Lyrics Carlos Gardel - Mi noche triste

Песня, после которой Гардель проснулся знаменитым. 1917 год.

MI NOCHE TRISTE - Грустная ночь

Music by: Samuel Castriota
Lyrics by: Pascual Contursi

Gardel first recorded this song with the guitar of Jose Ricardo (acoustic system), on an Odeon label (1917). Gardel re-recorded it with Odeon in April 1930

Percanta que me amuraste
en lo mejor de mi vida
dejandome el alma herida
y splin en el corazon,
sabiendo que te queria,
que vos eras mi alegria
y mi sueño abrasador...
Para mi ya no hay consuelo
y por eso me encurdelo
pa' olvidarme de tu amor.

Cuando voy a mi cotorro
lo veo desarreglado,
todo triste, abandonado,
me dan ganas de llorar,
y me paso largo rato
campaneando tu retrato
pa' poderme consolar.

De noche cuando me acuesto
no puedo cerrar la puerta
porque dejandola abierta
me hago ilusion que volves.
Siempre traigo bizcochitos
pa' tomar con matecito
como cuando estabas vos...
Y si vieras la catrera
como se pone cabrera
cuando no nos ve a los dos.

Ya no hay en el bulin
aquellos lindos frasquitos
adornados con moñitos
todos de un mismo color,
y el espejo esta empañado,
si parece que ha llorado
por la ausencia de tu amor.

La guitarra en el ropero
todavia esta colgada;
nadie en ella canta nada
ni hace sus cuerdas vibrar...
Y la lampara del cuarto
tambien tu ausencia ha sentido
porque su luz no ha querido
mi noche triste alumbrar.

Woman, you dumped me
at the prime of my life
leaving my soul wounded
and dullness in my heart,
knowing that I loved you,
that you were my joy
and my burning dream...
There is no solace for me,
that is why I’m getting drunk
to forget about you love.

When I return to my room
I find it all messed up,
very sad, abandoned,
I feel like crying,
and I spend long hours
staring at your portrait
to find solace.

At night when I go to bed
I can't close the door
because leaving it open
I make believe that you're back.
I always bring cookies
to accompany the mate
like if you were still here.
And if could see the bed
how upsets it gets
when it does not see us both.

There are no longer in the room
those pretty little bottles
decorated with ribbons,
all of the same color,
and the mirror looks foggy,
it seems that it has cried
for the absence of your love.

The guitar in the closet
is still hanging
nobody ever sings anything
or makes its strings vibrate...
And the lamp in the room
also has felt your absence
because its light has not wanted
to light up my sorrowful night.

Arrabal: slums in the outskirts of the city.

Percanta: how the ruffian called his lover

Porteños: those from the port; name given to those born in the capital city of Buenos Aires.