Hello!! friends of steemit, today I wanted to make a post about a work that I present in a theater for my community, it is about the Legend of the Silvon.
This legend dates back to the 1950s in the plains of Portuguesa and Barinas Venezuela, it is a great work to which with all the pleasure of the world I share the Script that for being part of our folklore I am proud to split it with you.
This work has inspired me to create one of my paintings to which I will also share, I hope you like and follow me down in the link. Good luck!.The dreaded Silbón and his frightful look
(IACEB Archive)
A fundamental text, but little known in the llanera culture
(Detail of the cover of the book "The Silbón: Realidad y Leyenda",
Of Dámaso Delgado, published in Acarigua, 1998)
Source and cast: Dámaso Delgado (José Juan)
Victorino Castellanos (Juan Hilario and Coplero 2; C2)
Joseíto Herrera (Coplero 1; C1); Alfredo Acuña Zapata (Narrator and the Visitor); Víctor Morillo (Declender; D); José "Catire" Carpio (Llanero Conversador and José Alí); Norma Suárez (Coplera); Ramón C. Martínez (Pawn); Ramón Toribio Egaña (Pawn); Benilde González (Rosita); Teresita Vega (Josefa) and Josefina Villarroel (Aurora)
C1: This was what counted
Of the Silbón and the parranda
One night they met
Hilarion and Desanda
One night they met
Hilarion and the Desanda,
Narrator: This album made for all the states of Venezuela, is dedicated with special affection to the land of Páez.
Declender: Portuguese!
Narrator: Our highest aspirawide, that this artistic - cultural production made with love and effort, is as a call of will and hope for all the children of Venezuela, for them the message:
D: Let them learn to love
Increasingly to the motherland
Through their schools
And let nothing stop you
In his eagerness to excel
To make it more and more free.
Copleras: I was born on this bank
Of Arauca vibrator ...
D: Song and lyrics
Dignity and altruism
Must be the paths
Driving
The men of Portuguesa
And all of Venezuela.
Narrator: A musical and friendly message from three neighboring towns to become more brothers.
C1: Do not go to the party
Juan Hilario told you,
That in Portuguesa lands
There is a dismay,
That in Portuguesa lands
There is a dread of desandando.
Narrator: Portuguese, Barinas, Cojedes; Horizon extended by dusty roads, generous land where the legend is copla and where the copla is savanna, Llano in, heart of country, immense savannas and open pajonales, arrieros of the verse, baquianos of the conversation.
Slogan: Where are you going, Juan Hilario?
Narrator: It is the question of the Llano answering and bravío, challenger and andariego.
Llanero Conversador: Epa mate, but, is that true?
José Juan: Yes, my friend, they say that he was born in Guanarito or Bijal, but in Portuguesa and Barinas he has been raised, and Cojedes has seen him pass by.
Narrator: It is 5:30 in the afternoon, the dying reddish sun slowly disappears in the stillness of the horizon and on the dusty road a man on foot with sweaty face and tired walking; Behind the road, past the almost deserted landscape: savannahs, sky, cows and herons. It is the llanero himself with his strong stamp sinking his footprint on the brave land, a Florentine, a Baquiano, or a herd caporal, children always of the immense Llano, brothers of the savannah.
C2: I'm leaving my singing
Sheets I love so much
I go with the steps of the day.
Narrator: It is almost at night, when he stops at a cross on the road, he kneels before her and lights a candle that he brings in the pocket of his blouse, then he crosses and prepares to resume the march, when someone walking in The opposite direction approaches.
The Visitor: Look, sir, are you from around here?
José Juan: Yes, from here on, what is offered?
The Visitor: Could you point the way to Los Jeyes?
José Juan: That same one that leads What's the house for?
The Visitor: Well, I'm going to the bottom of Mr. Montenegro, Juan Jose Montenegro, who has a party there.
Jose Juan: Ah, that's up there; Go on there is right, but be careful with the little one that La Vuelta 'e Los Mangos, right there, when the cane passes, that is the Silbón.
The Visitor: The Whistle?
José Juan: Yes, the Whistle.
The Visitor: No, no, no, but, that does not exist.
José Juan: Yes, sir, and much, look, for all these ways, for all these savannas and for all these solitudes, you will find much more than you have seen in the books.
