Appendix: The two hectored poems
De Castro clearly intended poem #36 to close the book. Its title, "Eu cantar, cantar, cantei," is an obvious rejoinder to the title of poem #1, "Has de cantar."

However she added the following two poems conceivably pressured by criticism that her poetry lacked "sparkle" (poem #36). The publishing house must be the primary suspect for the slight and for suggesting to her the body of the two extra poems. Those two poems got published as an integral part of "Cantares Gallegos." In fact they should not have, they do not sit well with the remainder of the book.

Saturday Night     (Sábado á noite)



Observation

As explained in the introduction to "Fun un domingo" (poem #7) De Castro often constructs a poem around a popular couplet or quatrain which is quoted in italics. Here that quatrain is a ribald limerick which translated reads, "Hey you, my religious observant of holy days and feast days, how your flesh dazzles now among the Lydian broom shrubs!" Presumably the publishing house gave her the assignment under coercion, but the poetess did not take the bait. The black humour she employed shuns and utterly ruins the limerick's bawdy bent.



Affectionate Diminutives

Explanation of some words, terms or expressions

ña (2.1, 13.1). A rustic contraction of "miña" (my). Translated "me" instead of "my" to highlight the rural setting.

Mingo (9.3). Abbreviated form of the personal name, "Domingo" (lit. Sunday).

Sábado á noite
Marica pilla a roca.

—Ña muller, pilla esa roca
e déixate de ir á misa,
pensa que non tés camisa
e fía unha mazaroca.

—Luns das almas, meu homiño,
déixame garda-lo día;
se eu fiare, ¿que diría
no outro mundo meu paiciño?

Pois... martes de San Antonio
tampouco hei de traballare,
pra que o santo me librare
das tentazós do demonio.

Miércoles... ¡Non digo eu!
O home de Nosa Señora,
San Xosé... de fiar hora
non me quisera no ceu.

¡E xueves...! N-hai que falar:
¡Santísimo Sacramento!
Con todo comedimento
o dia che hei de gardar.

¡I o viernes! ¿Recordazón
da agonía de Xesús?
Pasareino ó pé da crus,
maxinando na Pasión.

E ti, benaventurado
sábado da Virxen santa,
quen túa festa crebanta
debe estar excomungado.

Mais, dende as doce hastra a unha
antre o sábado e o domingo,
tráeme acá esa roca, Mingo,
que esa n-é falta ningunha.

....................................

¡Se viras como o resío
me entra por antre os farrapos!
Acóchame co ese trapos,
que estou tembrando de frío.

—Non vexo trapos nin toldo
con que te poida tapare,
arrímate o pé do lare
ou métete antre o rescoldo.

—Seica teño calentura...
¡Bruu!, seica vou morrere.

—Non te afrixas, ña mullere,
que che irei cata-lo cura.

—Mais quisera un cubirtore;
sinto callofríos... tantos...

—Pois que te cochen os santos,
que n-hai cuberta millore.
Folgaches noites e dias
só por ilos a bicare,
e débenche hora cochare
nas túas postrimeirías.

Deste modo Xan sin Terra
coa súa muller falaba,
cando veu que se quedaba,
¡malpocada!, feita terra;
e cuns codesos tapándolle
o triste coiro desnudo,
díxolle entonces (eu dudo
si chorando, si cantándolle):

Ei ti, miña gardadora
dos días santos e das festas,
¡como che relosen hora
as carnes por antre as xestas!

On Saturday night
Mary grabs the spindle.

"Me woman, grab that spindle
And stop going to mass,
Consider you don't have a chemise
And spin a cop."

"Monday of all souls, dear husband,
Let me observe the day.
If I spun, what would Dad say
Over in the other world?

"Next...Tuesday of St. Anthony:
I won't work either,
So the saint will deliver me
From the devil's temptations.

"Wednesday...Don't I say!
The husband of Our Lady,
St. Joseph...Were I to spin then
He would not want me in heaven.

"And Thursday...! No way:
The Most Blessed Sacrament!
With all due reverence
I will observe the day.

"And Friday! The remembrance
Of the agony of Jesus?
I'll spend it at the foot of the cross,
Meditating on the Passion.

"And you, blessed Saturday
Of the holy Virgin,
Whoever transgresses your feast day
Ought to be excommunicated.

"But from twelve to one o'clock
Between Saturday and Sunday
Bring me that spindle, Mingo,
For that is no transgression at all."

....................................

"If you could feel how the dew
Penetrates through my tatters!
Cover me with those rags,
For I am shivering with the cold."

"I see no rags or canopy
I could cover you with.
Move close to the fireplace
Or crawl in among the cinders."

"Perhaps I have a mild fever...
(Shiver) Perhaps I'm going to die."

"Don't afflict yourself, me woman,
I'll go get the priest for you."

"I'd rather have a quilt;
I have the shivers...so many..."

"Then let the saints cover you,
For there is no better covering.
You rested nights and days
Just to go kiss them,
And now they ought to bundle
You up in your final hours."

