Don't Tell Mama

SALLY BOWLES:
Mama
Thinks I'm living in a convent
A secluded little convent
In the Southern part of France

Mama
Doesn't even have an inkling
That I'm working in a nightclub
In a pair of lacy pants

So, please, sir,
If you run into my mama
Don't reveal my indiscretion
Give a working girl a chance

Hush up, don't tell mama
Shush up, don't tell mama
Don't tell mama whatever you do.
If you had a secret you bet
I could keep it
I would never tell on you!

I'm breakin' every promise that I gave her
So, won't you kindly do a girl a great big favor
And please, my sweet potato,
Keep this from my mater,
Thou my dance is not against the law

You could tell my papa, that's alright!
'Cause he comes in here ev'ry night
But don't tell mama what you saw!

GIRLS:
Mama
Since I wanted go to Europe
With a couple of my school chumps
And a lady chaperonMama

Doesn't even have an inkling
That I left the morning after
And I'm touring on my own

So, please, sir,
If you run into my mama
Don't reveal my indiscretion

SALLY BOWLES:
Just leave well enough alone

SALLY and GIRLS:
Hush up,
don't tell mama
Shush up,
don't tell mama
Don't tell mama whatever you do.

If you had a secret you betI could keep it
I would never tell on you!
You wouldn't want to get me in a pickle
And have a girl ain't cut me off without a nickel

So let's cross one another
Keep this from my mother
Thou I'm still as pure as mama's soul

You can tell my uncle here and now
'Cause he's my agent anyhow
But don't tell mama what you know!

You can tell my grandma, suits me fine
Just guess s'mday she join the line
But don't tell mama what you know!

You can tell my brother, that ain't grim
So if he squeals on me
I'll squeal on him

But don't tell mama, bitte
Don't tell mama, please sir
Don't tell mama what you know!

If you see my mammy mums the word

Cabaret

Todas las Cartas de Amor son...

Todas las cartas de amor son
ridículas.
No serían cartas de amor si no fuesen
ridículas.

También en mi tiempo yo escribí cartas de amor,
como las demás,
ridículas.

Las cartas de amor, si hay amor,
tienen que ser
ridículas.

Pero, al fin,
sólo las criaturas que nunca escribieron
cartas de amor
son las que son
ridículas.

Ojalá volviera al tiempo en que escribía
sin darme cuenta
cartas de amor
ridículas.

La verdad es que hoy
mis recuerdos
de esas cartas de amor
son
ridículos.

(Todas las palabras esdrújulas,
como los sentimientos esdrújulos,
son naturalmente
ridículas.)

Alvaro de Campos (Fernando Pessoa)

Salt Of The Earth

Let's drink to the hard working people
Let's drink to the lowly of birth
Raise your glass to the good and the evil
Let's drink to the salt of the earth

Say a prayer for the common foot soldier
Spare a thought for his back breaking work
Say a prayer for his wife and his children
Who burn the fires and who still till the earth

And when I search a faceless crowd
A swirling mass of gray andBlack and white
They don't look real to me
In fact, they look so strange

Raise your glass to the hard working people
Let's drink to the uncounted heads
Let's think of the wavering millions
Who need leading but get gamblers instead
Spare a thought for the stay-at-home voter
Empty eyes gaze at strange beauty shows
And a parade of the gray suited grafters
A choice of cancer or polio

And when I look in the faceless crowd
A swirling mass of grays and
Black and white
They don't look real to me
Or don't they look so strange
Let's drink to the hard working people
Let's think of the lowly of birth
Spare a thought for the rag taggy people
Let's drink to the salt of the earth
Let's drink to the hard working people
Let's drink to the salt of the earth
Let's drink to the two thousand million
Let's think of the humble of birth

M. Jagger/K. Richards

Le regret d'Heraclite

Yo, que tantos hombre he sido, no he sido nunca
aquel en cuyo abrazo desfallecía Matilde Urbach.

Jorge Luis Borges

Money

Quarterly, is it, money reproaches me:
'Why do you let me lie here wastefully?
I am all you never had of goods and sex,
You could get them still by writing a few cheques.'

So I look at others, what they do with theirs:
They certainly don't keep it upstairs.
By now they've a second house and car and wife:
Clearly money has something to do with life

- In fact, they've a lot in common, if you enquire:
You can't put off being young until you retire,
And however you bank your screw, the money you save
Won't in the end buy you more than a shave.

I listen to money singing. It's like looking down
From long French windows at a provincial town,
The slums, the canal, the churches ornate and mad
In the evening sun. It is intensely sad.

Philip Larkin

De Odas

36

Para ser grande, sé entero: nada

tuyo exageres o excluyas.

Sé todo en cada cosa. Pon cuanto eres

en lo mínimo que hagas.

Así la luna entera en cada lago

brilla, porque alta vive.

Ricardo Reis (Fernando Pessoa)

Poema en línea recta

Nunca conocí a nadie a quien le hubiesen roto la cara.
Todos mis conocidos fueron campeones en todo.
Y yo, que fui ordinario, inmundo, vil,
un parásito descarado,
un tipo imperdonablemente sucio
al que tantas veces le faltó paciencia para bañarse;
yo que fui ridículo, absurdo,
que me llevé por delante las alfombras de las formalidades,
que fui grotesco, mezquino, sumiso y arrogante,
que recibí insultos sin abrir la boca
y que fui todavía más ridículo cuando la abrí;
yo que resulté cómico a las mucamas de hotel,
yo que sentí los guiños de los changadores,
yo que estafé, que pedí prestado y no devolví nunca,
yo que aparté el cuerpo cuando hubo que enfrentarse a puñetazos.
Yo que sufrí la angustia de las pequeñas cosas ridículas,
me doy cuenta que no hay en este mundo otro como yo.

La gente que conozco y con la que hablo
nunca cayó en ridículo, nunca fue insultada,
nunca fue sino príncipe - todos ellos príncipes - en la vida...

¡Ah, quien pudiera oír una voz humana
confesando no un pecado sino una infamia;
contando no una violencia sino una cobardía!
Pero no, son todos la Maravilla si los escucho.
¿Es que no hay nadie en este ancho mundo capaz de confesar que una vez fue vil?
¡Oh príncipes, mis hermanos!

¡Basta, estoy harto de semidioses!
¿Dónde está la gente de este mundo?
¿Así que en esta tierra sólo yo soy vil y me equivoco?

Admitirán que las mujeres no los amaron,
aceptarán que fueron traicionados - ¡pero ridículos nunca!
Y yo que fui ridículo sin haber sido traicionado,
¿cómo puedo dirigirme a mis superiores sin titubear?
Yo que he sido vil, literalmente vil,
vil en el sentido mezquino e infame de la vileza.

Fernando Pessoa