Tim, thanks for resuscitating this old discussion.
For one thing, it gives me a chance to thank
Christopher Mulrooney again for pointing out
the error in the Albornoz milonga (I didn't
think there were any errors left, but that was
certainly one) and the opportunity to recopy
that milonga in its revised version, that error
corrected and a number of other small changes
made. I don't think Dick would minded what I've
done.
MILONGA OF ALBORNOZ
Someone already knows the hour,
Someone has numbered the day,
Someone for whom there is never
Either hurry or delay.
Albornoz goes by whistling
A milonga from his home town;
He cocks an eye at the morning
With his slouch hat slanted down,
One morning in 1890,
Late summer or early fall;
Down there in El Retiro
Nobody could even recall
How many girlfriends and cardsharps
Had lost their shirts by then,
How many knifefights he had with the law,
With strangers or neighborhood men.
To some he was worse than a sharper,
And they swore he'd pay with his life;
In a quiet street on the Southside
He kept his date with a knife.
And not just one knife--three of them
Before the break of day
Suddenly came out of nowhere,
And he did not run away.
When his chest was pierced by the cold steel
His face looked none the sadder;
Alejo Albornoz went to his death
As if it didn't much matter.
I think he might be pleased to know
He is still remembered in rhyme.
Forgetfulness and memory--
That's all there is to time.
I'm still astonished, when I think of it, that
some of my friends don't like the milongas. I
don't know if it's squeamishness or possibly an
unwillingness to acknowledge that they too
sometimes wonder if they're brave--as Golias
says, moral courage is one thing; it's quite
another to come face to face with someone with
a rifle or bayonet who means to kill you. I
think they are wonderful ballads, and hope our
versions are worthy of them.
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