Thus John Without Land
Spoke with his wife,
When he saw her turn to dust,
Unfortunate one! And covering
With some broom-shrub shoots
The sad naked hide, he said then
To her (I can not resolve
Whether weeping or singing):

Hey you, my religious observant
Of holy days and feast days,
How your flesh dazzles now
Among the Lydian broom shrubs!

A Wine Duel     (Compadre, desque un vai vello)



Observation

"Compadre, desque un vai vello" is the second bonus poem that De Castro wrote after "Eu cantar, cantar, cantei."

"Compadre, desque un vai vello," is like the first bonus poem, "Sábado á noite," an essay in black humour. Black humour is incongruous with the whole tome of "Cantares Gallegos" and this implies that she wrote both poems against her will.



Affectionate Diminutives

Explanation of some words, terms or expressions

ña (3.2, 27.1). A rustic contraction of "miña" (my). Translated "me" instead of "my" to highlight the rural setting.

neto (3.4, 5.3). An old measurement of volume equivalent to half a litre (i.e. a pint approximately).

del-con-dela (5.2). Unknown. The context suggests that del-con-dela is any trivial disagreement or squabble lacking a clear resolution.

Ulla (6.2). A secondary wine-producing district.

Ribeiro (6.4). A renowned wine-producing district.

¡Que noria! (8.1). The speaker feels giddy; figuratively speaking, his head has started to spin round like a noria (a waterwheel).

deño (10.3, 13.1, 21.1, 27.1). Demon, devil. This is a contraction of "demonio," which could be either "demo" or the more euphemistic "denio" → "deño". When it is used as an interjection, "deño" is translated "heck," an euphemism for "hell" (10.3, 21.1, 27.1). When it is used as a noun, "deño" is simply translated "devil" (13.1).

Farruco (14.1). Colloquial variant of "Francisco" (Francis) translated "Frank."

St. Lucy (17.1). Saint Lucy is the patron saint of the blind.

Angrois (20.4). A suburb of Santiago de Compostela. Xesús Ferro Ruibal explains that the expression, "to pass oneself off as a native of Angrois," meant to act listless, to show indifference, to feign ignorance. The two drunkards of the poem know the mortal danger of overdrinking but vow to ignore it and drink on nevertheless.

—Compadre, desque un vai vello
o mesmo sol lle fai frío,
cada regueiro élle un río,
un boi cada escarabello.

Pésame o lombo que pasma,
pero que inda Dios me leve
¡se é que non teño unha sede
que me fai volve-la iasma!

E ben, xa que estamos preto
de ña casa...¡Compadriño,
vinde proba-lo meu viño
e botaremos un neto!...

—¡Entra ti diante! —¡Non! —Si.
Ti que és máis vello. —¡Cal mentes!
—Pois que cho digan os dentes.
—Teño máis moas que ti.

Mais entrémo-los dous xuntos
e acabouse o del-con-dela;
mide seis netos, Manoela,
que traio enxóito-los untos;

enche o xarro do canteiro,
e non enchas co da Ulla
que é tan sóo pra meter bulla
senón co aquel do Ribeiro.

....................................

¡Coló, coló! —Ben nos preste,
porque sin estos consolos
andivéramos máis solos
os vellos do que anda a peste.

—¡Ten un piquiño! —¡Que noria!
Con pique ou non, compadriño,
dempois de Dios, ¡viva o viño!
—¿E haberá viño na groria?

¡Coló, coló! —¡Cousa boa!
¡Cólase como xarabe!
—Meu compadre, o que ben sabe
corre sin trigo nin broa.

—O viño de quente pasa,
mais é mellor o que eu teño.
—¿Como que? —A probalo, deño,
vas vir hora á miña casa.

—Eso pouco a pouco, amigo.
¡Mellor que o meu non o paso!
—Pois botemos outro vaso
e veno a probar conmigo.

—Dis ben. ¡Ñas pernas...arriba!
Peito xa estás calentado;
podemos un punteado
bailar cun pé nunha criba.

—Que non che me leve o deño...
¿Ei andamos ou n-andamos?
Unha vez paréz que vamos
i outras maxino que veño.

—Déixate de eso, Farruco,
que eu vou coma unha pedrada,
e inda así nesta escampada
seica oirei canta-lo cuco.

—Non o penses que abofellas
xa á miña porta chegamos,
mais ten tino, porque entramos
no cortello das ovellas.

—¡Mentes...; eu vou indo a fío
cara a bodega, larpeiro!
—Mais déixame entrar primeiro,
que me fai mal o resío.

—Vállame Santa Lusía...
Todo o vexo tan trubado;
dime aquí, de reservado:
¿É de noite ou é de día?

—¡Se o sei que bote máis canas!
Pero, en secreto cho digo,
deste non ver, meu amigo,
deben ter culpa as pestanas.

Ora séntate e bebamos;
¡teño unha sede!...—¡Eh!, ¿qué tal?
—Se non me fixese mal...
—¡Mal! ¿Tan fortes coma estamos?

