<u>Eagles Going To Superbowl

Ode To Joy</u>
Schiller – Beethoven

O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!
Sondern laßt uns angenehmere
anstimmen und freudenvollere.
Freude!
Freude, schöner Götterfunken
Tochter aus Elysium,
Wir betreten feuertrunken,
Himmlische, dein Heiligtum!
Deine Zauber binden wieder
Was die Mode streng geteilt;
Alle Menschen werden Brüder,
(Schiller's original:
Was der Mode Schwert geteilt;
Bettler werden Fürstenbrüder,)
Wo dein sanfter Flügel weilt.
Wem der große Wurf gelungen,
Eines Freundes Freund zu sein;
Wer ein holdes Weib errungen,
Mische seinen Jubel ein!
Ja, wer auch nur eine Seele
Sein nennt auf dem Erdenrund!
Und wer's nie gekonnt, der stehle
Weinend sich aus diesem Bund!
Freude trinken alle Wesen
An den Brüsten der Natur;
Alle Guten, all Bösen
Folgen ihrer Rosenspur.
Küsse gab sie uns und Reben,
Einen Freund, geprüft im Tod;
Wollust ward dem Wurm gegeben,
und der Cherub steht vor Gott.
Froh, wie seine Sonnen fliegen
Durch des Himmels prächt'gen Plan,
Laufet, Brüder, eure Bahn,
Freudig, wie ein Held zum Siegen.
Seid umschlungen, Millionen!
Diesen Kuß der ganzen Welt!
Brüder, über'm Sternenzelt
Muß ein lieber Vater wohnen.
Ihr stürzt nieder, Millionen?
Ahnest du den Schöpfer, Welt?
Such' ihn über'm Sternenzelt!
Über Sternen muß er wohnen.

Bobby

Indeed Bobby!

And this song for voice and piano by Beethoven. He elevates a so so poem to sculptural greatness. Massive and tragic.

In questa tomba oscura lasciami riposar;
Quando vivevo, ingrata, dovevi a me pensar,
Lascia che l'ombre ignude godansi pace almen
E non, e non bagnar mie ceneri d'inutile velen.


( by Giuseppe Carpani )


In this dark tomb let me lie;
you should have thought of me when I was alive, you ingrate.
At least leave naked spectres to enjoy their peace
And do not bathe my ashes with futile venom.

In some rather wonderful cases, the line between poet and songwriter just doesn't carry much weight. I give my respects to Dylan, who is a wonderful songwriter (as distinct from poet) and all in all a far greater artist, but I'm intersted for purposes of this thread in performers like Leonard Cohen. As most will know, Cohen was actually a published poet in Canada before he started making albums, including that perennial remedy for chronic celibacy, "Suzanne." He doesn't share Dylan's breadth or prolificacy, but he's every bit as intense. Also, he's only about half the singer that Dylan is (which is saying something), and like Dylan a number of his best songs have been performed better by others. Jeff Buckley's "Hallelujah" is the Cohen fan's counterpart to Hendrix's "All Along the Watchtower."

Here's one of my favorite Cohen songs, as transcribed by somebody on the internet. I first heard it, like most good Cohen stuff, in a version by somebody else--in this case, the same Suzanne Vega mentioned higher up in this thread. Her cover isn't to be missed.

(Speaking of missing songs: is there anyone out there who isn't using iTunes yet, even if just casually? Ninety-nine cents for any song in their huge library! It also gives 30-second samples before you buy which are for the most part clearly audible--a treat!)

Anyway, enough preamble.

--CS


Song of Isaac

The door it opened slowly,
my father he came in,
I was nine years old.
And he stood so tall above me,
his blue eyes they were shining,
and his voice was very cold.
He said, "I've had a vision
and you know I'm strong and holy;
I must do what I've been told."
So he started up the mountain,
I was running, he was walking,
and his axe was made of gold.

Well, the trees they got much smaller,
the lake a lady's mirror--
we stopped to drink some wine.
Then he threw the bottle over,
it broke a minute later,
and he put his hand on mine.
I thought I saw an eagle
but it might have been a vulture,
I never could decide.
Then my father built an altar,
and looked once behind his shoulder;
he knew I would not hide.

