Festival de Música Folclórica Semana 6 - Cover Song Polo Margariteño por @davidcentenor.

My children in #hive I send you the blessing hoping that in Holy Week they will be very well cared for, since we still have the covid hanging around our abode, we must take care of ourselves, but as long as we take care of ourselves we continue to meet in #hive, and just for the Festival of Folk Music Week 6, I bring you a beautiful Margariteño Polo that popularized Morella Muñoz, Soledad Bravo, Lilia Vera and Cecilia Todd, there are many poles, many stanzas, since it is a popular song of the Venezuelan East and today together with me son @davidcentenor I bring you this classic of traditional Venezuelan music, a humble, mixed and intimate version, I hope you enjoy it, many kisses for you my dear family #hive.

Polo Margariteño

Morella Muñoz, Lilia Vera, Soledad Bravo, Cecilia Todd

El cantar tiene sentido,
entendimiento y razón,
la buena pronunciación,
del instrumento al oído.

Yo fui marino que en una isla
de una culisa me enamoré,
y en una noche de mucha brisa,
en mi falucho me la robé.

La garza prisionera
no canta cual solía
y cantar en el espacio
sobre el dormido mar,
su canto entre cadenas,
es canto de agonía,
¿por qué te empeñas, pues, Señor,
su canto en prolongar?

Allá lejos viene un barco
y en él viene mi amor.
Se viene peinando un crespo,
al pie del palo mayor.

A ti vuelvo de nuevo, mar querido,
y lejos de ti, ¡cuánto fui desdichado!
Lo que puede sufrirse lo he sufrido,
y lo que puede llorarse lo he llorado.

Y ese cadáver que por la playa rueda,
y ese cadáver, ¿de quién será?
Ese cadáver debe ser de algún marino,
que hizo su tumba en el fondo del mar.

El cantar tiene sentido,
entendimiento y razón.

Polo Margariteño

Morella Muñoz, Lilia Vera, Soledad Bravo, Cecilia Todd

Singing makes sense,
understanding and reason,
good pronunciation,
instrument to ear.

I was a sailor who on an island
of a culisa I fell in love,
and on a very windy night,
in my hood I stole it.

The prisoner heron
doesn't sing which one used to
and sing in space
over the sleeping sea,
his singing between chains,
it's a song of agony,
why do you strive, then, Lord,
your singing in prolonging

Far away comes a boat
and in it comes my love.
He's combing a crepe,
at the foot of the big stick.

I come back to you again, dear sea,
and away from you, how much I was miserable!
What can be suffered I have suffered,
and what can cry I've cried.

And that corpse that rolls down the beach,
and that corpse, whose is it?
That corpse must be from some sailor,
who made his grave at the bottom of the sea.

Singing makes sense,
understanding and reason.