PREGÓN - HOLY WEEK 2012 - VILLAFÁFILA

MR. MIGUEL MARTIN VEGA

Thank you Elijah for your words.

My thanks for them I present.

That year after year you do it,

This town deserves it.

Thinking makes you live.

Interpretation gives life.

That's how I want to feel it

with you on this day.

HOLY WEEK PROCLAIM

I REMEMBER

to express feelings

give the poet the verse.

allow me a few moments

and so I want to achieve it.

fierce fight I have

between the memory made present

and the other called Oblivion,

whom I want to have absent.

I FORGET

Yes, they call me El Olvido

and here you have me,

glued to your ear

so you don't remember anything.

REC.

Giving the proclamation is offered to me,

I can't deny it

well it's all the people

that I in this town want.

Two parts the same has;

One, trajectory of my life.

Another, the present Holy Week

that this town remembers and does not forget.

Villafáfila, beloved town

paradise of my short childhood,

place of barley and wheat

where silence and calm reigned.

Calm and healthy childhood

full of games, effort and work.

Marbles, hoops, badges, frog...

all of them that I practiced so much.

Anecdotes have not been lacking

through the streets of this town,

that although full of mud

I remember some here.

Jacoba the trade had,

quince bars in the window were.

The glass carefully moved him

And in the well of branches they fed us+

OLV.                                                                                              

It's good that you don't remember

of the blunders on the train track made,

and many other absent things

I don't want you to remember on these dates.

REC.

How little you know me I forget,

because of it now precisely,

in this quiet moment

I want to tell these people.

Crossroads of four streets,

The Red for the table football charged.

Friends in endless games

with coins crushed by the train.

What rage and pissed off

when in the collection I found,

the few coins that were

all them bitch fake girls.

Las comadres, much-desired parties

for the young and old,

that all excited,

ears, cooked on the stove.

With bunch of keys going in

waiting for the ears to find,

those that they singing

they had just cooked.

What a surprise! , How painful! ,

when verifying that there was only

the sweet and savory smell

that of them remained.

Altar boy I always was

by Don Camilo chosen.

I drank a lot of wine,

without him knowing it.

Don Fernando and Don Tarsilo,

teachers of my first teaching.

Thank you for the good you did me

although I gave them a lot of trouble.

OLV

And in Villarrín the exam carried out?

Isn't this, among others, the reason

since last year

with the Salesians did you part?

REC.

You're right Oblivion

But let my story continue

So if I keep talking to you,

I don't finish all day.

Celanoba, Allariz and Cambados.

Boarding schools for study, patio and life.

Five years well earned

in study, training and joy.

Football, operettas, theater

participated in everything

having a great time

as the years passed.

To Astudillo, Palencia, they sent me  

to do the novitiate.

Tests, study and, rosaries...

all this to achieve the Habit.

                                   +

With the cassock on the body, 

Philosophy was waiting for me in Medina.

Three years of study, prayer and play,

there the flower of my life passed.  

Allariz, Orense, place of my first teaching

trainer of potential Salesians.

I put all my soul into it

and thus make your presence a reality.

OLV.

How many things you leave in the inkwell!

They feed me day by day

facing you, I remember,

That I would neither hear you nor see you.

REC.                                           

Books to write I can,

but it is not the time or the instant,

that I will talk about them later,

I can in my remaining life.

Goodbye dear Galicia,

land where eu crieime.

Camps led someday,

joy spread among the people.     

Salamanca, Theologate present.

Three years of prayer and deep study.

Emotions, feelings always on my mind,

with the illusion of the Priesthood ready.

Villafáfila was the place

of my first sung mass.

I can never forget it

Well, it was a dream goal.

Only two days passed

to Don Camilo the bet won,

if I dared to confess there

with this red tie.

La Vega, Salamanca, club of young lovers,           

recipients of my words and advice.

Memory of past Saturdays and Sundays         

with my presence always among them.

OLV.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                         

Thank you, Memory, for your sudden forgetfulness.

