Las habaneras suenan a olas, yendo y viniendo, golpeando la playa, golpeando el casco de una barca azul, una barca de vela...
Y la voz de Sílvia también suena a mar, y a la magia de las olas.
Sílvia, siempre mágica, que también tendrá que cantar esta cuando yo me muera...
"Pinto les notes d’una havanera
blava com l’aigua d’un mar antic.
Blanca d’escuma, dolça com l’aire,
gris de gavines, daurada d’imatges,
vestida de nit.
Miro el paisatge, cerco paraules,
que omplin els versos sense neguit.
Els pins m’abracen, sento com callen,
el vent s’emporta tot l’horitzó.
Si pogués fer-me escata
i amagar-me a la platja
per sentir sons i tardes del passat,
d’aquest món d’enyorança,
amor i calma, perfumat de lluna, foc i rom.
Si pogués enfilar-me a l’onada més alta
i guarnir de palmeres el record,
escampant amb canyella totes les cales
i amb petxines fer-lis un bressol."
Siempre mirando hacia el oeste. Hasta en mi último día.
Cuando yo me muera (y espero que aún falte mucho para eso, porque hay demasiadas cosas que quiero hacer mientras tanto) habrá música irlandesa. Dulces y tristes baladas celtas. Jigs y reels, violines y gaitas y tin whitles y bodhrans.
Y el hombre pelirrojo, que volverá un ratito del Otro Lado para acompañarme en el camino.
Luke Kelly, que cantará una canción de cuna para despertarnos a todos...
"Sleep O babe, for the red bee hums the silent twilight's fall, Aoibheall from the grey rock comes, to wrap the world in thrall.
A leanbhan O, my child, my joy, my love my heart's desire,
The crickets sing you lullaby, beside the dying fire.
Dusk is drawn and the Green Man's thorn is wreathed in rings of fog, Siabhra sails his boat till morn, upon the Starry Bog.
A leanbhan O, the paly moon hath brimmed her cusp in dew,
And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tune, I sing O love to you."
Y luego, una canción revolucionaria.
Siempre me han gustado las revoluciones.
"As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew
Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew
'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the shore of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew
But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew
Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I'd kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew."
Y cuando ya todos estemos hartos de lágrimas, Luke sabrá levantarnos los ánimos también. Era todo un experto en esas cosas, el pelirrojo irlandés...
"An old man came courting me, hey ding-doorum down
An old man came courting me, me being young
An old man came courting me, fain he would marry me
Maids when you're young never wed an old man
Because he's got no faloorum, faliddle aye oorum
He's got no faloorum, faliddle aye ay
He's got no faloorum, he's lost his ding-doorum
So maids when you're young never wed an old man
When we went to church, hey ding-doorum down
When we went to church, me being young
When we went to church, he left me in the lurch
Maids when you're young never wed an old man
Because he's got no faloorum, faliddle aye oorum
He's got no faloorum, faliddle aye ay
He's got no faloorum, he's lost his ding-doorum
So maids when you're young never wed an old man
When we went to bed, hey ding-doorum down
When we went to bed, me being young
When we went to bed, he lay like he was dead
Maids when you're young never wed an old man
Because he's got no faloorum, faliddle aye oorum
He's got no faloorum, faliddle aye ay
He's got no faloorum, he's lost his ding-doorum
So maids when you're young never wed an old man
When he went to sleep, hey ding-doorum down
When he went to sleep, me being young
When he went to sleep, out of bed I did creep
Into the arms of a handsome young man
And I found his faloorum, faliddle aye oorum
I found his faloorum, faliddle aye ay
I found his faloorum, he's got my ding-doorum
So maids when you're young never wed an old man"
Va a ser una buena despedida, con semejante compañía...
