Joan Manuel Serrat — Marta song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Marta" by Joan Manuel Serrat.
Lyrics
La remor del mar a l’alba
i una platja plena d’algues
que aniran assecant-se al sol.
El gust salat de les roques
i el vol tranquil de les poques
gavines que entren al port.
Les barques que al matí tornen,
les xarxes que en el moll dormen
i ells vells carrers empedrats.
L’església humil i menuda
i entre la boira, perduda
llunyana i grisa, la ciutat.
Em parlen de Marta…
Les blanques cases del poble
i l’home vell que canta cobles
mentre va venent el peix,
i la dona que amb desgana
mou entre ses mans la llana.
(Qui sabrà què és el que teix).
El castell, l’illa petita,
la cova, el far i l’ermita
i els amics d’un altre temps
i el rellotge que no corre
i aquests infants que a la sorra
han trobat el seu carrer.
Em parlen de Marta…
Les hores buides que passen
i el camí que em torna a casa
després de molt caminar.
Cada moble i cada llibre,
cada racó on junts vam viure
moments com ningú no sap.
Les meves mans i els meus llavis
que del seu gust viuen àvids
i no poden oblidar.
Les llargues nits sense lluna,
les ones i cadascuna
de les llums que hi ha en el mar.
Em parlen de Marta…
Lyrics translation
The sound of the sea at dawn
and a beach full of seaweed
that will be drying out in the sun.
Taste the salt from the rocks
and the calm flight of the few
the seagulls enter the port.
The boats that in the morning they return,
the networks that the dock sleep
and them old cobblestone streets.
The church humble and small
and among the mist, lost
distant and grey, the city.
I speak of Marta…
The white houses of the village
and the old man who sings coblas
while he was selling the fish,
and the woman who with reluctance
moves between his hands and the wool.
(Who's to know what it is that the yew tree).
The castle, the small island,
the cave, the lighthouse and the chapel
and friends another time
and the clock that doesn't run
and these children that in the sand
have found your street.
I speak of Marta…
Hours empty that happen
and the way I back home
after a lot of walking.
Every piece of furniture and every book,
every corner where together we live
moments like nobody knows.
My hands and my lips
that's his taste live avid
and can't forget.
The long nights without moon,
the waves and each
of the lights that are there in the sea.
I speak of Marta…