Sabe que gorecha...pois
¿Esprícome...? —¡Por sabido!
—O bebido, vai bebido
e se un quer máis... hastra Angrois.

—¡É que este teu viño!, ¡deño!...
É do que un pode beber
pero, compadre, a meu ver
éche mellor o que eu teño.

-¡N-é verdá eso!... — ¿Que non?
Tornas hora a vir conmigo
e disme, se és meu amigo,
se non é moito más bon.

—¡Poida!...; mais á túa bodega
dime cando chegaremos,
teño una sede dos demos...
E mais penso que lostrega.

—O que hai, meu compañeiriño,
non son lóstregos nin rollos;
é que tes lume nos ollos
e a gorxa pídeche viño.

¡Ei!, move esos pés lixeiro,
que estamos ó pé da pipa,
e bebe, que di Filipa
que a sede avolve o calleiro.

—¡Jeén...! Dio-lo pague que é forte;
bebín canto me botache;
tés un viño que...carache,
fai resucita-la morte.

—¿E logo si? ¡Ña, que deño!
Nin o dun padre bendito.
—¡É bon, mais o dito, dito:
Inda é mellor o que eu teño!

....................................

E indo e vindo no camiño
tanto os compadres bebeno
que nunca en xamás volveno
a probar augua nin viño.

Co ventre como unha uva
tras de tanta e tanta proba,
levánonos para a cova
dende o mesmo pé da cuba.

"Colleague, since one's grown old
The very sunshine feels cold,
Every rill has become a river,
An ox every beetle.

"My back's heaviness amazes me,
But may God whisk me away
If I don't have a thirst that makes
The asthma come back!

"And well, since we are near
Me house...Buddy,
Come try my wine
And we'll swig a pint!..."

"You go in first." "No!" "Yes.
You are older." "How you lie!"
"Then let your teeth inform you."
"I got more molars than you do.

"But let us both enter together
And be done with the tiff.
Emmanuelle, pour us six pints,
I come with the bone marrow stiff;

"Fill up the stonemason's jar,
Though not with wine from Ulla
Fit only for starting brawls
But with that one from Ribeiro."

....................................

(Gulp, gulp) "May it do us good,
For without these consolations
Us old folks would be more lonely
Than lonesome roams the plague."

"It prickles a bit!" "Waterwheel!
With prickle or without it, buddy,
After God long live wine!"
"Eh, will there be wine in glory?"

(Gulp, gulp) "Good stuff,
It goes down easy like syrup!"
"Colleague, what tastes good flows
Without wheat or cornbread."

"The wine is beyond fair,
But the one I have is better."
"How is that?" "Try it, heck,
You are coming to my house now."

"Slow down there, friend. 'Better
Than mine'...I won't let that pass!"
"Then let's swig another glass
And come taste it with me."

"Rightly spoken. Me legs...up!
Chest, you are warmed already;
We could dance a set
Single-footed on a sieve."

"May the devil not take me away...
Say, are we moving or are we not?
One turn it seems that we go out
And others I imagine I come in."

"Forget about that, Frank,
For I feel like I've been stoned,
And even so in this clearing maybe
I'll hear the cuckoo bird sing."

"Don't count on it for, my word,
We are already at my door,
But be on your toes because
We enter through the sheep pen."

"You lie...I am heading straight
For the wine cellar, swiller!"
"Still let me enter first,
The dew makes me ill."

"May St. Lucy help me...
I see everything so muddled;
Tell me here confidentially:
Is it night or is it day?"

"May I grow more white whiskers
If I know! But I tell you privately,
The eyelashes must be to blame for
This deficient eyesight, my friend.

"Now sit down and let us drink,
I'm so thirsty!"..."Well, how is it?"
"If it didn't make me unwell..."
"Unwell! As sturdy as we are?

"Its taste is pure pleasure...so...
Do I explain myself...?" "Spot on!"
"It's wine under the bridge and
If one wants more...till Angrois."

"'Cause this wine of yours, heck!...
It's the kind that can be drunk,
But in my reckoning, colleague,
The one I got is better."

"That ain't true!"... "Not so?
You come back with me now
And tell me, if you are my friend,
Whether it isn't much better."

"Perhaps!...but tell me when
We'll get to your wine cellar,
I got a demon's thirst...withal
I gather there's lightning about."

"What there is, my pal, is neither
Flashes of lightning or yarns;
You have fire in your eyes
And your throat demands wine.

"Hey! Move those feet smartly
'Cause we are at the cask's stand,
And drink because Philippa says
That a thirst taints the gut."

(Cough) "God bless it, it's strong;
I drank what you served me all;
You have a wine that...darn,
Makes Death resurrect."

"Then agreed? Heck! Like mine
Not even a blessed Father's."
"It is good, but what I said sticks:
The one I got is even better!"

....................................

And retracing their steps to and fro
The two fellows drank so much
That they never ever reverted
To tasting water or wine.

With their belly like a grape
After so many a sampling trial
They were carried to the grave
From the very foot of the barrel.