El Vals de los Jubilados
Se levanta muy temprano
con todo el día por delante.
Y da vueltas por la casa,
estorbando en todas partes.
Se anuda al fin la corbata,
en tiempos tan elegante.
Lo mismito que un pincel
el viejo se echa a la calle.
Con el pan debajo el brazo
visita todos los bares.
Tomás, ponnos unos tintos
que invito a las amistades.
A voces arregla el mundo
y a voces, aunque se pase,
pontifica de los toros,
de la liga y del cante.
"Si las cosas, ya le digo,
soplaran con otros aires,
y aquella maldita guerra
como acabó no acabase,
ni aquí estaría yo ahora,
ni usted. Y lo más probable
es que la tortilla misma
la vuelta tendría que darse".
Y suspira con nostalgia
de aquel que todo lo sabe.
Y una mirada a esa niña,
que la edad no mata el hambre.
Hoy es día veintiocho
y la pensión viene tarde.
"A los viejos, ya le digo,
lo bailao no nos quita nadie".
Con un vinito en el cuerpo
el viejo a su casa se abre.
Ella lo espera en la puerta.
"Menudo cuerpo me traes".
Comen los dos en silencio.
De vez en cuando una frase
rompe las cuatro paredes.
"¿Decías algo?¿Me hablaste?".
Son tantos años de oírse
que no saben escucharse.
"¿Sabes algo de los chicos?"
"El mayor llamó ayer tarde".
Pasan el tiempo en silencio.
Después de comer no salen.
Luego cenan y ven tele
un ratito y a acostarse.
Si las cosas, es verdad,
soplaran con otros aires.
Si la sombra del olvido
con el tiempo no arrastrase
recuerdos que en este otoño
dejan huérfano el paisaje,
otro gallo cantaría,
quizá no sería tan tarde.
Y suspira con nostalgia
de aquel que todo lo sabe.
Y una mirada a esa niña,
que la edad no mata el hambre.
Hoy es día veintiocho
y la pensión viene tarde
A los viejos, ya le digo,
lo bailao no nos quita nadie.
The Waltz of the Retirees
He gets up very early
with the whole day ahead.
And he wanders around the house,
getting in the way everywhere.
He finally ties his tie,
once so elegant.
Just like a brush,
the old man goes out into the street.
With bread under his arm
he visits all the bars.
Tomás, pour us some red wine
I'll treat my friends.
He loudly solves the world's problems
and loudly, even if he goes too far,
he pontificates about bullfighting,
about the league and singing.
"If things, I tell you,
blew with different winds,
and that damn war
didn't end as it did,
neither would I be here now,
nor you. And most likely
the same old story
would have to be turned around".
And he sighs nostalgically
for the one who knows everything.
And a glance at that girl,
age doesn't satisfy hunger.
Today is the twenty-eighth day
and the pension is late.
"For us old folks, I tell you,
no one takes away what we've danced".
With a little wine in his system
the old man opens his house.
She waits for him at the door.
"What a body you bring me".
They both eat in silence.
Occasionally a sentence
breaks the four walls.
"Were you saying something? Did you talk to me?".
After so many years of hearing each other
they don't know how to listen.
"Do you know anything about the kids?"
"The oldest called yesterday afternoon".
They spend time in silence.
After eating, they don't go out.
Then they have dinner and watch TV
for a while before going to bed.
If things, it's true,
blew with different winds.
If the shadow of oblivion
doesn't erase with time
memories that in this autumn
leave the landscape orphaned,
another story would be told,
perhaps it wouldn't be too late.
And he sighs nostalgically
for the one who knows everything.
And a glance at that girl,
age doesn't satisfy hunger.
Today is the twenty-eighth day
and the pension is late.
For us old folks, I tell you,
no one takes away what we've danced.