The Visitor: Well, I've heard some of that, but, they say it's a legend. Jose Juan: Jmmm A legend ?, a legend must be what they tell of the Silbón before Silbón.
The Visitor: How is that the Silbón, before being Silbón?
José Juan: Well, they say that the Silbón is the soul in pain of a son who killed the pope to eat the roasting, and that the mother cursed him for life.
The Visitor: Ah ... I understand, and they say he was born on the Llano?
Jose Juan: In Guanarito, compa, and Guanarito is Llano, and Llano is to'this we are treading.
The Visitor: No, no, I think that's just a legend, as people say, what happens is that you, the Llaneros, have a superstitious spirit.
Jose Juan: Llano is Llano, compa, and we like it that way, superstitious and so we can be, but with a heart that does not fit us in the wideSavannah, and in the same savannah that the heart of the landowner can not reach, it is' where these things I am telling you are seen.
C1: With the clarity of lightning
That lit the savannah
He looked at a shadow from afar
With a plywood case,
He looked at a shadow from afar
With a piled up suitcase.
The Visitor: Damn, but the fear of the Silbón must be very great, so that, you, the llaneros, may be so afraid of you.
Jose Juan: Uunnn ... Canillú is what man is, compa, canillú, look, I tell him that they have seen him sit and his knees pass from the lao up to his head.
The Visitor: And tell me one thing; You, have you seen it?
Jose Juan: In a refill, compa, of refilón, but look, I have listened or whistled and I say that it is not for the game.
The Visitor: No, no, I insist that this is just a legend, my friend.
Jose Juan: Amm., The same thing said Pacheco, the same said Pacheco.
The Visitor: Well, and who is Pacheco?
José Juan: One, who fought with the Silbón.
The Visitor: With the Whistle? And he really fought with the Whistle?
José Juan: Yes, but he left him with a fever that tulló pa' to'a life. Look, it tells the passage that the Whistle sounded the ribs like a cotton sack, but the truth is that Pacheco could not walk more than the fever that hit him.
The Visitor: And you, saw that?
José Juan: Well, that's what people say, but look, if you do not want to believe, I'll tell you a case that I saw with my own eyes and that happened right here, right here, on the road 'and Quebrá Seca.
Narrator: It was the month of May, a month of fright and appearance, a time of rain, when the savannah is dressed in flowers and the terrone is soaked: Flat in May, with its dark nights and paths filled with water. The caney was festive, the joy became copla and the couplet became romance; Llano in, a walker without direction by savannahs of Portuguesa and to the compass of a bandola, from the tranquero of a ranch, this legend arose.
C2: Take the water, Paso Real,
Paso Real, the well comes clear
Take the water, Paso Real, Paso Real.
Rosita: Will you take us to the ball, José Juan?
Josefa: Yes, Jose Juan, take us.
Aurora: Yes, man.
José Juan: Well, of course; But they fix it early so there is still a lot to do and the patio has not been swept.
Narrator: The day had begun enthusiastically and joyfully, sprinkled with raucous comments about the joropo feast given by Don Encarnación in the Hato Quebrá Seca, everyone seemed to have risen with the heart of a party and the enthusiasm on the lips, at the beginning of that day , The savannah, the roads, the caneyes and the ranches were saturated with the rumor of the party that still did not arrive, the girls visited the jagüey's mirror early and the inviting phrases stayed frolicking along the side of the road.
José Alí: See you at the dance tonight, catira, at the beginning of the joropo.
Rosita: Well, if Joe takes us.
José Alí: Look, my friend, clear your throat so that you can play the joropo tonight, no more than burp the harp.
José Juan: Yes man, compa that there we will see. God willing.
Narrator: But something had meant to say no, to meet the date. The afternoon came with clouds of rain and strong wind that shook the chaparral frightening the savannah. The roads were filled with water and the birds were collected early. (Special effects: a downpour is heard, then a brief pause of silence and then the tuning sound of a four). Agonizes the quiet afternoon and full of omens, while Hato Los Malabares' caporal strumming the strings of a four, at A time that leaves the view beyond the road, contemplating the death of that afternoon, which had not been announced, there, through Los Malabares and silent farewell in the middle of pools of water.
