Toto Woody 1

Song to Woody

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
You were talking so brave and so sweet
Giving me head on the unmade bed
While the limousines wait in the street
Those were the reasons and that was New York
We were running for the money and the flesh
And that was called love for the workers in song
Probably still is for those of them left

Ah, but you got away, didn't you babe?
You just turned your back on the crowd
You got away, I never once heard you say
I need you, I don't need you
I need you, I don't need you
And all of that jiving around

I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
You were famous, your heart was a legend
You told me again you preferred handsome men
But for me you would make an exception
And clenching your fist for the ones like us
Who are oppressed by the figures of beauty
You fixed yourself, you said, "well, never mind
We are ugly but we have the music"

And then you got away, didn't you baby?
You just turned your back on the crowd
You got away, I never once heard you say
I need you, I don't need you
I need you, I don't need you
And all of that jiving around

I don't mean to suggest that I loved you the best
I can't keep track of each fallen robin
I remember you well in the Chelsea Hotel
That's all, I don't even think of you that often

Chelsea Hotlel live

Toto Woody 2

1913 Massacre live

Under a blanket of dark our heart’s made to disappear 
under a young  dying moon we were sleeping without any fear.
’Twas a twenty-year-old general wearing a uniform 
(As) deep blue as his eyes, the son of a storm
There's a silver dollar lying on the bottom of the Sand Creek. 

Our warriors too far away on the buffalo trail
And that distant music louder and louder again
I closed my eyes three times,
I found myself still there
Is that a dream, grandpa?
My grandpa told me Yes
Sometimes the fish are singing on the bottom of the Sand Creek 

I had such deep dreams that my nose started bleeding,
paradise in one ear, in the other  there was lightning,
the smallest tears And then the biggest tears
When the snow tree bloomed
 with red stars of fear 
Now the children are sleeping on the bottom of Sand Creek

When the sun raised its head beyond the  shoulders of the night
only overturned tepees dogs and smoke after the fight 
I threw an arrow at the sky 
So that he may breathe
I threw an arrow at the wind 
So that he may bleed
the third arrow is lying on the bottom of the Sand Creek 

Under a blanket of darkness our hearts disappear 
under a young dying moon we were sleeping without (any) fear.
’Twas a twenty years old general Wearing a uniform A twenty years old general 
The son of a storm
Now the children are sleeping deep down in the Sand Creek

Fiume Sand Creek - English version

Well it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
If you don't know by now
An' it ain't no use to sit and wonder why, babe
It'll never do somehow
When your rooster crows at the break a dawn
Look out your window and I'll be gone
You're the reason I'm trav'lin' on
Don't think twice, it's all right

And it ain't no use in a-turnin' on your light, babe
The light I never knowed
An' it ain't no use in turnin' on your light, babe
I'm on the dark side of the road
But I wish there was somethin' you would do or say
To try and make me change my mind and stay
We never did too much talkin' anyway
But don't think twice, it's all right

No it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
Like you never done before
And it ain't no use in callin' out my name, gal
I can't hear ya any more
I'm a-thinkin' and a-wond'rin' wallkin' way down the road
I once loved a woman, a child I am told
I give her my heart but she wanted my soul
But don't think twice, it's all right

So long honey babe
Where I'm bound, I can't tell
Goodbye is too good a word, babe
So I just say fare thee well
I ain't sayin' you treated me unkind
You could have done better but I don't mind
You just kinda wasted my precious time
But don't think twice, it's all right

Don't think twice, it's all right

Hallelujah riassume quasi tutta la poetica di Leonard Cohen. E' una parola che troviamo nei Salmi che significa lode gioiosa al Signore sotto forma di canzone, ma in origine si riferisce anche a qualcuno che si comporta in modo folle, quale il poeta stesso. Il brano allude al potere della musica come mezzo espressivo divino e al tema dell’amore elevato a livello di religione.

Hallelujah summarizes almost all of Leonard Cohen's poetics. It is a word that we find in the Psalms which means joyful praise to the Lord in the form of a song, but originally it also refers to someone who behaves in a crazy way, such as the poet himself. The passage alludes to the power of music as a divine means of expression and to the theme of love raised to the level of a religious belief.

