| Penélope, con su bolso de piel marrón, y sus zapatos de tacón y su vestido de domingo.Penélope, se sienta en un banco en el andén y espera a que llegue el primer tren meneando el abanico.Dicen en el pueblo que un caminante paró su reloj una tarde de primavera .Adiós amor mío no me llores volveré antes que, de los sauces caigan las hojas Piensa en mi volveré, por ti. Pobre infeliz, se paró tu reloj infantil una tarde plomiza de abril cuando se fue tu amante Se marchitó en tu huerto hasta la última flor no hay un sauce en la calle mayor para, PenélopePenélope, triste es a fuerza de esperar sus ojos parecen brillar sí un tren silva a lo lejos.Penélope, uno tras otro los ve pasar mira sus caras les oye hablar, para ella son muñecos.Dicen en el pueblo que el caminante volvió la encontró, en su banco de pino verde… La llamó, Penélope Le sonrió Y se quedó Penélope … |
Penelope, with her brown purse and high heel shoes and her Sunday dress.Penelope sits on a bench on the platform and waits for the first train to arrive fanning herself.The people in town say that a traveler stopped her watch on a spring afternoon.Good bye my love don’t cry I’ll return before the willows shed their leaves Think of me I’ll return and get you Poor soul, your childhood watch was stopped on a gray April afternoon when your beloved left. All the flowers on your garden withered…there is not a willow on the major street standing for Penelope. Penelope, unhappy by force of waiting her eyes seem to glimmer if she hears a train whistling by. Penelope one by one she sees them pass by she watches their faces and hears them talk, to her they are just dolls. They say in town that the traveler came back and found her, on her green pine bench…He called out, Penelope my faithful love, my peace stop knitting dreams in your mind look at me, I’m your love, I came back….She smiled at him through eyes full of yesterday his face and skin were not the same You’re not the one I’m waiting for…She stayed there with her brown purse her high heel shoes sitting in the train station Penelope…. |
Joan Manuel Serrat was born in Barcelona, Spain, in 1943, but in Mexico we consider him one of our own.
In 1975, while he was on a tour in Mexico, he publicly condemned the executions by firing squad that occurred during the period known as “franquismo” (General Francisco Franco’s dictatorship), adhering to the position held by the President of Mexico,Luis Echeverría Álvarez, who had broken off diplomatic relations with Spain. Serrat was forced to remain outside of Spain for 11 months, as an exile of Franco’s regime. He spent a considerable part of this time in Mexico.
His exile ended in 1976, when King Juan Carlos granted amnesty. Joan Manuel Serrat then returned to his home city of Barcelona.
