Alert: We are in Beta until mid 2022. When you see something not working as expected, please have a look at known bugs in development and/or drop us a line. Thank you!

Pueblito de provincia

This page has not yet been reviewed and approved!
Jump to: navigation, search

Pueblito de provincia (Provincial Town) is the title of a tango written by Homero Expósito. The music was composed by Héctor Stamponi.




Héctor Stamponi

Year of composition:


Lyrics writer(s):

Homero Expósito

Far away, lonely, poor and sad, the poet remembers his hometown and sees in the pain of longing, his punishment for having left.


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


Spanish: Pueblito de provincia

Pueblito de provincia, nostalgia del recuerdo,
pedazo de esperanza que duerme en la ilusión.
Recuerdo tus casitas, tu río, tus senderos,
la parra del abuelo y el viejo del bastón.
Detrás de la miseria, ya ves... sigo soñando
mis horas de muchacho que ya no volverán.
Yo sé que se han nublado mis días más felices
como tus tardes grises que ya no veré más...

¡Lejos, tristemente lejos!
¡Sueño, mansamente sueño!
Y me acuerdo de tus calles
con la rabia del silencio...
Solo, lentamente y solo,
lloro, mudamente lloro,
porque sé que no he de verte
nunca, nunca,
más que nunca,
siempre nunca…
¡Nunca más!

La tarde que partía con humos de grandeza
mojado de violetas lloraste mi ambición.
Y hoy duelen las distancias que acercan los recuerdos,
la parra del abuelo y el viejo del bastón.
Detrás de la miseria, ya ves, como un castigo,
me aplasta en el olvido la luz de la ciudad,
¿no ves que Buenos Aires me llena de nostalgias
como tus casas blancas que ya no veré más?

English: Provincial Town

Provincial town, memory’s yearning,
piece of hope that sleeps in my dreams.
I remember your little houses, your river, your paths,
the grandfather’s vine and the old man with the cane.
Behind poverty, you see... I keep on dreaming
about my young boy hours that won’t return.
I know my happiest days have clouded up
like your gray afternoons I will no longer see...

Far, sorrowfully far away!
I dream, I tamely dream!
I remember your streets
with the anger of silence...
Alone, slowly and alone,
I cry, I cry silently,
because I know I won’t see you
ever, ever again,
more than ever,
always never...

The afternoon I departed with fumes of greatness,
drenched in violets you cried over my ambition.
And today they hurt, the distances that memories bring closer,
grandfather’s vine and the old man with the cane.
Behind poverty, you see, like a punishment
the city lights crush me into oblivion.
Can’t you see that Buenos Aires fills me with nostalgia
just as your white houses I will never see again?


Further links