Juan Hilario: Jumm.
Narrator: This man is cleared of the breast and Jose Juan recognizes in the silhouette of the one who approaches the small Juan Hilario, man of the thousand ways to arrive at a parranda, Hilarión or Juan Parrandas, as all call it (they are heard barking dogs ); The dogs barked and the night came whistling.
José Juan: Where are you going, Juan Hilario, with that ugly night?
Juan Hilario: For the party, my friend, for the party 'Quebrá Seca, which they say are going to be very good. Are not you encouraged?
Jose Juan: Gee, with so much water and that dark night, look how the road is: anegaiíto!
Juan Hilario: No man, compa, the road is the least, other times it has more and more rain I still have andao, to me the water does not scare me, pa' that charge my jacket, cheer up, compa Juan, shoot the feet To the mud that there we catch heat.
José Juan: Nooó, compete, or that I was in love for a dance with that path so sweeping and what is coming is water, you know, look at the lightning is: Apuraiiíto! Why, rather, does he not return to the house?
Juan Hilario: Nooo, nerito, that dance I did not get lost, look, if you were already seen the bojote'e women
That have happened to that party, was not horita parao in that tranquero.
Jose Juan: Look, we are in May, Juan Hilario, the month of the Silbón, and on a night like this, jmm, it is not for anyone who is looking for what has not been lost. You, have not you listened to what happened to Pacheco?
Juan Hilario: A caray, ñero Is going to you are believing in that pendeja? Those are scams; Tales of road.
Jose Juan: Jmm! Road Tales? What happens is that, you, you do not know how horrible that device is, and the ugly thing that whistles, look, I tell you that you stop the hair on end.
Juan Hilario: A damn, my friend, I'm a man, give me four sticks to anybody, let me get the big one, so you can see the waltz I'm going to throw at you.
Jose Juan: Look Juan Hilario, I better leave it alone, you will be whatever, but what is for me, the Silbón is not game.
Juan Hilario: Ha ha ha ha ha Ha, what a pa'pofer, and that having the Mobile, do not play! Continues the laughter of mockery; Hahaha.
Narrator: Juan Hilario, mocking and incredulous, walks away through the darkness of the road, while Jose Juan, crossing himself, enters the ranch. The black and dyed night stifles the howling of the dogs (you hear howls of dogs and a piercing whistle); A strange whistling and piercing whistle begins to be heard in the footsteps of Juan Hilario (a piercing whistle is heard), that strange hissing is repeated, again and again, in pursuit of the parrandero, but this one believing that it is some trick of His friend to frighten him, goes ahead without regard to the proximity of fright (you hear a piercing whistle).
Juan Hilario: No man, get out of that mogote that what he is looking for is that he chops a mapanare, ñero, go to the house, to me, you are not mete meté mieo (you hear a piercing whistle).
Narrator: A new whistle, this time more creepy and sharp, makes Juan Hilario stop, a little leery, to focus with the flashlight in all directions trying to discover the mystery of those whistles, but, he sees nothing and continues, Remembers the warnings of his friend and his own laughter shakes the silence of the night.
Juan Hilario: Ha ha ha.
Narrator: But those whistles are repeated insistently (a piercing whistle is heard), and Juan Hilario, who is in the grip of his nerves, holds the club as the only means to defend himself against the strange and mysterious persecutor, but he has not finished wielding his club when a blow in His back makes him roll on the ground, throwing a cry of pain he gets up very quickly, and as if watching his attacker, he starts throwing back and forth strokes, shrinking in pain with each blow he receives, rolls several Times on the ground, but continues to defend himself, until exhausted, already without strength, he utters a last cry and falls faint in front of the tranquero of Los Malabares.
Juan Hilario: "Haaaaaa" (You hear a whistle and then howls of dogs).
Pawn: Hey, boys is Juan Hilario, run, come soon it's Juan Hilario, it's Juan Hilario.
Narrator: Jose Juan and the rest of those who heard the shout go running to the tranquero and when they see Juan Hilario lying on the ground they rush to help him (a piercing whistle is heard) but, a new whistle is heard almost Above them and that is when they understand what is happening, they immediately begin to utter a series of words in the air with which they pretend to frighten away the fear.
