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!

Viejo portón

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

Viejo portón (Old Gate) is the title of a tango vals written by Máximo Orsi. The music was composed by Héctor Palacios.




Héctor Palacios

Year of composition:



Lyrics writer(s):

Máximo Orsi

The poet describes the emotions a man, by an old gate, along with his guitar, pours into song. Nature expresses with its wind, rivers, trees, flowers and animals, the feelings that live deep within the soul of a man in love, as he patiently awaits the old affections to be reborn.


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


Spanish: Viejo portón

Sangraba en la noche, su canto de angustia.
Tus labios temblaban de intensa emoción.
Estrofas dolientes, humildes y mustias
colgó del alero del viejo portón.
En sombras envueltos, sin más compañía
que el dulce recuerdo de un hondo querer,
así su guitarra, profunda gemía;
vibraban sus cuerdas como una mujer.
Súplica del viento, voces de los llanos,
rezos angustiosos, quejas de dolor,
pájaros errantes que una primavera
como un sol de fuego chamuscó el amor.
Fuerte fue el cariño, como un algarrobo
que un hachazo el tiempo, fácil lo partió.
Y hoy en el silencio largo de esa ausencia
llora una guitarra, junto a su cantor.
¡Te quiero!, susurran a orillas del río
las largas melenas del sauce llorón.
Florecen los ceibos que moja el rocío,
tristón en su rojo, como un corazón.
Las aves y el viento musitan: ¡Te quiero!,
te dicen cantares con santo fervor,
mas yo en mi silencio, paciente te espero
y rondo en tu vida como un girasol.

English: Old Gate

Its anguished song bled the night through.
Your lips shivered with an intense thrill.
Sorrowful verses, humble and withered,
hung from the old gate’s edge.
Wrapped in shadows, alone but for the company
of the sweet memory of a deep love,
so did his guitar, profound, moan;
its strings vibrated as a woman.

The wind’s plea, voices from the plains,
anguished prayers, sorrow’s complaints,
wandering birds love itself scorched
one Spring, like a fiery sun.
The affection was strong, like a carob tree…
a blow from time’s ax easily cracked it.
And today, in the long silence of that absence,
a guitar cries along with its singer.

I love you!, whisper by the river’s edge
the weeping willow’s long manes.
The dew-moist ceibos[1] bloom
with a red sadness, like a heart.
The birds and the wind murmur: I love you!
and chant to you with a holy fervour,
but me, in my silence, I wait for you patiently
and wander around your life, like a sunflower.


  1. Erythrina crista-galli: Argentina's national tree and flower, the latter intense red in color.

Further links