From the Land of the Sky-Blue Water
Language: ENGLISH
From the Land of the Sky-blue Water,
They brought a captive maid;
And her eyes they are lit with lightnings,
Her heart is not afraid!
But I steal to her lodge at dawning,
I woo her with my flute;
She is sick for the Sky-blue Water,
The captive maid is mute.
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Authorship
by Nelle Richmond Eberhart (1871-1944)
That would only be one dog there, Letty. I have to admit, he is probably the most wise being I know. I like to think of him as a familiar, really. Gloomy Sunday, heck, I may be a kid, but I do know the song in several incarnations. It was originally written by Hungarian pianist Rezso Seress in 1933. It was later revised by another Hungarian, Laszlo Javor. Two English writers did a translation of the song, Sam Lewis and Desmond Carter. The Lewis translation was the one that became popular, covered brilliantly by Billie Holiday in 1941.
For some reason, that poem reminds me of one that I was mean to have written in a 'previous life' according to two people (on different occassions...)
The Captive Dove
--Anne Brontë
Poor restless dove, I pity thee;
And when I hear thy plaintive moan,
I mourn for thy captivity,
And in thy woes forget mine own.
To see thee stand prepared to fly,
And flap those useless wings of thine,
And gaze into the distant sky,
Would melt a harder heart than mine.
In vain--in vain! Thou canst not rise:
Thy prison roof confines thee there;
Its slender wires delude thine eyes,
And quench thy longings with despair.
Oh, thou wert made to wander free
In sunny mead and shady grove,
And far beyond the rolling sea,
In distant climes, at will to rove!
Yet, hadst thou but one gentle mate
Thy little drooping heart to cheer,
And share with thee thy captive state,
Thou couldst be happy even there.
Yes, even there, if, listening by,
One faithful dear companion stood,
While gazing on her full bright eye,
Thou mightst forget thy native wood
But thou, poor solitary dove,
Must make, unheard, thy joyless moan;
The heart that Nature formed to love
Must pine, neglected, and alone.
Do you think that there's some truth in the belief in reincarnation?
dròm_et_rêve wrote:cavfancier wrote:Gloomy Sunday, heck, I may be a kid, but I do know the song in several incarnations. It was originally written by Hungarian pianist Rezso Seress in 1933. It was later revised by another Hungarian, Laszlo Javor. Two English writers did a translation of the song, Sam Lewis and Desmond Carter. The Lewis translation was the one that became popular, covered brilliantly by Billie Holiday in 1941.
Gloomy Sunday, Good heavens, I've heard of that.. that's the mass-suicide-inducing song, isn't it?
That would be the one. It was nicknamed the Hungarian Suicide Song, and in fact, mister Seress took a dive off a bridge himself.
From memory:
Sunday is gloomy my hours are numberless,
Dear since you left me my nights are all slumberless.
Little white flowers will never awaken you,
Not where the black robe of darkness has taken you.
Angels have no thoughts of every returning you,
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you.
Gloomy Sunday.
Yes, drom, it is. The song was also banned during the Great Depression.
That came from my sister, who has total recall when it comes to music.
In trying to recall a Robert Service poem, I found that he was Canadian.
This may or may not be true, but supposedly the song, "I'll never Smile Again, " was written by a woman as a suicide note. She changed her mind when the song became a hit--the inverse of the hungarian.
I couldn't find the song in actual Hungarian, but here is the translation of the original:
it is autumn and the leaves are falling, all love has died on earth
the wind is weeping with sorrowful tears, my heart will never hope for a new spring again
my tears and my sorrows are all in vain, people are heartless, greedy and wicked
love has died!
the world has come to its end, hope has ceased to have meaning
cities are being wiped out, shrapnel is making music
meadows are coloured red with human blood
there are dead people on the streets everywhere, I will say another quiet prayer
people are sinners, lord, they make mistakes...
the world has ended!
And the English rewrite:
sunday is gloomy, my hours are slumberless
dearest, the shadows I live with are numberless
little white flowers will never awaken you
not where the black coach of sorrow has taken you
angels have no thoughts of ever returning you
would you be angry if I thought of joining you?
gloomy is sunday, with shadows I spend it all
my heart and I have decided to end it all
soon there'll be candles and prayers that are sad, I know
but let them not weep, let them know that I'm glad to go
death is no dream, for in death I'm caressing you
with the last breath of my soul I'll be blessing you
dreaming, i was only dreaming
I awake and find you asleep in the deep of my heart
darling, I hope that my dream never haunted you
my heart is telling you how much I wanted you
The song's just downloaded: Heavens, the music is depressing enough on its own...; if it's still dangerous now, think of what it would have done then... for some reason, though, I think that it's better without the 'uplifting' end... it's like a tragedy with a light 'everyone woke up' end on it; which we were told never to do in year 2 of infants's school...
I wonder whether there will be another song banned all over the place like Gloomy Sunday; is banning some music still necessary, do you all think?
Wait a minute! I used to write this sort of stuff down: I'd change the names, so that it would look like a story, rather than a journal, to snoopers; if my visits to Ireland aren't part of the huge number of works that my mother burnt, then I'll be able to find out.
I nominate "How Much is That Doggy in the Window" as the second most depressing song ever written after "Gloomy Sunday". Why? Let's paint a scenario: A kid sees this puppy, and needs it as a friend, because he's picked on and beat up at school, and has no human friends. He has a nickel, and the dog costs five dollars.
Aww man....I love Ray Charles.
