Song
La bruja · Ángel Vargas · 1939
1938: 1, 3; 1953: 1, 3; 1959: 1, 372
Juan D'Arienzo’s 1959 version holds 98% of its dancing (372 of 378).
How we know
Of the dances to its 3 recordings in our catalogue. Dances count filmed Occasions on TangoTube.
Juan D'Arienzo recorded it in 1938 and 1959.
How we know
Takes in our catalogue by the same orchestra in different years; the canon’s first orchestra is named.
Credit
- Music
- Juan Polito
- Lyrics
- Francisco Gorrindo
Source: TangoCloud catalogue
Every recording
3 recordings · our catalogue, dances filmed on TangoTube · 2 more we know of
Choose A and B on two recordings to hear them one after the other.
- Juan D'ArienzoEarliest we holdAlberto Echagüe · RCA Victor · Aug 263 dances1938
- Juan D'ArienzoMost dancedMario Bustos · RCA Victor · Oct 15372 dances1959
- Juan PolitoRaúl Figueroa · Aug 113 dances1953
- -unspecified guitars-Not in our catalogueÁngel Vargas · Apr 171939
- Alejandro ScarpinoNot in our catalogueÁngel Vargas · Jun 211955
Lyrics
Español
Ahogando este grito que sube del pecho, y llega a los labios cargao de rencor, yo vuelvo a tu lado, atadas las manos, pero pa' decirte que todo acabó, Que ya no me importa tu risa o tu llanto, que a fuerza 'e coraje vencí al corazón, y que hoy como nunca mirándote cerca, te veo realmente, así como sos. La Bruja, que ayer fuera reina de todo mi ser, hoy, roto el encanto, no es más que mujer. La Bruja, montón de caprichos que me esclavizó, hoy es un paisaje, cubierto de horror. Me vuelvo a la vida sencilla y honrada, me vuelvo a un cariño que es noble y leal, y puede que un día, curada mi alma, a fuerza de hombría levante un hogar. Entonces, acaso, me habré redimido, y vos, para entonces, quién sabe si sos, un cacho de invierno cargado de males, un resto de vida, un poco de tos.
English · machine translation
Choking this cry that rises from the chest, and reaches the lips loaded with rancor, I return to your side, my hands tied, but to tell you that it's all over, That I no longer care about your laughter or your crying, that by dint of my courage I conquered my heart, and that today, as never before, looking at you close, I see you as you really are. The Witch, who yesterday was queen of all my being, today, broken the charm, is no more than a woman. The Witch, a heap of whims that enslaved me, today is a landscape, covered with horror. I return to the simple and honest life, I return to a love that is noble and loyal, and maybe one day, my soul healed, by dint of manhood I will raise a home. Then, perhaps, I will have redeemed myself, and you, by then, who knows if you are, a piece of winter laden with evils, a remnant of life, a little cough.
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