El meu carrer [English translation]

My street

is dark and tortuous,

it knows the harbour

and a poet’s name (1).

Narrow and dirty,

it smells of people

and has the balconies full of

hanged clothes.

My street

Doesn’t cost two “real” :

there are a hundred doors

broken in pieces

and a fountain where

are coming to drink

children and cats,

doves and dogs.

It is a place where the sun never enters,

an ordinary street.

My street

has five street lamps

so the young

can throw them stones.

There is a guest house

and three bread ovens

and a pub at every corner.

My street

it is people coming from everywhere

who heals and drinks,

who sweats and eats,

and wakes up when the sun rises,

and goes to a football match every Sundays,

or to fish sea breams with trawl line,

or plays dominoes drinking wine.

My street

is a child

who in the afternoon eats a snack

of bread with oil and sugar,

and who plays dice

and plays 'cavall fort',

half nice, half uncouth

altar boy and rascal.

My street

of the blue collar area

lives depending on the drawer

with the tops,

and with stickers,

and the 'Nestle' Album

and the pieces

of an old wood burner.

Little by little it is going to deteriorate ..

My street.