And the football? Nine born player?

always feared by the Salmantino,

who did you win so much?

REC.

Let me forget to reach my golden Madrid.

Degree goal to get dreamed.

Eighteen rounds of exercises I have given,

two years of priestly labor practiced-

Madrid, La Coruna, Vigo, Cuenca, Leon... 

In his youth my word left,

hoping that one day in your heart

the seed of my advice will sprout.  

My ship took a different course.

I was excited to go back to school.

The teaching came to my mind,

and thus begin a new life.

Wedding of friends there was,

flower garden sprouted.

The flower that bloomed the most,

there my Rosa found.

Two petals the flower had,

the Rose that I happily picked up there.

The children I loved the most,

I received them with love from her.

OLV.

Do you want to leave once,

talk about your private life?

Well, everyone will want to know

what happened at school.

REC.

Thirty-five years have passed

distributing to the young wisdom.

English, French and Language I have given,

the subjects that I taught.

Punctuality was my motto,

discipline my watchword.

The disappointments and sorrows

They didn't stop me from getting it.

 Guys, good, regular, unbearable,

crutches galore,

none of us are the same

but something remains in their hearts.

Students who passed by

many memories we have

We always remember them

when we see each other on the street     

OLV.

Do not want, I remember, make present

to those you met,

lest for some leave absent,

I have to go to the rescue.

REC.

Evenings, Olympics, masses, theater,

What moments of joy!

I will never forget those moments

and in my heart Maria.   

Thank you, Merci, Thank you,

Words used by me often.

I carry them engraved in my heart,

Today I give them to each of you.      

this is how my life ends

in broad strokes and in verse.

everyone on this day

I gladly offer it to you.

HOLY WEEK

Holy Week, so remembered and lived.

Second part of my proclamation I present,

hoping that on this day

make you all happy.

many are the steps 

that in this church are found,

always waiting for the arms

Give us your presence.

To all words to have I want,

and with them make present

the lively and great respect,

that people have here.

PROCESSIONS

The silence

Wednesday, Jesus has left the church

in arms the image advances,

hearing only the noise

by Romanín la Matraca.

In the dark stands out

illuminated image,

surrounded by the street

in green and white robes.

The children go ahead

behind his parents to the christ raise.

Grow up soon we ask you

that the forces already fail us.

They arrive at the square later,

there, the christ stands,

to hear from the people

your sincere prayer.

Rude voices are raised

singing the miserere.

Waiting for grace from Christ

and the forgiveness they deserve.

Penance

Penitence they call it

and THE Ecce Homo is the center.

The longest procession

through the streets of this town.

Jesus, acclaimed, triumphant,

from the crowd well received,

for the same as instantly

he will be crowned, flogged and wounded.

Verses of my grandmother I have

to the Jesus who suffered like this,

With great emotion I remember them,

Because of the passion he put into them.

 “This is where she passed, lady.

to the singing of the rooster

Some were spitting on him,

others were tearing him apart

and the smallest of them

slaps he was giving him”.

My faith in her is so great

the one that to this image professed,

that I prefer others to be

the verses that I offer you here.

 “THE MOST FLATTERING JUDGE

THAT HAS BEEN TO HIS PRINCE

IN THE INTEREST OF YOUR GRACE,

AND FOR NOT LOSING YOUR OFFICE

ON A BALCONY OF YOUR HOUSE,

WHIPPED SPITTED,

FOR THE PEOPLE TO SEE HIM,

HE PUT THE INNOCENT CHRIST.”

  Of the Vera Cruz 

Hermitage of the Vera Cruz I remember.

The night goes on and on

graveyard road

the procession goes slowly.

Two rows the penitents mark

carrying the torch with him.

Wearing their long capes

that adorn and remove the cold.

Proud mothers surround Christ

looking at their work,

layers that flutter in the wind

fruit of his many sweats.

The Encounter

seven words of love

Jesus said in anguish.

They express pain

of Christ crucified.

Good Friday scene.

