Esto De Jugar a La Vida

I'm on a roll with songs. Lately, I've found that the ideas I've been writing about here are strongly echoed in the songs that have a tendency of sticking in my head.

This time, the one that's running through my head is one of my Dad's favourites: Esto de Jugar a la Vida, by Enrique Balleste (as I just found out - I always thought Amparo Ochoa wrote it, because hers is the only version I've ever heard). My father loves music, he loves lyrics, he loves poetry. I remember sitting so many times and listening to his music, him speaking the words to me, or reading poems together. It was because of him that I became aware of the differences between Spanish and English, in how words are used, how they can be put together. There are some things that just sound better in Spanish. This song has to be one of them.

We used to listen to the whole thing, but the chorus became our "thing." It is what we sing to each other in times of disappointment, or pain.

Esto de jugar a la vida, es algo que a veces duele.

How do you translate that? Something like: Playing this game of life is a thing that sometimes aches. It doesn't read as well. But the meaning is there. Life can be a painful game to play.  

One of the things I love about this song is its mystery. The subtle poetry, the imagery and allusions; there's no understanding it without reading between the lines. These words evoke beautiful images in my mind:

Por la calle voy hilando el collar de mi pasión
Por la calle, voy contando las monedas de mi amor

Through the streets I'm threading the necklace of my passion

Through the streets I'm counting the coins of my love

This song, like my last few posts, is also about the variances in life - the comforts and discomforts, the safe and the uncertain. More than anything, though, it's about finding oneself and losing oneself, in the moments that make up our daily lives.

En mi casa a mis padres yo lers hablo con su voz
Pero aveces en mi casa el silencio es lo mejor...

En tu casa yo me pierdo, yo me encuentro y al fin soy
En tu casa yo deshago con mis manos una flor...
 

En tu casa hay señales que me dicen donde estoy
Pero aveces en tu casa.. yo me encuentro
y no soy

In my home, I address my parents in their voice,

But sometimes, in my home, silence is the best thing...

In your home, I lose myself, I find myself, and finally I am,

In your home, I dismember a flower with my hands...

In your home, there are signals to tell me where I am,

But sometimes in your home, I find myself and it's not me.

Being lost, being found, finding my voice... these are all things that resonate strongly with me, and have for my adult life. Falling down, getting up, setbacks and victories. And each one was lived in a moment. A regular, run-of-the mill moment, full of life and feeling, just like this one.

If you want more of this song, you can hear it here, as sung by Amparo Ochoa.

I couldn't find any translations at all, so here's my attempt, below the full lyrics in Spanish:

Por la calle voy hilando el collar de mi pasión
Por la calle, voy contando las monedas de mi amor
Por la calle voy buscando la humedad de la razón
Por la calle voy tirando la envoltura del dolor
Por la calle voy volando como vuela el risueñor
Por la calle voy cantando con mi traje mi canción

esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele
esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele

En mi casa mi familia se adormila en su sillón
En mi casa se ha quedado a vivir la tradición
En mi casa las paredes se respetan como a un Dios
En mi casa hay una Iglesia que se llama comedor
En mi casa a mis padres yo les hablo con su voz
Pero aveces en mi casa el silencio es lo mejor

esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele
esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele

En tu casa yo me pierdo, yo me encuentro y al fin soy
En tu casa yo deshago con mis manos una flor
En tu casa yo inaguro hasta el último rincón
En tu casa yo me ahogo con el agua de tu voz
En tu casa hay señales que me dicen donde estoy
Pero aveces en tu casa yo me encuentro y no soy

esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele
esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele

Y de nuevo en la calle me remiendo la ilusión
Y de nuevo en la calle yo me muerdo el corazón
Y de nuevo en la calle yo me vuelvo aparador
y me ofrezco en barata, sin abonos sin fiador
Y de nuevo en la calle yo me creo lo que soy
Y pintandome de bueno voy cantando mi canción

esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele
esto de Jugar a la vida, es algo que aveces duele 

Through the streets I'm threading the necklace of my passion

Through the streets I'm counting the coins of my love

Through the streets I'm searching for the humidity of reason

Through the streets I'm discarding the wrappings of pain

Through the streets I'm flying like the nightingale flies

Through the streets I'm singing my song with my suit

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.

In my home, my family dozes on their couch

In my home, tradition has moved in to stay

In my home, the walls are as respected as a god

In my home, there is a church called a living room

In my home, I address my parents in their voice,

But sometimes, in my home, silence is the best thing

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.

In your home, I lose myself, I find myself, and finally I am,

In your home, I dismember a flower with my hands,

In your home, I inaugurate every corner to the last,

In your home, I drown myself in the water of your voice,

In your home, there are signals to tell me where I am,

But sometimes in your home, I find myself and it's not me.

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.

And once again in the streets I patch up illusion,

And once again in the streets, I bite my heart,

And once again in the streets, I become a store window,

And I offer myself on sale, no guarantees or warranties,

And once again in the streets, I see myself as I am,

And painting myself good and happy, I go along singing my song.

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.

This playing at life, is a thing that sometimes aches.