In Mediterráneo, Serrat says that he has the soul of a sailor (the instrumental version by Frank Fernández, from the album Cuba sings to Serrat, seems sublime to me, because, since we already know the lyrics, we sing them in silence).
A person can have many souls, of course, and his is, above all, that of a poet. A popular poet, who likes to say the beautiful things in life with beautiful words, and the unfair things in life with precise words, often resorting to irony to give them more value.
Like many other singer-songwriters, Serrat has also set poems by relevant figures in literature to music. Perhaps the album dedicated to Antonio Machado is one of his milestones, which includes one of his greatest hits, Cantares, essential at any concert (I'd prefer Las moscas).
But also Salvat-Papasseit (Visca l'amor), Miguel Hernández (Para la libertad) and Mario Benedetti (I love Los formales y el frío). In other albums, he has included poems by Joan Margarit (Bad sea), León Felipe (Vencidos) or Pere Quart (Infants). Here is his generosity, bringing us closer to the words of the great poets.
But where Serrat fascinates is in the domain of his own word. In Catalan or Spanish, the singer-songwriter has delved into the memory of the language, giving life to words that he does not want to be lost and that he knows that, put into one of his songs, he gives them a few more years of life . Since he has written almost three hundred, it is an arduous task to choose some verses, so this selection is very personal.
From Lucía: "There is nothing more beautiful than what I have never had". From Cançó de matinada: "The farmer is coming to town, empty bag and full cart". From Fiesta: "Y con la resaca a cuestas / the poor man returns to his poverty, / the rich man returns to his wealth / and the lord cures his masses". From Menuda: "Dangle me from your earrings, / turn me around with your rings". From Pueblo blanco: "Por sus alleys de polvo y piedra / por no pasar, nor pasón war". And so, almost to infinity.
You can't be anything other than a genius to pour into a song, Temps was temps, a string of expressions that awaken the blurred memories of a few generations, managing to make the Barça lead rhyme with the penellons: “Basra, César, Kubala , Moreno i Manchón”.
They are simple and precise words, those of a popular voice like yours. After Dylan, those of the Nobel are already late.
Catalan version, here
