Camamecero

Look at him, it doesn't matter the name;
it could be Joaquin, Ernesto,
Transito, Isaco, or anyone
of our chamame masters...

He's the king of the party,
his quiet presence commands;
everyone unwittingly hands over
the reins of their feelings.

That's why the crowd
feels a tickle inside
and their soul starts to dance
as soon as the instrument opens...
Check it out! It's worth it
to see him, standing in his silence,
weaving melodies
and wrinkling the wind...

It seems like a sacred rite;
the chamame master bows,
closes his eyes and chooses
a deep chamame
that’s a beautiful snake
that seems to be in heat
because it twists and twists
until it sinks its venom
into the ankles of the dancer...

And from that moment on
the Correntino is wounded...
He doesn't dance, he prays; his gestures
speak for him... meanwhile,
while he writhes away,
blood spills on the dance floor
from the wound of his silence...

He drags his feet
in a sinuous vibe;
he feints, spins, sways,
plants himself in the footwork;
and like a peacock
he stands tall, pompous and slow,
with the noble bearing
of an ancient knight.

(From what distant past,
from what buried empire,
from what burned towns
does this magic come?
From where does that slow strength
that grips the ground come?
From where does that gallantry
that has the dancer moving come?

Some say it's inheritance
and others, things of a charm;
the music is in the soul
of the children of this land;
it surged up through their blood
from their heels to their chest,
and it bursts from their hands
and blooms in the wind...

Maybe that's why we use you,
brother chamame master,
denying you that place
that’s yours and that we owe you.
They applaud you and praise you
but (Who took the time
to come to your house
to share your sleepless nights...?

What do we know of your life
and what of your thoughts...?
What do you tell your wine;
what sorrow, what love, and what dreams...?
Father of our joy,
Lord of the dance, Master!
you can't be paid with money,
your worth is priceless...!

I hope you never die,
brother chamame master,
and do me a favor, if one day
I happen to die, I don’t plan to,
play me your "Ahapotama"
or "La Cau," and I promise
to get up
on my way to the cemetery
to stay by your side,
to be your guitarist
and to sing by ear
and in duet like in my town,
the most heartfelt chamame,
the chamame that’s been
crying in your soul
and it’s your voice, Chamame Master!