Lacreme Napulitane

( Sing: Massimo Ranieri )
( Authors: Bovio - Buongiovanni - 1925 )

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  • Lacreme Napulitane - Massimo Ranieri

 Probably there are some translation errors, forgive me. Suggest Correction

Original


Mia cara madre,
sta pe' trasí Natale,
e a stá luntano cchiù mme sape amaro
Comme vurría appiccia' duje o tre biangale,
comme vurría sentí nu zampugnaro!

A 'e ninne mieje facitele 'o presebbio
e a tavula mettite 'o piatto mio,
facite, quann'è 'a sera d''a Vigilia
comme si 'mmiez'a vuje stesse pur'io

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
a nuje Napulitane!
Pe' nuje ca ce chiagnimmo 'o cielo 'e Napule,
comm'è amaro stu ppane!

Mia cara madre,
che só, che só 'e denare?
Pe' chi se chiagne 'a Patria, nun só niente!
Mo tengo quacche dollaro, e mme pare
ca nun só' stato maje tanto pezzente!

Mme sonno tutt''e nnotte 'a casa mia
e d''e ccriature meje ne sento 'a voce,
ma a vuje ve sonno comm'a na "Maria"
cu 'e spade 'mpietto, 'nnanz'ô figlio 'ncroce!

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
a nuje Napulitane!
Pe' nuje ca ce chiagnimmo 'o cielo 'e Napule,
comm'è amaro stu ppane!

Mm'avite scritto
ch'Assuntulella chiamma
chi ll'ha lassata e sta luntana ancora.
Che v'aggi''a dí? Si 'e figlie vònno 'a mamma,
facítela turná chella "signora".

Io no, nun torno...mme ne resto fore
e resto a faticá pe' tuttuquante.
I', ch'aggio perzo casa, Patria e onore,
i só carne 'e maciello: Só emigrante!

E nce ne costa lacreme st'America
a nuje Napulitane!
Pe' nuje ca ce chiagnimmo 'o cielo 'e Napule,
comm'è amaro stu ppane!

Translation


My dear mother,
The Christmas is approaching
And to be so far away is very hurt!
How I would like to light some Bengal lights!
How I would like to hear a bagpiper.

Make the Nativity scene for my children
And put my plate on the table!
Make Christmas Eve
As if I'm also here among you.

How many tears this America costs us,
Neapolitans!
For us, who long for the sky of Naples,
How bitter is this bread!

My dear mother,
What is, what is money?
For a man, who longs for motherland, it's nothing!
Now I have some dollars but it seems to me
That I have never been so poor!

Every night I dream my house
And I hear the voices of my children,
And you dream the Virgin Mary
With swords in breast in front of her crucified son.

How many tears this America costs us,
Neapolitans!
For us, who long for the sky of Naples,
How bitter is this bread.

You have written me
That my daughter Assuntina calls her mom
Who has left her and still stays far away.
What can I say? If my children need their mom
Make this "lady" come back.

I don't come back, I stay here
And I stay for working for you all.
I've lost the motherland, house and honour,
I'm a sacrifice, I'm an emigrant!

How many tears this America costs us,
Neapolitans!
For us, who long for the sky of Naples,
How bitter is this bread!

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