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Bruno S.

New York Times opublikował właśnie artykuł poświęcony Bruno S. Poniżej zamieszczam tekst piosenki napisanej przez Bruno i przetłumaczonej przez NYT. Tekst rozrywający. Czysta sztuka. Bez wątpienia.

A Translation of ‘Mamatschi’
by Ingrid Fenner

And now the song:
Once there was a blond boy.
He begged so sweetly.
Mamatschi, give me a little horse.
A little horse would be my paradise.
(Good advice is dear, and the parents think what to do. They get an idea.)
So then the little man got a pair of white horses made of marzipan.
He looks at them, and cries. He says, ‚I didn’t want these kind of horses.’
Mamatschi, give me a little horse.
A little horse would be my paradise.
Mamatschi, ‚I didn’t want these kind of horses.’
(Now Christmas is coming, in the town and the countryside, everywhere, even in Berlin. It comes in the song, too, only it sounds different here.)
[„Holy Night”]
The winter came across the land
and his request was heard.
And the Christ child flew in
And brought him what he desired.
(But it wasn’t the Christ child, it was his parents.)
Under the Christmas tree, standing proud,
Two lacquered wood horses.
He looks at them and cries and says,
‚I didn’t want these kind of horses.’
Mamatschi, give me a little horse.
A little horse would be my paradise.
Mamatschi, ‚I didn’t want these kind of horses.’
(The child grew up, emigrated, and years later, he came back home.
And the little horse didn’t stay small, either. It grew up, and they met each other. At the same place where it all happens. And this is why the last stanza sounds like this:)
[„O, You Merry,” a German Christmas carol]
(What is a blessing?)
(Where are you? [he asks the bells, laughing])
And many years have gone by
And the little boy became a man.
There stopped, before the house, the windows shuttered,
A team of magnificent horses.
(What has happened there?)
Before a splendid hearse, stood,
four horses, richly decorated and fine.
They carried his poor dear mother.
(His poor dear mother)
His childhood came back to him.
(And the child spoke as the man. He remembers the horse that was once a foal, and now takes away his dead mother. He remembers the same words, he wanted a small horse.)
Mamatschi, give me a little horse.
A little horse would be my paradise.
Mamatschi, I didn’t want mourning horses.
(When the horse grew up and took his dead mother away, he didn’t want it anymore.)

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