El Fantasma Del Ziu Gaetan
Davide Van De Sfroos| Original | English version - The Ghost of Uncle Gaetan – piemar 2015 |
| EL FANTASMA DEL ZIU GAETAN E sivuplè, adèss sara la bùca e ferma la tua lengua Senta che veent che incruscia la bedoja e te bùfa via i paròll.. Un fiocch de neev che paar una cicàda soe la finestra de questa vìlla vègia E la paguura te pìzza e poe te smòrza nel portascèndra cumè un mùcc…. L’è inuutil che sgàrlet nel foech e te moevet la bràsca Che gnànca l’infernu l’è bòn de sculdà questu siit E varda quel quel quadru tacaa giò in fuund alla stanza Una fàcia de nèbia, de scìla, de arsenico e giàzz… Regordess bee che questa nòcc stremìda l’è la nòcc de tucc i Saant E luu l’è scià cumè una s’ciupetàda sparàda foe del trònn… In questa cà l’ha imbuttigliaa el so coer prema de nànn per quela guèra, ma la butèglia quajvoen ghe l’ha bevuuda e fracassàda cuntra el muur l’è inutil che adèss la tua foeja se tàca al so ràmm che dopu sto culpu de briisa gh’è scià l’uragànn…. L’è el fantasma del ziu Gaetann una sciabula in ogni mann L’è turnaa indree de Balaklava cunt i oeucc che pareven lava Soe la spala g’ha un barbagiann e ‘l cavall l’è de verderamm I barbiis cumè catramm e la facia culuur zafrann L’è el fantasma del ziu Gaetann l’è el fantasma del ziu Gaetann E i g’hann sparaa quarantamila voolt insema a oltri seesceent La moort la muveva la rànza ma luu el sbassàva la cràpa E canunaat e foemm e tempesta de sabbia de piuumb e de òss La moort regalava la ranza a quii che ghe sparàven adòss… Ma ogni culpu che sbògia la divisa paar quasi che ghe dia pussee forza Quando l’anima è molto distante l’è difficil che’ corp el se smòrza E badabàmm alla fine la moort l’ha strengiuu pussee la sua morsa Ma el coer ghe l’ha mea truvaa e adèss luu l’è scià de cursa… | THE GHOST OF UNCLE GAETAN Now please, shut your mouth and stop your tongue Hear the wind that bends the birch and blows away your words A snowflake like a spittle on the windows of that old villa And fears turns you on and off in the ashtray like a (cigarette) butt. It's useless to poke in the fire and turn over the embers Because even Hell cannot warm up this place And look at that painting hanging in the bottom of the room A face of fog, wax, arsenic and ice Remember well the name of this night: it is All Hallow's Eve And he is back like a gunshot fired out of the thunder In this house he bottled his heart before going into that war But someone drank from that bottle and smashed it against the wall. It's useless for your leaf to fasten to its branch Because after this breeze gust, it comes the hurricane It's the ghost of Uncle Gaetan, a sabre in each hand, He's back from Balaklava with eyes like lava On his shoulder there's a barn owl and his horse is of verdigris The moustache like tar, and the face like saffran It's the ghost of Uncle Gaetan, the ghost of Uncle Gaetan They shooted him forty thousand times, together with other six hundreds Death moved her scythe but he lowered his head Cannon shots and smoke and storm of sand and bones Death donated her scythe to those who shooted at him But every shot which pierced his uniform almost seemed to give him more strength When the soul is far away, it is hard to turn off the body And "badabam" in the end Death tightened its grasp But she could not find his heart and now he's rushing back... It's the ghost of Uncle Gaetan, a sabre in each hand, He's back from Balaklava with eyes like lava On his shoulder there's a barn owl and his horse is of verdigris The moustache like tar, and the face like saffran It's the ghost of Uncle Gaetan, the ghost of Uncle Gaetan |
