Sí, sóc groupie.
Sí, descobreixo els grups 2 anys més tard que tothom.
Sí, a vegades intento traduir cançons que m’agraden a amics guiris, i a la inversa.
Sí, n’hi va haver una que de cop, només traduir-la, ja rimava, tenia un ritme, ho posava fàcil.
Sí, durant el pont de desembre a Tivissa et sobra el temps.
Sí, vaig fer una versió en anglès d’una lletra de Manel que m’encanta.
Sí, us la deixo i callo.
allow me to presume
even though we haven’t been
quite properly introduced
that you know about me
just as I know about you,
maybe just my name,
one annoying fact or two.
Dear Sir, I must admit
oh hell, what can I do?
You’re not my cup of tea
I mean, hearing about you,
yours were the wildest dreams
which still make her feel a fool,
yours the nights when the phone
was all a constant ring.
But I still see you in CDs
which you never took home,
and a few of them so cool
and others you won’t miss.
Dear Sir, I still see you
in a quiet smile she makes
and that picture in a crate
I pretend I haven’t seen:
the two of you, so young and strong, next to a van
while the view of Paris or Budapest lays behind
you are pointing to the camera wearing a defiant smile
and you feel you are eternal somehow
and you ignore that I exist and that I am
just waiting my time.
Oh well but you two look so nice,
and it must have hurt so much,
and I guess well no, I know
believe me I understand
that maybe even now
you feel you crumble down
for a sec if an old friend
says the name that you both shared.
But now I hope everything’s fine,
and you don’t really miss those times,
and whenever you look back
it’s so over you can smile,
and there’s so many things around
and you’re having so much fun,
that you feel grateful that I grew
hidden in your petty lies
hidden in an awkward look
behind annoying doubts
and every sudden intuition
“could there be much more to life?”
hidden in “we’re still too young
and we can’t make up our minds”
hidden in “I don’t know why
but I feel trapped and want to die”.
Dear Sir, how weird to think
it hurt so much
for you to know my name, my fate, my hands, my touch
or my fingers gently running down down her spine.
Dear Sir, I am sorry I arrived
and took your place
but one fine day
I waited my time.
Dear Sir, I must conclude
I know you are a busy man.
I just have to say goodbye
and that I am much obliged,
I hope you’re not too cross,
I hope you don’t think I’m nuts,
may the force be with us,
farewell, adieu, goodbye.
If we ever cross paths,
my apologies from now,
I’ll look like a serious man,
wait while you two catch up,
I’ll pretend not to be hearing
your joke about my height
or how you justify
that your style is oh so smart.
We’ll wave goodbye and walk away
and she will say you have grey hairs
and step by step, we’ll leave you behind
just like the scamp who stayed in the corridor
to slap her bum
and used to kiss her in the bushes at the back door of the school
oh poor fools, what a shock it would have been
if you and I had jumped out and said: “oh hi,
we’re waiting our time.
Make some space for us
‘cos we’re waiting our time.