Tango Poetry

Tango Poetry




Throat with sand
You see,
the day is far from dawn,
“Polaco” Goyeneche,
sing me one more tango.
You see,
the night becomes long,
your life has a karma,
to sing, always to sing.


Your voice,
that moves the tango,
saying the semicolon
that nobody sang for it.
With your voice,
with gobblins and ghosts,
breathe in the asthma
of an old bandoneón.


throat with sand
your voice has the pain
that Malena didn’t sing.


that Juárez condemns you
when hurting your pain,
with its white bandoneón.


people are applauding,
although you are dying
they don’t know your pain.


that Troilo from heaven,
underneath your pillow,
left you a verse.


Singer, of a somewhat insolent tango,
you got people to hurt with your pain.
Singer, of a tightrope balancing act tango,
more than singer artist, with the vices of a singer.


You see, to me and to Buenos Aires,
we always gasp for air
when your voice is not here
to you, that taught me so much,
the day that you sang a song with me.


throat with sand
your voice has the pain
that Malena didn’t sing.


that Juárez condemns you
when hurting your pain,
with its white bandoneón.


people are applauding,
although you are dying
they don’t know your pain.


that Troilo from the sky,
underneath your pillow,
left a verse.

Lyrics and music by: Cacho Castaña

“Original Source: Tango-planet.com”



The Connection

I carefully escort you to the dance floor

And pause, hesitate, till you are ready.

Gently, gently, gently, I take your hand,

And put my other, o so softly, at your back.


We begin to dance

And, momentarily

We connect.

We connect.


We become inseperable, entangled.

We are enveloped in escaped sensuality, that

For the duration of this dance

Is perfectly balanced; how precious it is.


Let this dance never end because

The connection is sadly, purely, only, for the duration of this dance.

Let this dance never end because

When it ends the connection will shatter like perfect glass.

                                                                                    Eran Braverman

[Original Source: maidenmermaid.wordpress.com]



The Follower

O her looks!

Enchanting, beautiful and alluring; hypnotic;

In those feminine, long heels that exentuate and flatter her elegance,

In that dress which tranforms her into a picture of divinity.

The lighting is dim, obscure, with tones of blood red,

Lighting fit for the follower, giving her

A sense of mystique.


O her movements!

She pivots

And her dress

Rises and falls, flows and ebbs, lights and shadows, like waves at the shore.

She pivots

And her magnificent legs turn in impossible contradiction to her body

That for a single second the flexibility, the suppleness she displays

Is breath taking

To behold.


O her touch!

To take her in your arms, to move and sway to that melody,

To have her in that enticing close embrace

Is sublime; an unsurpassable privilege.

Her pleasure becomes your pleasure.

When she performs the castigada

In that instant

Even whilst the music plays

Even as the dance continues

The world stops,

To allow the body and soul to feel entranced.

                                                                                Eran Braverman


This Is How to Dance Tango

What do the rich boys,

snobs and fashionistas know?

What do they know about tango,

what do they know about rhythm?


Here is elegance:

What a look! What presence!

What poise! What arrogance!

What a dance lesson!

This is how to dance tango,


while I draw an ocho

for these filigrees

I’m like a painter.

And now a run of steps,

a turn, a pose—

This is how to dance tango,

a flowery tango for my memory!


This is how to dance tango:

feeling in your face

the blood that rises

with every beat

while the arm,

like a serpent,

surrounds the waist

that’s going to bend.


This is how to dance tango:

the breath melding

closing your eyes

to hear better

how the violins

tell the bandoneón

why since that night

Malena hasn’t sung.

                                              Elizardo Martínez Vilas

[Original Sources: poesiadegotan.com]


An Emotion

Come and see what I’m bringing with this union of notes and words:

it’s the song that inspired me,

an evocation that cradled me in its arms last night.

It’s the voice of tango sounded on every corner

by those who live by an emotion that dominates them.


I want to sing for this sound

that gets sweeter and more seductive all the time.

Wrapped up in this illusion last night I listened to it,

an emotion composed of things from my yesterdays:


the house where I was born,

its iron fence and its ivy,

the old carousel and the rosebush.


Its accent is the song of sentimental voices,

its rhythm is the measure that lives in my city—

it has no pretensions,

it doesn’t want to be lewd,

it’s called tango, and nothing more.


If it’s so humble and so simple

in its measures,

why add bad examples

in every phrase?

With these leftover emotions

it’s very easy to touch the heart.

                  Orquesta Ricardo Tanturi, singer Enrique Campos

[Original Source: poesiadegotan.com]



Malena sings the tango like no other

and she puts her heart in every verse.

Her voice perfumes with suburban weeds,

Malena has the pain of the bandoneón.

Perhaps in her distant youth her lark’s voice

took on that dark back-alley tone,

or perhaps it was that romance that she only names

when she saddens herself with alcohol.

Malena sings the tango with a shadowy voice,

Malena has the pain of bandoneón.


Your song

has the chill of a last meeting…

your song

becomes bitter in the salt of memories…

I don’t know

if your voice is the bloom of a wound,

I just know that the sound of your tangos, Malena,

makes me feel that you are better,

better than me.


Your eyes are dark as forgetfulness,

your lips pressed together like rage,

your hands two doves that feel a chill,

your veins have the blood of the bandoneón.

Your tangos are abandoned creatures

that cross the mud of the alleys,

when all the doors are closed

and the ghosts of the song wail,

Malena sings the tango with a broken voice,

Malena has the pain of the bandoneón.

                  Orquesta Aníbal Troilo, singer Francisco Fiorentino

[Original Sources: poesiadegotan.com]



Enclosed within your arms

Moving to your rhythm

Waiting to see where you lead


Letting go of my control

Freeing myself to respond

Willing part of this whole


Accomplice in your dance

Willing to take this chance

Lead and I will follow


Becoming Tango

I can feel your timidity

When I offer my proximity

There’s no safe space

Within the close embrace


Your sweat under my palm

My body inside your arm

Our rhythms begin to coincide

Within the step and glide


When we forget our fumbling feet

Feel the music and hear the beat

Somewhere the ebb and flow

Becomes the Tango


[Original Sources: www.facebook.com/permalink.php]

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