Marlboro Man (For Mark Sanchez)
The night is black como un whiski con cola,
en el belly del estresho no se ve ná,
y tó lo que escucho son el motó y la ola
and a voice that says, ‘al peñón volverá.’
Ni la Heineken* ni el viento me gana,
only the ocean will shape mi camino.
Aquí no existe ni reloj ni campana,
soy el pirata de mi propio destino.
Yes, el agua te traga sino te espabila.
Miro palante al continente Africano.
En mi lancha no traigo ni fruta ni tila.
Conchita, my love, knows of my cargo.
Niña! No llore por mí, if it ends in the sea.
Mejón en la má que con la guardia civil.
*Heineken is how Gibraltarian smugglers call the Spanish Civil Guard, who patrols the waters of the Strait in their olive green uniforms, the colour of the Heineken beer bottles.
Marlboro Man (para Mark Sanchez)
La noche es negra like a whisky and cola,
you can see bugger all in the vientre of the Strait,
And I hear nothing but the roar of engine and waves
y una voz que me dice, “you´ll be back to the Rock.”
Neither the Heineken* nor the wind can ever beat me,
sólo el océano me dice the way i must go.
Out here there´s no bell and there´s no clock ,
I am the pirate of my very own fate.
Sí, wise up or the water will swallow you up
I look ahead at the shape of the African landmass.
I carry in my boat neither fruit nor camomile.
Conchita, mi amor, sabe del alijo que llevo.
¡hey, girl! Don´t you cry for me, si terminara en la mar
Better down there in the sea than in the hands of the police.
*Heineken is how Gibraltarian smugglers call the Spanish Civil Guard, who patrols the waters of the Strait in their olive green uniforms, the colour of the Heineken beer bottles.
El Copacabana (For Joanne Dyer)
Tu viejo would take you al Copacabana
de shica, pa vacilá tu pronunciation:
words like chiving, chicory or churner*
left your tongue como trene de un station.
Aplaudían lo borracho, ondeaban bandera,
while you, the fastest tongue in the land,
gracing the bar con una música nueva,
would fire your mantra of /ʃ’s/ and of /tʃas/.
After a while el teatro would end
y el viejo returned to his usual desmadre.
Tú, en medio del bar te ponía a leé
until la jefa llamaba to say que era tarde.
¿Where are you now, my sweet Gibraltá?
¿How many shires te haran pronunciá?
The Spanish spoken In Gibraltar is the dialect spoken in the province of Cádiz, where the “ch” is pronounced as “sh”. The poem refers at the implications and confuison this has for the English spoken and taught in Gibraltarian schools and used by the Rock´s radio and TV, whih is the englisg swtandard, in which “ch” is pronounced as as in the Word “change”.
El Copacabana (For Joanne Dyer)
As a kid, to show off your pronunciación,
your old man te llevaba al Copacabana:
decías palabras como chiving, chicory o churner*
que dejaban la lengua as trains in a estación.
The boozers would clap and fly up the flag,
mientras tú, la lengua más rápida del territorio
con tu presencia and fresh tunes adornabas el jolgorio
lanzando aquellos mantras llenos de /ʃ’s/ y de /tʃas/.
El show se acababa después de un buen rato
and the old man volvía a su tomfoolery habitual.
You would then read quietly in the midst of the bar
Hasta que your mother called para decir that it was late.
¿Adónde habrás ido a parar, mi dulce Gibraltar?
¿cuántos condados de Inglaterra will they make you say?
The Spanish spoken In Gibraltar is the dialect spoken in the province of Cádiz, where the “ch” is pronounced as “sh”. The poem refers at the implications and confuison this has for the English spoken and taught in Gibraltarian schools and used by the Rock´s radio and TV, whih is the englisg swtandard, in which “ch” is pronounced as as in the Word “change”.
El Soneto (For Ian Duhig)
La roca* is a sonnet too, with its own form.
con su ritmo de ola bestia y gaviota,
rima proveniente de la sal y del sol
y de tré lengua nacía en su boca.
Inglé, el debé, who I was taught to be.
Spanish, Italian, el idioma de mi abuelo.
Llanito, la lengua que quería descubrí
como un muerto que se arranca el velo.
En el sonnet guardo; un lagarto de naca,
un notario inglé obsessed con la luna,
el mazo azul que aún me machaca
y una historia pirata de sangre y fortuna.
De Italia, Inglaterra, Portugal y España,
un sonnet de piedra que libera y engaña.
The Rock of Gibraltar is a monolithic limestone mountain 426 m (1,398 ft) high dominating the western entrance to the Mediterranean Sea.
The Sonnet (Para Ian Duhig)
The Rock* es también un soneto, con forma propia.
With its wavy rhythm of seagull and beast,
its rime that comes from the salt and the sun
and from the three tongues that are born in its mouth.
English, duty, lo que me enseñaron a ser.
Español, italiano, my ancestors’ languages.
Llanito, the tongue I wish to explore
like a dead man who tears up his own shroud.
In the sonnet I keep; a lizard of mother-of-pearl,
an English notary obsesionado with the moon,
the blue mallet that still knocks me down
and a pirate history of fortune and blood .
From Italy, England, Portugal and Spain,
a soneto of stone that liberates and deceives.
The Rock of Gibraltar is a monolithic limestone mountain 426 m (1,398 ft) high dominating the western entrance to the Mediterranean Sea.