You who build these altars now
to sacrifice these children,
you must not do it anymore.
For a scheme is not a vision
and you never have been tempted
by a demon or a god.
You who stand above them now,
your hatchet's blunt and bloody,
you were not there before.
When I lay upon a mountain,
my father's hand was trembling
with the beauty of the word.

And if you call me brother now,
forgive me if I inquire,
just according to whose plan?
When it all comes down to dust
I will kill you if I must,
I will help you if I can.
When it all comes down to dust
I will help you if I must,
I will kill you if I can.
Have mercy on our uniform,
man of peace or man of war,
the peacock spreads his fan.


[This message has been edited by Clay Stockton (edited January 24, 2005).]

I'm not sure of the title, but that Cohen song with the refrain "Democracy is comin' to the USA" is packed with wonder rhymes. I think he's a heckuva writer.

Dave, just for you . . . courtesy Google. ;)

There's just so much great stuff in Cohen . . . "Famous Blue Raincoat," "Joan of Arc," "Bird on a Wire" . . . zillions.


Democracy


It's coming through a hole in the air,
from those nights in Tiananmen Square.
It's coming from the feel
that this ain't exactly real,
or it's real, but it ain't exactly there.
From the wars against disorder,
from the sirens night and day,
from the fires of the homeless,
from the ashes of the gay:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.
It's coming through a crack in the wall;
on a visionary flood of alcohol;
from the staggering account
of the Sermon on the Mount
which I don't pretend to understand at all.
It's coming from the silence
on the dock of the bay,
from the brave, the bold, the battered
heart of Chevrolet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

It's coming from the sorrow in the street,
the holy places where the races meet;
from the homicidal bitchin'
that goes down in every kitchen
to determine who will serve and who will eat.
From the wells of disappointment
where the women kneel to pray
for the grace of God in the desert here
and the desert far away:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

Sail on, sail on
O mighty Ship of State!
To the Shores of Need
Past the Reefs of Greed
Through the Squalls of Hate
Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail on.

It's coming to America first,
the cradle of the best and of the worst.
It's here they got the range
and the machinery for change
and it's here they got the spiritual thirst.
It's here the family's broken
and it's here the lonely say
that the heart has got to open
in a fundamental way:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

It's coming from the women and the men.
O baby, we'll be making love again.
We'll be going down so deep
the river's going to weep,
and the mountain's going to shout Amen!
It's coming like the tidal flood
beneath the lunar sway,
imperial, mysterious,
in amorous array:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

Sail on, sail on ...

I'm sentimental, if you know what I mean
I love the country but I can't stand the scene.
And I'm neither left or right
I'm just staying home tonight,
getting lost in that hopeless little screen.
But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I'm junk but I'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet:
Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

I'm stubborn as those garbage bags
that Time cannot decay,
I'm junk but I'm still holding up
this little wild bouquet.....

I laugh every time I hear those lines. Thanks, Clay.

Janet writes:
Well I did, I posted a whole post on the subject, but everyone ignored it and I got paranoid about being off track - people were just posting Dylan lyrics all around me - so I edited it out for fear of seeming to be a killjoy.

I think there are technical differenfes in how you use words for songwriting as opposed to poetry, and I can't think of a single poem, set to music, which has benefited from it (Jerusalem, anyone? That lovely, awed, decate, wistful poem, set to ponderous portentous music).

KEB

Yes-I can think of one right off the bat: "All I Wanna Do" by Sheryl Crow. It's a kind of hipster twee "poem," but it makes a wonderful song.

Surely that's a powerful, dramatic musical monologue rather than a song?

It packs a wallop and I like it but...

Janet

(I meant the Cohen)

[This message has been edited by Janet Kenny (edited January 24, 2005).]

Katy,
There are trillions of poems that were at least fully realised by music. Many of them are not in English.
I would say that Britten's setting of a Lyke Wake Dirge is more tha equal to the words.

Jerusalem is a rotten example. I can find lots of bad art in all fields.

But the Russian repertoire, the French repertoire, the Spanish repertoire and the Irish and Scottish and Northumbrian. The English are not very good at it which is why I have to go elsewhere. But there are some superb settings in English as well.

One has to separate singing from acting. A good actor can "put over" a song but a really fine song only needs to be sung.

The sad thing about Renée Fleming is that in a more receptive age she would have been wonderful but now she has to add "posh" and "expressive" in order to grab any attention at all.
Janet