Raphael — Cantares song lyrics and translation
The page contains the lyrics and English translation of the song "Cantares" by Raphael.
Lyrics
Todo pasa y todo queda,
pero lo nuestro es pasar,
pasar haciendo caminos,
caminos sobre el mar.
Nunca perseguíla gloria,
ni dejar en la memoria
de los hombres mi canción;
yo amo los mundos sutiles,
ingrávidos y gentiles,
como pompas de jabón.
Me gusta verlos pintarse
de sol y grana, volar
bajo el cielo azul, temblar
súbitamente y quebrarse…
Nunca perseguíla gloria.
Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante no hay camino
sino estelas en la mar…
Hace algún tiempo en ese lugar
donde hoy los bosques se visten de espinos
se oyóla voz de un poeta gritar:
«Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar…»
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso…
Murióel poeta lejos del hogar.
Le cubre el polvo de un país vecino.
Al alejarse, le vieron llorar.
«Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar…»
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso…
Cuando el jilguero no puede cantar.
Cuando el poeta es un peregrino,
cuando de nada nos sirve rezar.
«Caminante no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar…»
Golpe a golpe, verso a verso.
Lyrics translation
Everything passes and everything remains,
but our thing is to pass,
pass by making paths,
roads over the sea.
Never pursue glory,
nor Leave In memory
of men my song;
I love the subtle worlds,
weightless and gentle,
like soap bubbles.
I like to see them paint themselves
of sun and grit, fly
under the blue sky, tremble
suddenly and break…
Never pursued gloria.
Walker, it's your tracks
the road and nothing else;
hiker, there's no way,
it makes its way by walking.
Walking makes its way
and when you look back
you see the path that never
you have to step on it again.
Hiker there's no way
but stelas in the sea…
Some time ago in that place
where today the forests are dressed in thorns
The Voice of a poet was heard screaming:
"Walker there is no way,
it makes its way by walking…»
Blow by blow, verse by verse…
The poet died far from home.
It covers the dust of a neighboring country.
As he walked away, he was seen crying.
"Walker there is no way,
it makes its way by walking…»
Blow by blow, verse by verse…
When The Goldfinch can't sing.
When the poet is a pilgrim,
when there's no use in praying.
"Walker there is no way,
it makes its way by walking…»
Blow by blow, verse by verse.