Please forward this postcard to support a ceasefire in the Middle East
I'm Sad
I'm sad,
because people near me
don't care about
what is happening
in Palestine.
© Yelling Rosa
2023-11-15
Please forward this postcard to support a ceasefire in the Middle East
I'm sad,
because people near me
don't care about
what is happening
in Palestine.
© Yelling Rosa
2023-11-15
1. | La voce del silenzio | Le voce del silentio |
2 | Sogno | Sonio |
3 | Il mare calmo della sera | Le mar calme del vespera |
4 | Dare to Live (Vivere) duet with Laura Pausini | ... (Viver) ... |
5 | Canto della terra | Canto del terra |
6 | A te feat. | Kenny G. on sax soprano | A Te ... |
7 | Besame mucho => Baciami tanto | Me basia tanto |
8 | Mille lune mille onde | Mille lunas mille undes |
9 | Time to say to goodbye (Con te partirò) duet with | Sarah Brightman | ... (Con te io partira) ... | |
10 | Io ci sarò feat. | Lang Lang on piano |
Io sera illac ... also: Io essera la |
11 | Romanza | Romance |
12 | Vivo per lei duet with | Giorgia |
Io vive pro la |
13 | Melodramma | Melodrama |
14 | Bellissime stelle | Stellas belle |
15 | The Prayer duet with | Celine Dion => La Preghiera |
Le Prece |
16 | Because We Believe => Perché crediamo |
Perque nos crede |
My own notes to the song list
are in red |
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Mi padre era gitano en el pueblo.
A los dieciséis años abandonó su hogar.
Cambió su sangre roja por el traje de negocios
del hombre blanco.
El corazón de mi hermana llora.
Ya no se le permite bailar
flamenco,
intenso latido
de vagabundos.
Mi guitarra arde en el fuego,
y las partituras están mojadas.
© Yelling Rosa
16/6 –17
Below you see the table where my version is revised. The translator who did these corrections doesn’t want her name to be published. You’ll find the unrevised version at: https://yellingrosa.wordpress.com/2017/06/17/mi-padre-era-un-gitano/
Pequeña gitana por Yelling Rosa:
Marcus Scriptor translated the poem in Interlingua: You can read his poems in Interlingua at: http://poemasepensatas.blogspot.fi/
Mi patre esseva un tsigano in le village.
In le etate de dece-sex annos ille lassava su domo.
Ille cambiava su rubie sanguine
al costume commercial del homine blanc.
Le corde de mi soror plora.
On non la permitte ballar le flamenco,
le intense rhythmo del vagabundos.
Mi guitarra arde in le foco
e le partitura es molle.
© Yelling Rosa
16/6 -17