Purple foxgloves

Source: Luis Guitian. No balcon do Sil

5.   I Was Born When the Seedlings Sprout     (Nasín cando as prantas nasen)

(Cantares Gallegos, 1863)

Typographical Error in the Original

María del Carmen Sánchez Martínez below recites "mouro" instead of "Mauro" (4.1). A "mouro" in Galician folklore is a member of a legendary prehistoric race of giants who moved and set up huge boulders on the hilltops and who built underground tunnels, caverns and palaces housing immense riches. The change is further justified by the fact that a hill bordering on Bastavales has a flat top called Eira dos Mouros (Field of the Mouros). Accordingly the original line 4.1 read, "¿De que, pois, te queixas, mouro?," but the typesetter mistook the highlighted "o" for an "a" and his error is understandable because this video demonstrates that De Castro's caligraphy sometimes produced a's and o's that are hard to distinguish.

The word "mouro" is a colloquialism for "Neanderthal."

Translator's Note

"Nasín cando as prantas nasen" belongs to the 1863 tome of poetry Cantares Gallegos. Uncharacteristically this poem employs the affectionate diminutive once only.

Musical Adaptation

Galician-Argentinian composer and violinist Andrés Gaos Berea (b. 1874, d. 1959) set "Nasín cando as prantas nasen" to music under the title, "Rosa de Abril" (April Rose). Soprano María Bayo with the Galicia Symphony Orchestra and Choir performed the piece in 2007 (first entry). Soprano Cristina Gallardo-Domâs and the Gaos Orchestra cover the composition on the second entry. The Galician folk group Madialeva composed its own particular melody (third entry).

María Bayo and the Galicia Symphony Orchestra and Choir.

Cristina Gallardo-Domâs and the Gaos Orchestra.

Madialeva from the 2004 album Rúa Aberta.

Nasín cando as prantas nasen,
no mes das froles nasín,
nunha alborada mainiña,
nunha alborada de abril.

Por eso me chaman Rosa,
mais a do triste sorrir,
con espiñas para todos,
sin ningunha para ti.

Desque te quixen, ingrato,
todo acabou para min,
que eras ti para min todo,
miña groria e meu vivir.

¿De que, pois, te queixas, mouro?
¿De que, pois, te queixas, di,
cando sabes que morrera
por te contemplar felís?

Duro cravo me encravaches
con ese teu maldesir,
con ese teu pedir tolo
que non sei que quer de min,
pois dinche canto dar puden
avariciosa de ti.

O meu corasón che mando
cunha chave para o abrir,
nin eu teño máis que darche,
nin ti máis que me pedir.

I was born when the seedlings sprout,
In the month of the flowers I was born,
On a gentle, gentle dawn,
With the first light of an April morn.

That is why they call me Rose,
Yet she of the wry smile,
With thorns for everyone,
Without any for you.

From the day I loved you, ingrate,
Everything for me ended,
For you were everything to me:
My life and my bliss.

What then do you grumble about, Neanderthal?
What, say, can you complain of
When you know that I would even die
To see you happy in my eyes?

You nailed me with a hard spike,
With those curses of yours,
With your insane demands
That urge I know not what of me,
For I gave you what I could give,
Greedy for you.

I send you my heart
With a key that unlocks it:
Neither have I more to give to you
Nor you more to ask of me.