Piantar means “to leave, abandon, dump (as in a lover).” The word refers to someone who has “taken leave” of his or her senses. A few verses down, it is more of interjection of emphasis, akin to “Dammit!”Ģ) The word that I’ve translated as “loony” is “ pianta’o” a Lunfardo word. Here, its meaning in English is equivalent to the French je ne sais quoi. Goyeneche recites the spoken parts from the perspective of the lunatic himself, but apart from this and a few minor tweaks, the lyrics are essentially the same.ġ)” ¿Qué sé yo?” (Lit., “What do I know?”)-A common porteño colloquialism, with a variety of uses. The lyrics above are for Amelia Baltar’s version. Roberto “El Polaco” Goyeneche with Astor Piazzolla We’re both crazy, after all…crazy, crazy, crazy… The magical complete insanity of coming back to life… Open up to these loves, we’ll give it a try, Scale the heights of this lunatic’s tenderness inside of me, The madhouse cheers us on: “Long live the lunatics who invented Love!” And an angel, a soldier, and a little girl play us a sweet little dancing waltz.Īll the beautiful people come out to wave at us…and the lunatic- my lunatic, ¿qué sé yo?-sets the bell towers ringing with his laughter, and finally, he looks at me, and quietly sings: That I’ve driven your heart crazy with freedom-Īnd talking like this, the lunatic invites me into his imaginary sports car, and we’re going to run along the cornices with a swallow in the engine! Into the abyss of your cleavage until I feel
Up the shores of your bed sheets I will come, When the sun sets on your porteña solitude, I watch Buenos Aires from a sparrow’s nest
“I already know that I’m loony, loony, loony…Ĭan’t you see, coming down Callao street, a rolling full moony? It seems that I’m the only one who sees him, because as he walks among all the people, the mannequins wink at him, the traffic lights flash three sky-blue lights at him, and the corner fruit stand’s oranges rain their blossoms down upon him.Īnd just like that, half dancing and half flying, he doffs his melon, he greets me, he presents me with a taxi flag, and says, The streets, and me, the same as ever…when suddenly, from behind a tree, he appears.Ī strange cross between one of the last homeless bums, and the first stowaway on a voyage to Venus: a half melon rind on his head, his shirt’s pinstripes painted on his skin, a leather sole nailed into each foot, and a “Taxi for Hire” flag held in each hand. The afternoons in Buenos Aires have a certain… ¿qué se yo? -y’know? I’ve just left home, headed down Arenales.
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