Corny photos, but a voice I love - at least on my cd's.
Fabrizio de Andre, la canzone dell'amore perduto
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sxM8V6PmqjY&feature=related
and his Coda di Lupo - (see my sig)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJMnGdZ5dDQ
de Andre was a beloved italian singer-songwriter-musician.
Wiki on de Andre (interesting life) -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fabrizio_de_André
This link comes up when one googles Fabrizio de Andre, gives a long detailed page, and then stops working. I google it again, and find it again. Weird.
Translations of La canzone ddll'amore perduto and Coda de Lupo from this website -
http://www.viadelcampo.com/html/translations.html#codadilupo
SONG OF LOVE LOST (Canzone dell'Amore Perduto)
Spring flowers did bloom, you remember,
Along with our words,
"We shall never part, my love, never, my love..."
And these same words I'd like to tell you, now,
But just like roses withering in the space of one day
Our love is lost...
Our love it is over, now, nothing is left except
Unwillingly giving each other a caress
With vanishing tenderness...
And when you will come upon those flowers,
So long ago wither'd away, in the sun of time past,
You will regret them...
But 'twill the first one whom you'll come across in the street
That you'll cover with gold for a kiss you haven't given yet,
For the renewal of love...
And 'twill the first one whom you'll come across in the street
That you'll cover with gold for a kiss you haven't given yet,
For the renewal of love.
Coda di Lupo
When I was a child I fell in love with everything, I ran after dogs
and from March to February my grandpa watched over
the stream of horses and cows,
over my affairs and your affairs:
and never believe in the god of the English
And when I was two hundred moons old, maybe more, maybe less,
I stole my first horse and they made me into a man
I changed my name into Wolftail,
I changed my poney for a dumb horse
and never believe in their losing god
It fell about in the night of the long-tailed star,
we found grandpa crucified on the church,
crucified with forks that are used for dinner,
he was dirty and clean with blood and with cream
and never believe in their greedy god
I was eighteen or so and didn't smell of snake anymore
I had an iron bar a hat and a sling
and one gala soirée, with a sharp-edged stone
I killed a tuxedo and stoled it to him
and never believe in the Scala god
Then we came back to Brianza to open buffalo shooting
they made us breath and urine tests,
we were explained the thing by an Andalusian poet,
"for buffalo shooting", said he, "there's numerus clausus"
and never believe in a happy end god
I was already old when near Rome, in Little Big Horn,
a short-haired general made us a college speech
on our brothers in blue overalls burying their war axes
but we didn't smoke with him, he didn't come in peace
and never believe in a working-hard god
And now that I've burnt twenty children on my marital bed
that I vented my wrath upon a whole studio
that I learnt to fish with hand grenades
that I was graved in tears on the Arch of Trajan,
with a glass spoon I will dig in my story,
but I strike somewhat at random, my memory's gone
and never
and never
and never believe,
and never believe in a breathless god.
R.Vent., 1700 Fribourg/Freiburg (Confoederatio Helvetica)
