Barbra Streisand - Memory

Daylight

I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life
And I musn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin

Barbra sang that song in 1981. The songwriter is Andrew Loyd Webber. Barbra played in this musical(Cats). She was the first Grizabella who played in London.


Midnight,
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory?
She is smiling alone.
In the lamplight,
The withered leaves collect at my feet,
And the wind begins to moan.

Memory,
All alone in the moonlight,
I can dream of the old days
Life was beautiful then
I remember the time
I knew what happiness was.
Let the memory live again.

Every street lamp seems to beat
A fatalistic warning.
Someone mutters and the street lamp gutters
And soon it will be morning.

Daylight,
I must wait for the sunrise,
I must think of a new life
And I musn't give in.
When the dawn comes,
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin.

Burnt out ends of smoky days,
The stale cold smell of morning.
A street lamp dies,
Another night is over,
Another day is dawning.

Touch me,
It's so easy to leave me
All alone with the memory
Of my days in the sun.
If you touch me,
You'll understand what happiness is.
Look, a new day has begun.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVwJNg4Wgq4

Memory-Barbra Streisand (Subtitulada en español)

http://www.songstraducidas.com/letratraducida-Memory_5379.htm 


http://www.musica.com/letras.asp?letra=1978006 

Memory (Cats) Lyrics

Midnight
Not a sound from the pavement
Has the moon lost her memory
She is smiling alone
In the lamplight
The withered leaves collect at my feet
And the wind begins to moan

Memory, all alone in the moonlight
I can dream of the old days
Life was beautiful then
I remember the time I knew what happiness was
Let the memory live again
Every street lamp seems to beat
A fatalistic warning
Someone mutters and the street lamp sputters
Soon it will be morning

Daylight
I must wait for the sunrise
I must think of a new life and
I mustn't give in
When the dawn comes
Tonight will be a memory too
And a new day will begin

(instrumental)

Burnt out ends of smoky days
The stale court smell of morning
A street lamp dies
Another night is over
Another day is dawning

Touch me,
It is so easy to leave me
All alone with my memory
Of my days in the sun
If you'll touch me,
You'll understand what happiness is
Look, a new day has begun

------------------------------------
Recuerdo

Medianoche,
ni un sonido en la calle
¿Ha perdido la luna la memoria?
Sonríe solitaria

A la luz del farol la hojas secas se juntan a mis pies
Y el viento comienza a gemir

Recuerdo,
Totalmente sola a la luz de la luna
Puedo sonreírle a los viejos días
Yo era hermosa entonces
Recuerdo
los tiempos en que sabía lo que la felicidad
era
Deja que el recuerdo viva otra vez

Cada faro en la calle
parece anunciar
una advertencia fatalista
Alguien murmulla y la lámpara de la calle se apaga
Pronto amanecerá


Luz de día,
debo esperar el amanecer
Debo pensar en una nueva vida
Y no debo darme por vencida

Cuando el alba llegue
esta noche será un recuerdo también
Y un nuevo día comenzará

Finales quemados de días ahumados
El añejo aroma frío de la mañana
Las luces de la calle mueren,
otra noche ha terminado
Otro día esta amaneciendo

Tócame,
es tan fácil déjame
Totalmente sola con los recuerdos
De mis días en el sol
Si me tocas, entenderás lo que es la felicidad
Mira, un nuevo día ha comenzado

http://www.maxilyrics.com/andr%C3%A9-rieu-memory-%28cats%29-lyrics-61b0.html

T.S. Eliot: Preludes (English)

     I

The winter evening settles down 

With smell of steaks in passageways. 

Six o'clock. 

The burnt-out ends of smoky days. 

And now a gusty shower wraps 

The grimy scraps 

Of withered leaves about your feet 

And newspapers from vacant lots; 

The showers beat 

On broken blinds and chimney-pots, 

And at the corner of the street 

A lonely cab-horse steams and stamps. 

And then the lighting of the lamps. 

