Happy Cinco Desmadre!

That is all.

Y que mueran los Napoleones!!
Con apoyo, solidaridad y cariño para los Arizoneros, un regalito.

Píntame angelitos negros

¡Ah mundo! La Negra Juana,
¡la mano que le pasó!
Se le murió su negrito,
sí señor.

—Ay, compadrito del alma,
¡tan sano que estaba el negro!
Yo no le acataba el pliegue,
yo no le acataba el hueso;
como yo me enflaquecía,
lo medía con mi cuerpo,
se me iba poniendo flaco
como yo me iba poniendo.
Se me murió mi negrito;
Dios lo tendrá dispuesto;
ya lo tendrá colocao
como angelito del Cielo.

—Desengáñese, comadre,
que no hay angelitos negros.

Pintor de santos de alcoba,
pintor sin tierra en el pecho,
que cuando pintas tus santos
no te acuerdas de tu pueblo,
que cuando pintas tus Vírgenes
pintas angelitos bellos,
pero nunca te acordaste
de pintar un ángel negro.

Pintor nacido en mi tierra,
con el pincel extranjero,
pintor que sigues el rumbo
de tantos pintores viejos,
aunque la Virgen sea blanca,
píntame angelitos negros.

No hay pintor que pintara
angelitos de mi pueblo.
Yo quiero angelitos blancos
con angelitos morenos.
Ángel de buena familia
no basta para mi cielo.

Si queda un pintor de santos,
si queda un pintor de cielos,
que haga el cielo de mi tierra,
con los tonos de mi pueblo,
con su ángel de perla fina,
con su ángel de medio pelo,
con sus ángeles catires,
con sus ángeles morenos,
con sus angelitos blancos,
con sus angelitos indios,
con sus angelitos negros,
que vayan comiendo mango
por las barriadas del cielo.

Si al cielo voy algún día,
tengo que hallarte en el cielo,
angelitico del diablo,
serafín cucurusero.

Si sabes pintar tu tierra,
así has de pintar tu cielo,
con su sol que tuesta blancos,
con su sol que suda negros,
porque para eso lo tienes
calientito y de los buenos.
Aunque la Virgen sea blanca,
píntame angelitos negros.

No hay una iglesia de rumbo,
no hay una iglesia de pueblo,
donde hayan dejado entrar
al cuadro angelitos negros.
Y entonces, ¿adónde van,
angelitos de mi pueblo,
zamuritos de Guaribe,
torditos de Barlovento?

Pintor que pintas tu tierra,
si quieres pintar tu cielo,
cuando pintas angelitos
acuérdate de tu pueblo
y al lado del ángel rubio
y junto al ángel trigueño,
aunque la Virgen sea blanca,
píntame angelitos negros.

Andrés Eloy Blanco

Oye, de verdad que mil gracias por esa version que es preciosa! Es el poema entero ademas. Ni siquiera sabia yo que los Olimareños la cantaban. Quedara marcada en mi navegador :)

Paint Me Some Black Angels

Oh world, to that black woman, Juana
what a bad hand was dealt,
Her black man has died,
yes sir.

—Ay, my dearest compadre,
¡he was so healthy, my black man!
I could not feel his folds,
I could not see his bones;
as I became thiner,
I used my body as measure,
and he began to thin out
as I thinned out as well.

My black man has died;
as God willed it;
he will be next to him now
like an angel in heaven.

Face reality, comadre,
black angels don't exist.


Oh Painter who paints bedroom saints,
painter who's heart knows no land,
that while painting these saints
never remembers your countrymen,
that when you paint virgins,
always paints such beautiful angels,
but never remembers
to paint a black angel.


Painter born in my country,
with a foreign paintbrush,
painter that follows the path,
of so many painters of old,
even if the Virgin is white,
paint her some black angels.


There are no painters to paint
angels for my countrymen.
I want some white angels
next to the brown skinned ones.
Angels from good families
are not enough for my heaven.


If there is a painter of saints left,
if there is a painter of heavens left,
to make a heaven for this land,
with the hues of my countrymen,
with angels of fine pearl,
and angels of auburn hair,
with blond angels,
and brown skinned angels,
with white angels,
and Indian angels,
and black angels,
walking along eating mangoes
through the neighborhoods of heaven.


If I go to heaven someday,
I will search for him there,
my devil of an angel,
my dark black seraphim.

If you know how to paint your land,
you should paint your heaven thus,
with a sun that toasts the whites,
and makes the black ones sweat,
for that’s what it’s for,
warm and good to all.
So even if the Virgin is white,
paint me some black angels.


Is there no church anywhere,
Is there no church in any country,
where they have allowed
black angels on the canvass?
If not, where do they go,
the angels of my country,
the little vultures of the Guaribe,
or the black crows of Barvolento?

Painter that paints this country,
if you want to paint your heaven,
when you paint angels,
remember your countrymen
and next to the blond angel
side by side with the brunette one
Even if the Virgin is white
paint me some black angels.

Andrés Eloy Blanco

Como va la cruda hoy? :-)

Y porque "desmadrada?" Lo de AZ?

BTW, saw the video of los charros. The horses and charros were spectacular, but I have to agree with a couple of commenters; why the Arabic and Spain music? Seems that mariachi music would have been more apt.

:hi:

Regarding the music, I didn't think is was particularly Arabic or Spanish, but I did think it fit the mood of the film.

But if you one a different video with Mariachi music, you will enjoy this escaramuza charra:

http://www.youtube.com/user/mapachtli42#p/a/f/2/I_dGzwUtjW0



As far as the desmadre, this is what I was thinking about when I posted it:
Machete Official 2010 Movie Trailer
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ls7ejAQqshI
:rofl: