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Barrio reo

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Barrio reo (Shabby Neighbourhood) is the title of a tango written in 1927 by Alfredo Navarrine. The music was composed by Roberto Fugazot.




Roberto Fugazot

Year of composition:



Lyrics writer(s):

Alfredo Navarrine

Tired from so much living, the poet comes back looking for refuge, to his beloved, old neighbourhood. Just like him, or maybe because it is like a mirror to his eyes, the place looks now older and worn out. He dedicates a heartfelt song to it, full of thankfulness and affection.


At the moment, there are no recordings for this song stored in the TangoWiki. If you have sources, add a new recording.


Spanish: Barrio reo

Viejo barrio de mi ensueño,
el de ranchitos iguales,
como a vos los vendavales
a mí me azotó el dolor.
Hoy te encuentro envejecido
pero siempre tan risueño,
barrio lindo. .. Y yo qué soy...
Treinta años y mirá,
mirá que viejo estoy...

Mi barrio reo,
mi viejo amor,
oye el gorjeo…
soy tu cantor.
Escucha el ruego
del ruiseñor
que, hoy que está ciego,
canta mejor.
Busqué fortuna
y hallé un crisol;
plata de luna
y oro de sol.
Calor de nido
vengo a buscar.
Estoy rendido
de tanto amar.

Barrio reo, campo abierto
de mis primeras andanzas,
en mi libro de esperanza
sos la página mejor.

Fuiste cuna y serás tumba
de mis líricas tristezas.
Vos le diste a tu cantor
el alma de un zorzal
que se murió de amor.

English: Shabby Neighbourhood

Old neighbourhood of my dreams,
where all the shacks look the same:
just as gales did to you,
so did pain lash me.
Today I find you weathered
but ever so cheerful,
pretty neighbourhood... And me, what am I...?
Thirty years gone by and look,
look how old I’ve got...

My shabby neighbourhood,
my old love,
hear my trilling...
I am your singer.
Listen to the nightingale’s
today he’s blind,
and sings better.
I seeked fortune
and found a melting pot;
moonlight silver
and sunny gold.
I come seeking
the warmth of a nest.
I’m exhausted
from so much loving.

Shabby neighbourhood, open field
of my first wanderings,
you are the finest page
in my book of hope.

You were cradle and shall be grave
to my lyrical sorrows.
You gave your singer
the soul of a thrush
that died of love.


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