Really interesting, what you write about the sefardis in Latin America - I didn´t knew that so much of them went to South America - I thought most went to Turky, Greece, Bulgaria, Portugal and above all to Marrocco.
I found this poetry sefardí, which persists in Marroco and it can also be sung, it was printed in the XVI. century and was cited by important spanish authors from the Siglo de Oro such as, for example, the comedian - writer "Lope de Vega".
"Cuando yo nací nació la tristura. Parióme mi madre en una noche oscura, ni gallo cantaba ni perro ladraba sino aguilía negras voces daba.
Parióme mi madre, crióme mi tía con yerbas del campo hizo cama y cuna, pusome pañales y echome la cuna por nombre me puso niña sin fortuna.
En aquel navío mi bien se embarcó, alzara las velas, se fue y me dejó, vicios y regalos con él los llevó.
Ya crecen las yerbas y dan de color, este mi corazón vive con dolor. Ya crecen las hierbas y dan de morado, este mi corazón vive con cuidado.
Ya crecen las hierbas y dan de amarillo, este mi corazón vive con suspiros. Ya crecen las yerbas y dan de verdura, este mi corazón vive con tristura.
Ansias y cuidados a mí me dejó mi bien y no mal, mi cirio pascual, mi antorcha encendida, semana y sabbat."
When I was born, sadness was born. beard by my mother in a dark night. No cock was crawing, no dog was barking, only an eagle gave dark voices.
Beard by my mother, reared by my aunt, with grasses of county she made my bed and my cradle she clothed me with diapers and laid me down in the cradle, she gave me the name: girl without fortune.
With this ship my weal was gone, with all sails set, it went away and left me, vices and gifts it took away.
The grasses are growing already and are giving color this my heart is living in pain.
The grasses are growing already and are giving purple, this my heart is living in caution.
The grasses are growing already and are giving yellow, this my heart is living in sighes.
The grasses are growing already and are giving green, this my heart is living in sadness.
Fear and caution left me my good and not bad, my cirio pascual, my lightened torch, week and sabbat.
This traduction is not really good, I´m sorry.
Another question: In spain there is this legend: nobody knows whether it is true or not: Some people say Cervantes was descencdent of sefardies, is this true???
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
a poetry sefardi which persists in Marroc
Date: 2006-02-15 01:45 pm (UTC)I found this poetry sefardí, which persists in Marroco and it can also be sung, it was printed in the XVI. century and was cited by important spanish authors from the Siglo de Oro such as, for example, the comedian - writer "Lope de Vega".
"Cuando yo nací nació la tristura.
Parióme mi madre en una noche oscura,
ni gallo cantaba ni perro ladraba
sino aguilía negras voces daba.
Parióme mi madre, crióme mi tía
con yerbas del campo hizo cama y cuna,
pusome pañales y echome la cuna
por nombre me puso niña sin fortuna.
En aquel navío mi bien se embarcó,
alzara las velas, se fue y me dejó,
vicios y regalos con él los llevó.
Ya crecen las yerbas y dan de color,
este mi corazón vive con dolor.
Ya crecen las hierbas y dan de morado,
este mi corazón vive con cuidado.
Ya crecen las hierbas y dan de amarillo,
este mi corazón vive con suspiros.
Ya crecen las yerbas y dan de verdura,
este mi corazón vive con tristura.
Ansias y cuidados a mí me dejó
mi bien y no mal, mi cirio pascual,
mi antorcha encendida, semana y sabbat."
When I was born, sadness was born.
beard by my mother in a dark night.
No cock was crawing, no dog was barking,
only an eagle gave dark voices.
Beard by my mother, reared by my aunt,
with grasses of county she made my bed and my cradle
she clothed me with diapers and laid me down in the cradle,
she gave me the name: girl without fortune.
With this ship my weal was gone,
with all sails set,
it went away and left me,
vices and gifts it took away.
The grasses are growing already and
are giving color
this my heart is living in pain.
The grasses are growing already and
are giving purple,
this my heart is living in caution.
The grasses are growing already and
are giving yellow,
this my heart is living in sighes.
The grasses are growing already and
are giving green,
this my heart is living in sadness.
Fear and caution left me my good and not bad, my
cirio pascual,
my lightened torch,
week and sabbat.
This traduction is not really good, I´m sorry.
Another question: In spain there is this legend: nobody knows whether it is true or not:
Some people say Cervantes was descencdent of sefardies, is this true???
Greets,
gitana