xavisarria |
dimarts, 9 de juny de 2009 | 17:22h
Des de Nova Jersei, EUA, m'arriba un mail curiós de Jan Rihart, un
traductor nord-americà a qui no conec i que diu estar fascinat per la
cultura valenciana. Diu que va llegir el Mail Obert de la final
de Copa i que l'ha traduït a l'anglès per als seus amics d'allà. Jo
aprofite per agraïr-li el gest i penjar la traducció. Ací la teniu:
"Welcome to Valencia
Beyond the stereotypes, the shop windows and the delusions of grandeur of the lady mayor who governs us, you discover another city. And it is a hidden Valencia, but it lives, waking every day between the Towers of Serrans and those of Quart, where arises a medieval warren full of magic corners and historic treasures, heir and testament to an identity that makes us brothers. A Valencia that does not renounce its identity and for this reason goes out to the street twice a year in order to celebrate that we on, despite three hundred years of defeats, prohibitions and swindles.
A working class Valencia, colorful, full of barris that bubble with life and retain an ancient enchantment which has survived the passage of years. A neighborly Valencia, one which organizes itself into associations, entities and platforms that meet in edifices, atheniums and clubhouses that shelter social and cultural movements. A Valencia that wants to turn green, Mediterranean, that struggles to keep alive the Horta, that agricultural greenbelt which is so threatened but lives yet, an ocean of farmsteads and palm orchards, inherited from the Arab and Roman civilizations that mark its personality. The very same one that follows the tram to the sea, escorted by neighborhoods fighting to conserve houses constructed with that touch of Modernisme that mixes with the odor of sea salt. Or that survives between pine barrens and dunes of virgin beaches saved from uncontrolled development, or in the waters of a brackish lake inhabited by birds and fish and fisherfolk who ply its waters with boats paddled through reed and mud.
A Valencia that remembers, that is proud of having been the last Republican stronghold and on this account has retained, defended and given homage to the names of thousands and thousands of victims of Franco’s repression who lie buried in an immense common grave, which the municipal authorities want to pave over. A Valencia that has survived the con game of the “Political Transition”-- here called the Batalla de València -- which was characterized by extreme violence from the extreme right that to this day continues to act with complete and suspicious impunity. And it is the Valencia of Guillem Agulló, assassinated by the fascists 15 years ago, and all of the bunches of young independentistes who still cry angrily “Neither forgive nor forget!”, or that of so many autochthonous spaces where a libertarian tradition has always thrived.
A modern, cultured Valencia summed up in the campaigns for education in its native language and by some public schools defended by teachers and students who flood the streets to combat the abuses of the regional government. An irreverent, transgressive Valencia, which lives in the verses of Vicent Andrés Estellés, the characters of Ferran Torrent or in the posters of Josep Renau, and the rock songs that are boycotted by public television and ignored in the programming of local festivals. A Valencia that, even so, has not resigned itself to lose these festivals and still experiences them as before, putting on the popular falles, playing soccer in corner yards or singing albades, folk ballads, at midnight, in the otherwise silent streets amidst bagpipes and kettledrums.
A Valencia that definitively and today gives you welcome, because it still beats, proud and honorable, in the hearts of the people who value the truth."
"Welcome to Valencia
Beyond the stereotypes, the shop windows and the delusions of grandeur of the lady mayor who governs us, you discover another city. And it is a hidden Valencia, but it lives, waking every day between the Towers of Serrans and those of Quart, where arises a medieval warren full of magic corners and historic treasures, heir and testament to an identity that makes us brothers. A Valencia that does not renounce its identity and for this reason goes out to the street twice a year in order to celebrate that we on, despite three hundred years of defeats, prohibitions and swindles.
A working class Valencia, colorful, full of barris that bubble with life and retain an ancient enchantment which has survived the passage of years. A neighborly Valencia, one which organizes itself into associations, entities and platforms that meet in edifices, atheniums and clubhouses that shelter social and cultural movements. A Valencia that wants to turn green, Mediterranean, that struggles to keep alive the Horta, that agricultural greenbelt which is so threatened but lives yet, an ocean of farmsteads and palm orchards, inherited from the Arab and Roman civilizations that mark its personality. The very same one that follows the tram to the sea, escorted by neighborhoods fighting to conserve houses constructed with that touch of Modernisme that mixes with the odor of sea salt. Or that survives between pine barrens and dunes of virgin beaches saved from uncontrolled development, or in the waters of a brackish lake inhabited by birds and fish and fisherfolk who ply its waters with boats paddled through reed and mud.
A Valencia that remembers, that is proud of having been the last Republican stronghold and on this account has retained, defended and given homage to the names of thousands and thousands of victims of Franco’s repression who lie buried in an immense common grave, which the municipal authorities want to pave over. A Valencia that has survived the con game of the “Political Transition”-- here called the Batalla de València -- which was characterized by extreme violence from the extreme right that to this day continues to act with complete and suspicious impunity. And it is the Valencia of Guillem Agulló, assassinated by the fascists 15 years ago, and all of the bunches of young independentistes who still cry angrily “Neither forgive nor forget!”, or that of so many autochthonous spaces where a libertarian tradition has always thrived.
A modern, cultured Valencia summed up in the campaigns for education in its native language and by some public schools defended by teachers and students who flood the streets to combat the abuses of the regional government. An irreverent, transgressive Valencia, which lives in the verses of Vicent Andrés Estellés, the characters of Ferran Torrent or in the posters of Josep Renau, and the rock songs that are boycotted by public television and ignored in the programming of local festivals. A Valencia that, even so, has not resigned itself to lose these festivals and still experiences them as before, putting on the popular falles, playing soccer in corner yards or singing albades, folk ballads, at midnight, in the otherwise silent streets amidst bagpipes and kettledrums.
A Valencia that definitively and today gives you welcome, because it still beats, proud and honorable, in the hearts of the people who value the truth."
