The Gaucho Martin Fierro

Feeling like beginning my very own translation of the Argentine classic by José Hernández. Would you, my subscribers, like that?

Here I have come to sing to the beat of my guitar:

Since a man who is kept from sleep by an uncommon sorrow

Comforts himself with singing, like a solitary bird.

I beg the Saints up in Heaven to aid my thoughts:

I beg them here and now as I start to sing my story

That they refresh my memory and make my understanding clear.

Come, Saints with your miracles, come all of you to my aid,

Because my tongue is twisting and my sight growing dim

I beg my God to help me at this hard time.

I have seen many singers whose fame was well won,

And after they've achieved it they can't keep it up

It's as if they'd tired in the trials without ever starting the race.

But where another criollo goes, Martin Fierro will go too:

There's nothing that sets him back, even ghosts don't scare him

And since everybody sings I want to sing as well.

Singing I'll die, singing they'll bury me,

And singing I'll arrive at the Eternal Father's feet –

Out of my mother's womb I came into this world to sing…