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No te apures, Carablanca

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Song

No te apures, Carablanca (Don’t Hurry, White-Face) is the title of a tango written by Carlos Bahr in 1942. The music was composed by Roberto Garza.

Music
Genre:

Tango

Composer(s):

Roberto Garza

Year of composition:

1942

Lyrics

Lyrics writer(s):

Carlos Bahr

The poet sings to his horse, urging him to slow down the pace, as only a sad night of loneliness awaits him at home. Alcohol, as much as it always is a temptation he can’t resist, is never a true friend nor a solution to the deep sorrow of his heart.

Recordings

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

Lyrics

Spanish: No te apures, Carablanca

No te apures, Carablanca…
Que no tengo quién me espere...
Nadie extraña mi retardo,
para mí siempre es temprano
para llegar.
No te apures, Carablanca...
Que al llegar me quedo solo...
Y la noche va cayendo,
y en sus sombras los recuerdos
lastiman más.

Me achica el corazón
salir del corralón,
porque me sé perdido.
Me tienta la ilusión
que ofrece el bodegón,
en su copa de olvido.
Caña en la pena...
Llama que me abrasa,
mal que no remedia,
pena que se agranda.
Siempre lo mismo...
Voy para olvidarla
y entre caña y caña
la recuerdo más.

No te apures, Carablanca...
Para mí siempre es temprano para llegar.
 
No te apures, Carablanca,
que aquí arriba del pescante,
mientras ando traqueteando
voy soñando como cuando
la conocí.
No te apures, Carablanca...
que no tengo quién me espere
como entonces, cuando iba
compadreando la alegría,
de ser feliz.

English: Don’t Hurry, White-Face

Don’t hurry, White-Face…
Because I don’t have anyone to wait for me…
Nobody notices if I’m late.
For me it’s always early
to arrive.
Don’t hurry, White-Face…
Because when I arrive I’m all alone…
And the night begins to fall
and in its shadows the memories
hurt more.

My heart shrinks
when I leave the yard,
because I know I’m lost.
I’m tempted by the hope
the tavern offers
in its glass of oblivion.
Liquor on the sorrow…
Flame that burns me,
ill that won’t heal,
sorrow that grows bigger.
Always the same…
I go there to forget her
and between drink and drink
I remember her more.

Don’t hurry, White-Face…
For me it’s always early to arrive.

Don’t hurry, White-Face,
because up here, on the driver’s seat,
while I go rattling about,
I go on dreaming as when
I met her.
Don’t hurry, White-Face…
Because I don’t have anyone to wait for me
like back then, when I would go around
strutting the joy
of being happy.

References


Further links