     II 

The morning comes to consciousness 

Of faint stale smells of beer 

From the sawdust-trampled street 

With all its muddy feet that press 

To early coffee-stands. 

With the other masquerades 

That time resumes, 

One thinks of all the hands 

That are raising dingy shades 

In a thousand furnished rooms. 

     III 

You tossed a blanket from the bed, 

You lay upon your back, and waited; 

You dozed, and watched the night revealing 

The thousand sordid images 

Of which your soul was constituted; 

They flickered against the ceiling. 

And when all the world came back 

And the light crept up between the shutters, 

And you heard the sparrows in the gutters, 

You had such a vision of the street 

As the street hardly understands; 

Sitting along the bed's edge, where 

You curled the papers from your hair, 

Or clasped the yellow soles of feet 

In the palms of both soiled hands. 

     IV 

His soul stretched tight across the skies 

That fade behind a city block, 

Or trampled by insistent feet 

At four and five and six o'clock; 

And short square fingers stuffing pipes, 

And evening newspapers, and eyes 

Assured of certain certainties, 

The conscience of a blackened street 

Impatient to assume the world. 

I am moved by fancies that are curled 

Around these images, and cling: 

The notion of some infinitely gentle 

Infinitely suffering thing. 

Wipe your hand across your mouth, and laugh; 

The worlds revolve like ancient women 

Gathering fuel in vacant lots. 

 
http://bryantmcgill.com/wiki/poetry/t.s._eliot/preludes 


Preludios - T. S. Eliot - Español


I

En los pasadizos, se establece la tarde del invierno
con olor a filete,
Las seis en punto.
Colillas de los días humeantes.
Y ahora un chaparrón
ventoso arremolina entre sus pies
los residuos mugrientos
de hojarasca marchita
y periódicos volados de solares vacíos.
Los chaparrones baten
persianas rotas, chimeneas,
y en la esquina de la calle
un solitario caballo de tiro piafa y bufa.

Y se encienden entonces las farolas.

II

La mañana recobra su conciencia
de los tenues y rancios
olores de cerveza que provienen
del serrín pisoteado en las calles
por todos esos pies
fangosos que se agolpan
en los madrugadores kioscos de café.

Con las otras mascaradas
que hace suyas el tiempo,
uno piensa en todas esas manos
que levantan persianas deslustradas
en un millar de cuartos de alquiler.

III

Arrojaste la manta de la cama,
te tumbaste de espaldas y esperaste,
adormilada, viste de qué modo la noche revelaba
el millar de sórdidas imágenes,
titilantes en el techo,
que constituían tu alma.
Y cuando el mundo entero volvió
y la luz se filtro sigilosa
por las contraventanas
y oíste a los gorriones en las cornisas,
tuviste una visión tal de la calle
que la calle difícilmente entiende;
sentada al borde de la cama, enrollaste
los bigudíes de tu pelo, o te masajeaste las plantas
amarillas de los pies
con las palmas sucias de tus manos.

IV

Su alma tensamente se alargaba
a través de los cielos
desvanecidos detrás de una manzana de edificios,
o bien con pies urgentes caminaba
a las cuatro, a las cinco y a las seis;
y cortos y cuadrados dedos
que rellenaban pipas de fumar,
periódicos vespertinos, y ojos
seguros de unas ciertas certidumbres,
la conciencia de una calle ennegrecida
impaciente por apropiarse del mundo,

Movido soy por quimeras que se enroscan
en torno a esas imágenes, y se adhieren a ellas:
la noción de algo infinitamente amable
que infinitamente sufre.

Pásate la mano por la boca, y ríe;
los mundos dan vueltas como ancianas mujeres
que recogen la leña en los derribos.

Traducción de Felipe Benítez Reyes

http://descierto.blogspot.com.es/2009/04/preludios-t-s-eliot.html 

 Preludes IV (excerpt):

http://consuelomendez.blogspot.com.es/2012/09/preludespreludios.html