Ricardo Arjona

Ricardo Arjona is one of my favorite Spanish singers. The poetry of his songs is exquisite, tragic, romantic, intense, and honest. I have translated portions of two of his songs. The translations are my own and are not verbatim as I focused on capturing the poetry and the mood more than the specific language. It's a shame that no translation can compare to the original.

El Amor
Love is the author of lost causes.
Love always starts off a dream and ends in insomnia.
It's a profound act of faith that smells of lies.
Love dances to the tune played by God or the Devil.
Love is the war that was lost between sex and laughter.
It's the key to unleashing the tears from your eyes.
It's the slowest moment in the world when everything rushes by.
Love always opens a way, slowly, no matter the obstacle.
Love is the arrogance of holding onto something impossible.
It's searching in another for what you don't find in yourself.
Love is ungrateful; it lifts you for a while then pushes you down when it can.
Love is two in one and in the end they are none; it is accustomed to lying.
Love is beauty fed by sadness and in the end it always leaves you.
Love's always better when it's found somewhere else; it shines bright in novellas that sell perfect endings.
Love doesn't let you say what you want to say without letting you know that it spits in your face.
Love is sitting and watching pass by the death march of all of your dreams.

El Problema
The problem was not finding you; the problem is forgetting you.
The problem is not your absence; the problem is I still wait for you.
The problem is not our problems; the problem is it hurts me.
The problem is not that you lie to me; the problem is I believe you.
The problem is not your playfulness; the problem is you toy with me.
The problem is not that it hurts me; the problem is that I like it.
The problem is not the damage; the problem is the holes that it leaves.
The problem is not what you do to me; the problem is that I forget.
The problem is not what you say; the problem is what you don't say.
If I loved you because you were free, who am I to change you?
If I was the only one in love, who am I to force it on you?
The problem is not in loving you; it's that you don't feel the same way.
How do I get rid of you if I never owned you?
How do I leave you if you're so far away?
The problem is not in changing you; the problem is I don't want to.