sitting in the opera house;
We're waiting for the curtain to arise
With wonders for our eyes;
We're feeling pretty gay,
And well we may,
"O, Jimmy, look!" I say,
"The band is tuning up
And soon will start to play."
We whistle and we hum,
Beat time with the drum.
We're sitting in the opera house;
We're waiting for the curtain to arise
With wonders for our eyes,
A feeling of expectancy,
A certain kind of ecstasy,
Expectancy and ecstasy... Sh's's's.
B. Rather Sad
From the street a strain on my ear doth fall,
A tune as threadbare as that "old red shawl,"
It is tattered, it is torn,
It shows signs of being worn,
It's the tune my Uncle hummed from early morn,
'Twas a common little thing and kind 'a sweet,
But 'twas sad and seemed to slow up both his feet;
I can see him shuffling down
To the barn or to the town,
A humming.
Authorship:
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- SPA Spanish (Español) (Alfredo García) , "Recuerdos", copyright © 2004, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [
Administrator]
This text was added to the website between May 1995 and September 2003.
Line count: 28
Word count: 164
Recuerdos
Language: Spanish (Español)  after the English
A. Muy agradables
Estamos sentados en la opera, la ópera, la ópera;
esperando a que se levante el telón
con maravillas para nuestros ojos;
nos sentimos muy alegres,
y con razón.
"jimmy, míra!" Digo,
la orquesta está afinando
y pronto empezará a tocar.
Silbamos y tararearnos,
llevamos el compás con el tambor.
Estamos sentados en la ópera, la ópera, la ópera;
esperando a que se levante el telón
con maravillas para nuestros ojos;
una sensación de expectación,
un cierto tipo de éxtasis,
expectación y éxtasis... Sh ... s..ss.
Muy tristes
Desde la calle llegan a mis oídos unos acordes,
una melodía tan gastada como ese "viejo chal rojo",
está desgarrada, está rota,
tiene señales de estar usada,
es la melodía que mi Tío tarareaba desde el amanecer,
algo habitual y bastante agradable,
pero era triste y parecía volverle torpe;
puedo verlo arrastrando los pies
hasta el granero o hasta el pueblo,
tarareando. . .
Authorship:
Based on:
This text was added to the website: 2004-05-02
Line count: 28
Word count: 154