Ronda de ases

Round of aces that will not die
in my city... As long as a violin complains.

Neighbourhood shack, suburban lantern.
Corner applause. Warehouse curtain.
The tangos of Pacho, of Greco and Bazán.
The fueye of Arolas bleeding a querer.
The voice of Gabino clowning in a waltz
and the compadre echo of Carlos Gardel.

A round of aces that left
and who will always return
with the wind of memory
that shakes my suburb.
Old voices that are reborn
in the peace of the corral
and in the shade of the fig tree
and in the weeds of the ditch.

Round of aces that will not die
in my city... as long as a violin complains...

The girl from the south arrived from Chiclana
and that Griseta arrived from Paris.
They crossed the tango, little bugs of light,
failures of silk, dolls of spleen.

Contursi called them Mireya and Esther.
González Castillo, Manón and Mimí...