Pawn: Cuje, Tureco, it's the Silbón, the capo de ají and the mandador! The plug of chili and the mandador !, is the Silbón, cuje, cuje, Tureco cuje, cuje.
Narrator: Those words flood the whole environment and a frightful shadow with the figure of a man who is unbelievably tall and tall, passes like a cloak, losing himself to the amazement of all (a piercing whistle is heard), the courtyard has remained silent and Juan Hilario, turning to reality, tells what has happened to him. Some musicians who come back from Quebrá Seca's dance and who pass at that moment through the place are witnesses to the confession of Juan Hilario.
Juan Hilario: Ay, mate! I already killed that animal, look you, compa Jose, how he left me! Do not leave me alone, do not leave me alone, who is waiting for me on the road, Oh, what a horrible animal! Oh, my friend, do not leave me alone, waiting for me on the road.
Jose Juan: I told you, compa, I told you, comrade Hilario, I told you, that happened to you by reason of, porfiao.
Juan Hilario: Ay, compa !, yes, you, have seen how ugly that device is, Yes! If I see it, I do not go back, I mean, Juan Hilario, I do not go back to dancing at night, little word.
Narrator: Jose Juan and his friends, after hearing him in silence, helped him up so he could spend the night at the Los Malabares ranch. A few days later, Juan Hilario's run went from mouth to mouth, between musicians and singers.
C1: Eve of a three of May
About six o'clock in the afternoon,
It was great storms
And lightning in the air,
It was great storms
And lightning in the air.
Do not go to the party
They told you, Juan Hilario,
That in Portuguesa lands
There is a dismay,
That in Portuguesa lands
There is a dread of desandando.
The Visitor: And you, saw all that?
Juan José: Yes, my friend, that I was the caporal of Los Malabares and it is not that I want to do the biggest thing, and if you want, ask the people of the farm to see what they say I just told him
Narrator: Gee, I never believed that all those things that were said in the Llano were true.
Jose: You still do not believe me?
The Visitor: No, I do believe you now. Do you know what that is called?
José Juan: What?
The Visitor: That, you, just told me.
José Juan: Well, "Pasaje", we call it here.
The Visitor: No, that's called folklore, and folklore is the very soul of the people, their beliefs, their feelings, their customs.
José Juan: Ha! There is a lot of it around here, wherever you walk, you will find corridos and passages born here, in this same land; On the road, in the lagoon, in the canal, 'Wherever you put your footprints, there you find a little bit of it, which, as you say, is the soul of those who live here.
The Visitor: This land is wonderful.
José Juan: Are you leaving already?
The Visitor: Yes, yes, yes.
Jose Juan: For the party?
The Visitor: No, no, no, I'm going to write about Portuguese folklore.
C1: This was what counted
Of the Silbón and the parranda
One night they met
Hilarion and the Desanda,
One night they met
Hilarion and Desanda.
Eve of a May 3rd
About six o'clock in the afternoon,
It was great storms
And lightning in the air,
It was great storms
And lightning in the air
Do not go to the party,
Juan Hilario told you,
That in Portuguesa lands
There is a dismay,
That in Portuguesa lands
There is a dread of desandando.
D: This was what they counted
Of the Silbón and the parrandas
One night they met
Hilarion and the Desandas.
Do not go to the party,
Juan Hilario told you,
That in Portuguesa lands
There is a dread of desandando.
C1: The one that goes of parranda
Get ready
That if the night grabs him
The Whistle is waiting for you,
That if the night grabs him
The Silbón is waiting for him.
D: And for all the ways of Portuguesa
The commotion and the legend were commented.
Narrator: It was written, produced and directed by the Portuguese writer, poet and composer Dámaso Delgado and performed by a group of musicians and actors from Portuguesa, Guárico and Apure, with the special participation of "the Tricolor of Venezuela"; Víctor Morillo and who speaks Alfredo Acuña Zapata. Good morning Venezuela!
Text taken from: ANALYSIS OF SPECTRAL FIGURES IN THE CORRIDOR AND LEGENDS OF THE TRADITIONAL LLANERO SINGING by Isaías Medina López, Duglas Moreno and Carlos Muñoz (Research work approved at UNELLEZ-VIPI)
Thank you!!
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