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"Brothers Under the Bridge" (Bruce Springsteen)
(photograph from Lee Friedlander, "New Mexico", 2001)
"Saigon, it was all gone
The same Coke machines
As the streets I grew on
Down in a mesquite canyon
We come walking along the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Campsite's an hour's walk from the nearest road to town
Up here there's too much brush and canyon
For the CHP choppers to touch down
Ain't lookin' for nothin', just wanna live
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Come the Santa Ana's, man, that dry brush'll light
Billy Devon got burned up in his own campfire one winter night
We buried his body in the white stone high up along the ridge
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Had enough of town and the street life
Over nothing you end up on the wrong end of someone's knife
Now I don't want no trouble
And I ain't got none to give
Me and the brothers under the bridge
I come home in '72
You were just a beautiul light
In your mama's dark eyes of blue
I stood down on the tarmac, I was just a kid
Me and the brothers under the bridge
Come Veterans' Day I sat in the stands in my dress blues
I held your mother's hand
When they passed with the red, white and blue"
Bruce Springsteen
(taken from the CD 18 Tracks, from 1999)
Jalâluddîn Rumi
(photo by Jean Ferro, Lewis: 1st Street and Temple, Downtown Los Angeles, s/d)
"Using the stone of the philosopher to convert copper into gold is indeed wonderful.
More wonderful still is the fact that, moment by moment, the philosopher's stone (man) is converted into copper - by his own heedlessness"1
Jalâluddîn Rumi (1207-1273)
1 poem taken from the CD of Martin Simpson & Wu Man, Music for the Motherless Child.
Vishwa Mohan Bhatt/Jerry Douglas (Bourbon & Rosewater)
(photo by Marco Barsanti)
"No wine glasses here, but wine is handed round.
No smoke, but burning.
Listen to the unstruck sounds.
and what sifts through that music".1
Jelaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)
1 RUMI, Jelaluddin taken from the CD Bourbon & Rosewater, from Vishwa Mohan Bhatt and Jerry Douglas.
One more time, Vishwa Mohan Bhatt recorded a masterpiece. After listening to his album Saltanah, I decided to listen to his Bourbon & Rosewater, recorded by him and bluegrass virtuoso Jerry Douglas. One more time, a beautiful piece of music by world music label Water Lily Acoustics. Their project of joining two or more musical traditions together is a wonderful idea and, in this case, the results are very good. Kavichandran Alexander, the producer, had always the dream of joining classical indian music with bluegrass. The result is this CD.
Jorge Vicente
Vishwa Mohan Bhatt here
Jerry Douglas here
A Gypsy Carol
(photo from Paul Banner, Opera 2, s/d)
"What are you seeking, you seven pretty maids,
all under the Leaves of Life?
We are searching for no leaves, Thomas,
but for a friend of thine"1
A gypsy carol
1 taken from the CD Kambara Music in Native Tongues, by Martin Simpson/David Hidalgo/Viji Krishnan/Puvalur Srinivasan
St. John of the Cross
(photo from Brian Arnold, #4 Letters, 2005)
"La bianca palomica
al arca con el ramo se ha tornado;
y ya la tortolica
al socio deseado
en las riberas verdes ha hallado"1
St. John of the Cross (1542-1591)
1 taken from the CD of Kambara Music in Native Tongues, from Martin Simpson/David Hidalgo/Viji Krishnan/Puvalur Srinivasan
Kavichandran Alexander
(photo taken from Patti Ambrogi, From the series - The Nature of Culture; Freeing Female Representation, Can She Take Her Tail Off, 1992)
"To the body's ark the heavenly dove descends
across the still ocean of Oneness
hearing the flower of spring.
The turtledove at long last the beloved meets
by the verdant river of life"
Kavichandran Alexander´
Kavichandran is a musician and producer of recording label Water Lily Acoustics
taken from the CD Kambara Music in Native Tongues, from Martin Simpson/David Hidalgo/Viji Krishnan/Puvalur Srinivasan
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THE WASTE LAND (T. S. Eliot)
A'. THE BURIAL OF THE DEAD
April is the cruellest 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.
Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee
With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,
And went on in sunlight. into the Hofgarten,
And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.
Bin gar keine Russin, stamm' aus Litauen, echt deutch.
And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke's,
My cousin's, he took me out on a sled,
And I was frightened. He said, Marie,
Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.
In the mountains, there you feel free.
I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.
What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow
Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man
You cannot say, or guess, for you know only
A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,
And the deal tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,
And the dry stone no sound of water. Only
There is a shadow under this red rock,
(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),
And I will show you something different from either
Your shadow at morning striding behind you
Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;
I will show you fear in a handful of dust.
Frisch weht der Wind
Der Heimat zu.
Mein Irisch Kind,
Wo weilest du?
"You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;
"They called me the hyacinth girl."
-Yet when e came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,
Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not
Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither
Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,
Looking into the heart of light, the silence.
Oed' und leer das Meer.
Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,
Had a bad cold, nevertheless
Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,
With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,
Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,
(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)
Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,
The lady of situations.
Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,
And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,
Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,
Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find
The Hanged man.Fear death by water.
I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.
Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,
Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:
One must be so careful these days.
Unreal city,
Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,
A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,
I had not thought death had undone so many.
Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,
And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.
Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,
To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours
With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.
There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying:
"Stetson!
"You who were with me in the ships of Mylae!
"That corpse you planted last year in your garden,
"Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?
"Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?
"Oh keep the Dog far hence, that's friend to men,
"Or with nails he'll dig it up again!
"You hypocrite lecteur!- mon semblable, - mon frere!"
Fonte: http://users.hol.gr/~artemis/wastelan.htm
Existem vários sites na net sobre a obra de T. S. Elliot. Mas Destaco o seguinte:
a) http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/eliot/eliot.htm
- Site completo sobre a obra do poeta americano, naturalizado inglês T. S. ELLIOT (1888-1965), com vários artigos e análises críticas sobre os seus poemas, bibliografia, biografia, opiniões de outros autores sobre a obra de Eliot, etc.
No site da abebooks, existem vários livros disponíveis, alguns raríssimos e com um preço exorbitante. O mais caro é um exemplar autografado pelo punho do próprio Eliot. Custa 51400, 51 euros. (www.abebooks.fr) ou (www.abebooks.com)
Em Portugal, existem vários livros disponíveis. (www.byblos.pt)
P. S. Desculpem só dar esta informação, mas perdi tudo aquilo que tinha escrito sobre Eliot (biografia, bibliografia publicada e em português) e como acho que é um crime deixar esquecido este grande poeta, aqui vai!!
