Manel

My uncle gave me a CD for Christmas. I finally decided to open it an listen to it in the car. It is now the middle of May.

It took me this long because I knew the pangs of homesickness would be hard to hide from the kids. And, sure enough, as the tunes emanated from the car and flooded my brain with memories, tears flooded my eyes. My kids were with me, and the oldest asked me why I was crying. My answer was the exact same one my mom had told me, three decades ago, in Mexico, when I was the one worried to see tears in my mother's eyes.

The CD in this case is the latest release by a folk Catalan group called Manel. Their songs are contemporary poetry that speaks to a generation (mine) that has been around for a while and yet is still trying to make sense of our lives and ourselves.

Below is a song interpreted in a lullaby-like manner, with undertones of sweet flutes and guitar strings.

Great truths are most often better assimilated when they come to us in the insinuations of metaphors as we are lulled into a complacent state by the cadence and rhythm of verse. Here it is, first in Català, then roughly translated into English.

Un Avís per Navegants

Has vist que bé que he parlat?

Quin discurs tan ben travat,

Quins principis, clars i ferms,

Dignes d'un home de seny?

Però un avís per a navegants:

Fes-me cas els dies senars,

I els parells fes com qui sent

Que a la platja hi xiula el vent.

Sembles franca quan em dius

Atractiu entre atractius

I que estimes en el fons

Les meves imperfeccions.

Però jo que vinc de grumet

Els dies parells et crec,

Que els senars, sota dels pins,

Tan sols cantes rodolins.

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A Warning For Sailors

Did you hear how well I spoke?

What a tight speech I delivered,

With clear and firm principles,

Worthy of a man of wisdom?

But here's a warning for sailors:

Believe me only on odd days,

And on even ones, pretend you're only hearing

the wind whistling on the beach.

You sound sincere when you call me

Attractive among the attractive,

And that deep inside you love

My imperfections.

But since I come as a sailor

I will believe you on even days,

For on odd ones, under the pine trees,

All you do is sing fairytales.

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