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Monique Lyr Add: Mudcat singaround songs NOT in English (130* d) RE: Lyr Add: Mudcat singaround songs NOT in English 28 Jan 21


The song "Andaluces de Jaén" (Andalusians from Jaén) is based on the poem "Aceituneros" (Olive growers) (1937) by Miguel Hernández (1910-1942). It's been set into music in 1967 by Paco Ibañez (1934- ).
Live rendition, France 1996, another one, Palau de la música, Barcelona 2002
ANDALUCES DE JAÉN (Spanish)

Andaluces de Jaén
aceituneros altivos
decidme en la alma, ¿quién,
quién levantó los olivos ?
Andaluces de Jaén,
andaluces de Jaén.

No los levantó la nada,
ni el dinero, ni el señor,
sino la tierra callada
el trabajo y el sudor.

Unidos al agua pura
y a los planetas unidos
los tres dieron hermosura
de los troncos retorcidos.
Andaluces de Jaén.

Andaluces de Jaén
aceituneros altivos
decidme en el alma, ¿quién,
quién levantó los olivos ?
Andaluces de Jaén,
andaluces de Jaén.

Cuántos siglos de aceituna,
los pies y las manos presos,
sol a sol y luna a luna,
pesan sobre vuestros huesos.

Jaén ,levántate brava,
sobre tus piedras lunares,
no vayas a ser esclava
con todos tus olivares.
Andaluces de Jaén.

Andaluces de Jaén
aceituneros altivos,
decidme en el alma, ¿quién,
quién levantó los olivos ?
Andaluces de Jaén,
andaluces de Jaén.
ANDALUSIANS FROM JAÉN

Andalusians from Jaén,
Proud olive growers,
Tell me in good conscience who,
Who grew the olive trees?
Andalusians from Jaén,
Andalusians from Jaén.

Neither the Nothingness grow them
Nor money, nor the lord,
But the silent ground,
Work and sweat.

Together with pure water
And together with the planets:
All three gave beauty
To the twisted trunks,
Andalusians from Jaén.

Andalusians from Jaén,
Proud olive growers,
Tell me in good conscience who,
Who grew the olive trees?
Andalusians from Jaén,
Andalusians from Jaén.

How many centuries of olives,
With captive feet and hands,
All day long, sun and moon,
Weigh on your bones!

Jaén, stand up, brave,
On your moon stones,
Don't become a slave
With all your olive groves.
Andalusians from Jaén.

Andalusians from Jaén,
Proud olive growers,
Tell me in good conscience who,
Who grew the olive trees?
Andalusians from Jaén,
Andalusians from Jaén.
The translation has been borrowed from Lyricstranslate.com

Below is the original poem by Miguel Hernández. It's also been set into music by the Andalusian band Jarcha in 1975. It's also been set into music by Santiago José Báez Cervantes and has been the anthem of the Jaén province since 2012, here sung by Carmen Linares.
The translation below is a mix of the version from Lyricstranslate and my own.
ACEITUNEROS

Andaluces de Jaén,
aceituneros altivos,
decidme en el alma: ¿quién,
quién levantó los olivos?

No los levantó la nada,
ni el dinero, ni el señor,
sino la tierra callada,
el trabajo y el sudor.

Unidos al agua pura
y a los planetas unidos,
los tres dieron la hermosura
de los troncos retorcidos.

Levántate, olivo cano,
dijeron al pie del viento.
Y el olivo alzó una mano
poderosa de cimiento.

Andaluces de Jaén,
aceituneros altivos,
decidme en el alma: ¿quién
amamantó los olivos?

Vuestra sangre, vuestra vida,
no la del explotador
que se enriqueció en la herida
generosa del sudor.

No la del terrateniente
que os sepultó en la pobreza,
que os pisoteó la frente,
que os redujo la cabeza.

Árboles que vuestro afán
consagró al centro del día
eran principio de un pan
que solo el otro comía.

¡Cuántos siglos de aceituna,
los pies y las manos presos,
sol a sol y luna a luna,
pesan sobre vuestros huesos!

Andaluces de Jaén,
aceituneros altivos,
pregunta mi alma: ¿de quién,
de quién son estos olivos?

Jaén, levántate brava
sobre tus piedras lunares,
no vayas a ser esclava
con todos tus olivares.

Dentro de la claridad
del aceite y sus aromas,
indican tu libertad
la libertad de tus lomas.
OLIVE GROWERS

Andalusians from Jaén,
Proud olive growers,
Tell me in good conscience who,
Who grew the olive trees?

Neither the Nothingness grow them
Nor money, nor the lord,
But the silent ground,
Work and sweat.

Together with pure water
And together with the planets:
All three gave beauty
To the twisted trunks,

Get up, silver-haired olive tree,
They said at the foot of the wind.
And the olive tree raised
A powerful hand as its foundation

Andalusians from Jaén,
Proud olive growers,
Tell me in good conscience, who,
Who fed* the olive trees?

Your blood, your life,
Not the exploiter's,
Who got rich from the generous
Wound of sweat.

Not that of the landlord
Who buried you in poverty,
Who trampled your forehead,
Who lessened your head**.

Trees that your hard work
Consecrated at the center of the day,
They were the beginning of a bread
That only the other one ate.

How many centuries of olives,
With captive feet and hands,
From sunrise to sunset and moonrise to moonset,
Weigh on your bones!

Andalusians from Jaén,
Proud olive growers,
My soul asks, who,
Who do these olive trees belong to?

Jaén, stand up, brave,
On your moon stones,
Don't become a slave
With all your olive groves.
Andalusians from Jaén.

Within the clarity
Of the oil and its aromas,
They indicate your freedom,
The freedom of your hills.
*amamantar literally means to breast-feed, to suckle
**reduced/lessened your head = kept you in ignorance

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