No shadow
No stars
No moon
No cars
November
It only believes
In a pile of dead leaves
And a moon
That's the color of bone
No prayers for November
To linger longer
Stick your spoon in the wall
We'll slaughter them all
November has tied me
To an old dead tree
Get word to April
To rescue me
November's cold chain
Made of wet boots and rain
And shiny black ravens
On chimney smoke lanes
November seems odd
You're my firing squad
November
With my hair slicked back
With carrion shellac
With the blood from a pheasant
And the bone from a hare
Tied to the branches
Of a roebuck stag
Left to wave in the timber
Like a buck shot flag
Go away you rainsnout
Go away blow your brains out
November
(Tom Waits, from The black rider)
10 commenti:
NO! NO! NO! NO! Volevo farlo io un post su Tom Waits! Ah, sei il solito infingardo preveggente, Mastro Tic...
Ultimamente ci sto dando dentro con BONE MACHINE, gran disco.
Tic è come Echelon, Zimisce.
LUI SA.
E' l'OMBRA, quella che SA!
(per pochi, questa)
Quanto a BONE MACHINE, gran disco, si.
C'è pure Keith Richards che ulula alla luna in 'That feel', quindi figuriamoci.
WELL I'M GOIN' OUT WEST
WHERE THE WIND BLOWS TALL
'CAUSE TONY FRANCIOSA
USED TO DATE MY MA...
E' il mio pezzo preferito del disco, quello! I know karate, vodoo too.
Remember, remember the Fifth of November,
The Gunpowder Treason and Plot,
I know of no reason
Why the Gunpowder Treason
Should ever be forgot.
Guy Fawkes, Guy Fawkes, t'was his intent
To blow up King and Parli'ment.
Three-score barrels of powder below
To prove old England's overthrow;
By God's providence he was catch'd
With a dark lantern and burning match.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, let the bells ring.
Holloa boys, holloa boys, God save the King!
A penny loaf to feed the Pope
A farthing o' cheese to choke him.
A pint of beer to rinse it down.
A fagot of sticks to burn him.
Burn him in a tub of tar.
Burn him like a blazing star.
Burn his body from his head.
Then we'll say ol' Pope is dead.
Hip hip hoorah!
Hip hip hoorah hoorah!
Il 5 novembre si festeggia in Gran Bretagna la Guy Fawkes Night.
Con i fuochi d'artificio viene ricordato il fallimento dell'impresa di Fawkes e alcuni cospiratori cattolici che, nel 1605, carichi di polvere da sparo tentarono di far saltare in aria il Parlamento.
Catturati prima che potessero fare danni, Fawkes e i suoi furono impiccati e fatti a pezzi.
La filastrocca ricorda la vicenda.
Una storia di novembre.
"I'll tell you all my secrets
but I lie about my past
So send me off to bed forever more"
Questa è TANGO TILL THEY SORE.
E bravo Diogene.
"A penny for the Old Guy" è anche ne "The Hollow Men" di Eliot. Ricordi il finale?
"This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
This is the way the world ends
Not with a bang but a whimper."
La profezia che si avvera.
Ricordo.
Ma di T. S. Eliot ricordo soprattutto l'attacco della "Waste Land":
April is the cruelest month,
breeding
Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing
Memory and desire, stirring
Dull roots with spring rain.
Winter kept us warm, covering
Earth in forgetful snow, feeding
A little life with dried tubers.
Meglio novembre, infatti.
@ Tic
Eh, sì.
Mi è sempre piaciuta: "ti racconterò tutti i miei segreti, ma mento sul mio passato..."
E di Eliot mi genufletto alla sconfinata bellezza di East Coker:
"O dark dark dark. They all go into the dark,
The vacant interstellar spaces, the vacant into the vacant,
The captains, merchant bankers, eminent men of letters,
The generous patrons of art, the statesmen and the rulers,
Distinguished civil servants, chairmen of many committees,
Industrial lords and petty contractors, all go into the dark"
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