Now, I've heard there was a secret chord
That David played and it pleased the Lord
But you don't really care for music, do you?
It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth
The minor fall, the major lift
The baffled king composing Hallelujah	

Your faith was strong but you needed proof
You saw her bathing on the roof
Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you
And she tied you to a kitchen chair
She broke your throne and she cut your hair
And from your lips she drew the Hallelujah	

Maybe there's a God above
And all I ever learned from love
Was how to shoot at someone who outdrew you
It's not a cry you can hear at night
It's not somebody who's seen the light
it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah	

 Maybe I've been here before
I know this room, I've walked this floor
I used to live alone before I knew you
I've seen your flag on the marble arch
love is not a victory march 
it's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah	

There was a time you let me know
What's really going on below
But now you never show it to me, do you?
And I remember when I moved in you
The holy dove she was moving too
And every breath we drew was Hallelujah

I did my best, it wasn't much
I couldn't feel, so I tried to touch
I've told the truth, I didn't come to fool you
And even though
It all went wrong
I'll stand before the Lord of Song
With nothing on my tongue but Hallelujah

Hallelujah

All around the water tank waiting for a train
A thousand miles away from home shivering in the rain
I walked up to a brakeman gave him a line of talk
He said if you've got money boy I'll see that you don't walk
I haven't got a nickel not a penny can I show
Get off get off you railroad bum and he slammed the boxcar door

He put me off in Texas a state I dearly love
The wide open spaces all around me the moon and stars up above
Nobody seems to want me or to lend me a helping hand
I'm on my way from Frisco going back to Dixie Land
Though my pocketbook is empty and my heart is full of pain
I'm a thousand miles away from home just a waiting for a train

Waiting for a Train

This train is bound for glory, this train.
This train is bound for glory, this train.
This train is bound for glory,
Don't carry nothing but the righteous and the holy.
This train is bound for glory, this train.

This train don't carry no gamblers, this train;
This train don't carry no gamblers, this train;
This train don't carry no gamblers,
Liars, thieves, nor big shot ramblers,
This train is bound for glory, this train.

This train don't carry no rustlers, this train;
This train don't carry no rustlers, this train;
This train don't carry no rustlers,
Sidestreet walkers, two bit hustlers,
This train is bound for glory, this train.

This train is bound for glory

Woody Guthrie's homage to migrant workers

It's a mighty hard row that my poor hands have hoed
My poor feet have traveled a hot dusty road
Out of your Dust Bowl and westward we rolled
And your deserts were hot and your mountain was cold

I worked in your orchards of peaches and prunes
Slept on the ground in the light of your moon
On the edge of the city you'll see us and then
We come with the dust and we go with the wind

California and Arizona, I make all your crops
And its North up to Oregon to gather your hops
Dig the beets from your ground, cut the grapes from your vine
To set on your table your light sparkling wine

Green pastures of plenty from dry desert ground
From the Grand Coulee Dam where the waters run down
Every state in this Union us migrants have been
We'll work in this fight and we'll fight till we win

Well, it's always we rambled, that river and I
All along your green valley, I will work till I die
My land I'll defend with my life if it be
'Cause my pastures of plenty must always be free

Questa terra

Pastures of Plenty

Busted flat in Baton Rouge, headin' for the train
Feelin' nearly faded as my jeans
Bobby thumbed a diesel down just before it rained
Took us all the way to New Orleans
I pulled my harpoon out of my dirty red bandanna
I was blowin' sad while Bobby sang the blues
With them windshield wipers slappin' time and Bobby clappin' hands
We finally sang off every song that driver knew

Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin' ain't worth nothin', but it's free
Feelin' good was easy, Lord when Bobby sang the blues
Feelin' good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee

From the coal mines of Kentucky to the California sun
Bobby shared the secrets of my soul
Standin' right beside me through everything I done
And every night she kept me from the cold
Then somewhere near Salinas, Lord, I let her slip away
Lookin' for the home I hope she'll find
And I'd trade all my tomorrows for a single yesterday
Holdin' Bobby's next close to mine

Freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose
Nothin' ain't worth nothin', but it's free
Feelin' good was easy, Lord, when Bobby sang the blues
Feelin' good was good enough for me
Good enough for me and Bobby McGee

Good enough for me and Bobby McGee

Me and Bobby McGee

David Copperfield review

Vittorio Vandelli is a teacher of English Language and Literature, a translator, an essayist and a writer of fiction. He grew up the seventies, a time of high ideals of change that taught him to see behind closed doors and to love folk and rock protest music, becoming a musician himself. His latest performance is a live tribute to American folk protest music, titled The Sound of the Greenwich Village. He has written noir novels, articles and essays on education and a series of satirical novels and short-stories on the Italian school system. His latest book in English, Silvio Berlusconi's Italy, was a finalist at the 2015 London Book Fair's prize.

Vittorio Vandelli

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