The beautiful tango “Yuyo verde” offers a clear example of the highly emotional atmosphere Homero Expósito was able to conjure up with his impressionistic style of songwriting. The words hang in the air almost separately from each other, and yet they seem to belong to a single lost memory, whose yearning and loss become more definite than any particulars. It might be a stretch to say so, but this style seems to derive from the word-association procedures of Freudian analysis, a school of depth psychology which was (and still is) a huge presence in the popular culture of Argentina.
Greener Grass
(Tr. Jake Spatz)
YouTube: Floreal Ruiz (orq. Aníbal Troilo)
Alleyway… alleyway…
So far off… so far off…
Hand in hand we wandered lost in love
With the summer skies above,
So vainly dreaming…
An old streetlight… a gate shut tight…
—The same way as in a tango—
And hand in hand we lost ourselves in love
While the summer skies above
Were blown away…
Leave me crying starkly ever after
The very tears I shed for our goodbye…
Down there where the alleyway runs out,
Greener grasses used to sprout
In forgiveness…
Leave me crying, thinking back upon you
—Braiding me against that gate of old—
To your land there’s no going back
Even with the greener grass
Of forgiveness…
Where’d you go?… where’d you go?…
Where did you run off to?…
Where’s that little feathered nest I knew,
The feel of living something through,
And that affection?…
An old streetlight… a gate shut tight…
—The same way as in a tango—
And all these tears I’m crying in my hands
And these summer skies above
That blew away…
Yuyo verde (1944)
Music: Domingo Federico
Lyrics: Homero Expósito
Callejón… callejón…
lejano… lejano…
íbamos perdidos de la mano
bajo un cielo de verano
soñando en vano…
Un farol… un portón…
—igual que en un tango—
y los dos perdidos de la mano
bajo el cielo de verano
que partió…
Déjame que llore crudamente
con el llanto viejo adiós…
adonde el callejón se pierde
brotó ese yuyo verde
del perdón…
Déjame que llore y te recuerde
—trenzas que me anudan al portón—
de tu país ya no se vuelve
ni con el yuyo verde
del perdón…
¿Dónde estás?… ¿Dónde estás?…
¿Adónde te has ido?…
¿Dónde están las plumas de mi nido,
la emoción de haber vivido
y aquel cariño?…
Un farol… un portón…
—igual que un tango—
y este llanto mío entre mis manos
y ese cielo de verano
que partió…