All standing in the square at dawn,

to contemplate with charm

to Jesus and his holy Mother.

Party night and lemonade.

Ventura, Jose Luis, Pepe, Julian, Isidro,

among others, to San Juan they took

 under the effects of sleep and wine.

The square of people overflowed

Juan runs to see Maria!

With a powerful voice from the balcony sounded

and after a few steps San Juan fell.

Spooky! what torment!

They thought of Don Camilo

when a moment passed

the robes will deliver.

The procession turned the corner of San Juan.

After a few steps he stops.

hearing a deep broken voice

coming out of a window.

With a cracked voice and without brake

the arrow-shaped words come out.

Directing Jesus Nazareno,

the prayers that invade your heart

Bare feet feel the stones.

His walk is slow on the street.

Promises of penitents,

that someday they did for someone.

The challenge is fulfilled.

The satisfied offering.

The road they have traveled

Jesus, you know who it was for.

OLV.      

I'm having a good time

Interrupt I do not want.

You are leaving many things

as always in the inkwell. 

REC.

Oh Oblivion! How insolent.

Can't you see that what I say

It's what people want

and that's why I forget about you?

Entombment

Good Friday afternoon,

three steps go out calm.

Through the streets you hear the song

of the accompanying people.

  The urn

The great Calvary ended at last,

the voice has fallen silent in his throat.

Soon his great reign will begin

the Son of God rests in peace.

There goes Jesus already dead,

beautiful carved image.

object of some joke

in other times done.   

urn of the saint burial,

Because of its weight, no one wanted to carry it.

Stones that under the body

some for joke put.

The Anguish 

Anguish, expression of pain and crying

seeing Jesus already dead,

sheltered in his lap

without anyone being able to avoid what was done.

With your arms you hold it

and in your lap you shelter him.

My goodness, how much do you want it?

to the son of your entrails.

sadness and bitterness

are reflected in your face,

men with their madness

They have pierced your soul.

The hurt

Silver medal and yellow cord

hang from your neck and waist,

which fireflies show their brightness

in the night so dark

The cloak covers his face,

crying is reflected on his face.

tears little by little

they slide down his cheeks.

How beautiful is the arrow

that others have left us.

enjoy its beauty

with this intention I do it

 “Tears shed the sky

the night of Good Friday,

and your mother of sorrows

you hide them under your cloak.

what sadness and pain

shows on your pale face.

lacerated with pain

you carry your soul locked away.”

Loneliness

The slow Virgin walks,

silence accompanies the air

the candles illuminate the night

with its flaming flame.

What a beautiful procession!

How the streets shine!

women go alone

without the lantern going out.

OLV.

Enough already! I don't want to hear you anymore.

So many memories crush me.

Leaving something behind is good

the auction is coming soon.

REC.   

let me say this

I accept your reprimand

because these dear people

If I don't tell him, I'll burst.

Young people who leave their jobs

traveling long distance,

so that they can take their step.

This is Easter!

Mothers who prepare your candles

with enthusiasm and desire,

accompanying the virgin with them.

This is Easter!

Men that your work urges

to carry your holy image,

so your promises you achieve.

This is Easter!

Young people who listen to me

never forget these days.

Together with your elders you are

Always give them this joy.

May Holy Week not die.

May your illusion not end.

May your arm be offered,

and we live it on the street.

This is the memory that I leave you      

In this easter week.

Carry it in your heart I wish you

And let's go, the auction is waiting.

April 1, 2012, Villafáfila

Miguel Martin Vega.

Author:

Jose Luis Dominguez Martinez.

Text:

Mr. Miguel Martin Vega.

Town crier of Holy Week 2012.

Photography:

Jose Luis Dominguez Martinez.

Transcription and montage:

Jose Luis Dominguez Martinez.

All text, photographs, transcription and montage, their rights belong to their authors, any type of use is prohibited without authorization.

All text and photography has been authorized for storage, treatment, work, transcription and assembly to José Luis Domínguez Martínez, its dissemination on villafafila.net, and any other means that is authorized.