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Nombre de messages : 545
Localisation : paris
Date d'inscription : 26/03/2007

MessageSujet: Mathilda    Mer 28 Jan 2009 - 1:39


Chanson de joan Baez sur les Australiens à Gallipoli.

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MessageSujet: Re: Mathilda    Mer 28 Jan 2009 - 7:44

Bonjour, ..
Pour continuer en chanson... ( moins connue!!)

Country Joe Mc Donald

une chanson ... ' The man from athabaska"

Oh the wife she tried to tell me that 'twas nothing but the thrumming
Of a wood-pecker a-rapping on the hollow of a tree;
And she thought that I was fooling when I said it was the drumming
Of the mustering of legions, and 'twas calling unto me;
'Twas calling me to pull my freight and hop across the sea.

And a-mending of my fish-nets sure I started up in wonder,
For I heard a savage roaring and 'twas coming from afar;
Oh the wife she tried to tell me that 'twas only summer thunder,
And she laughed a bit sarcastic when I told her it was War;
'Twas the chariots of battle where the mighty armies are.

Then down the lake came Half-breed Tom with russet sail a-flying,
And the word he said was "War" again, so what was I to do?
Oh the dogs they took to howling, and the missis took to crying,
As I flung my silver foxes in the little birch canoe:
Yes, the old girl stood a-blubbing till an island hid the view.

Says the factor: "Mike, you're crazy! They have soldier men a-plenty.
You're as grizzled as a badger, and you're sixty year or so."
"But I haven't missed a scrap," says I, "since I was one and twenty.
And shall I miss the biggest? You can bet your whiskers -- no!"
So I sold my furs and started . . . and that's eighteen months ago.

For I joined the Foreign Legion, and they put me for a starter
In the trenches of the Argonne with the Boche a step away;
And the partner on my right hand was an apache from Montmartre;
On my left there was a millionaire from Pittsburg, U. S. A.
(Poor fellow! They collected him in bits the other day.)

But I'm sprier than a chipmunk, save a touch of the lumbago,
And they calls me Old Methoosalah, and `blagues' me all the day.
I'm their exhibition sniper, and they work me like a Dago,
And laugh to see me plug a Boche a half a mile away.
Oh I hold the highest record in the regiment, they say.

And at night they gather round me, and I tell them of my roaming
In the Country of the Crepuscule beside the Frozen Sea,
Where the musk-ox runs unchallenged, and the cariboo goes homing;
And they sit like little children, just as quiet as can be:
Men of every crime and colour, how they harken unto me!

And I tell them of the Furland, of the tumpline and the paddle,
Of secret rivers loitering, that no one will explore;
And I tell them of the ranges, of the pack-strap and the saddle,
And they fill their pipes in silence, and their eyes beseech for more;
While above the star-shells fizzle and the high explosives roar.

And I tell of lakes fish-haunted, where the big bull moose are calling,
And forests still as sepulchres with never trail or track;
And valleys packed with purple gloom, and mountain peaks appalling,
And I tell them of my cabin on the shore at Fond du Lac;
And I find myself a-thinking: Sure I wish that I was back.

So I brag of bear and beaver while the batteries are roaring,
And the fellows on the firing steps are blazing at the foe;
And I yarn of fur and feather when the `marmites' are a-soaring,
And they listen to my stories, seven `poilus' in a row,
Seven lean and lousy poilus with their cigarettes aglow.

And I tell them when it's over how I'll hike for Athabaska;
And those seven greasy poilus they are crazy to go too.
And I'll give the wife the "pickle-tub" I promised, and I'll ask her
The price of mink and marten, and the run of cariboo,
And I'll get my traps in order, and I'll start to work anew.

For I've had my fill of fighting, and I've seen a nation scattered,
And an army swung to slaughter, and a river red with gore,
And a city all a-smoulder, and . . . as if it really mattered,
For the lake is yonder dreaming, and my cabin's on the shore;
And the dogs are leaping madly, and the wife is singing gladly,
And I'll rest in Athabaska, and I'll leave it nevermore.

et l'auteur du poéme....

une autre oeuvre du méme auteur .


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lawrence brown

lawrence brown

Nombre de messages : 805
Age : 61
Localisation : London, Great Britain
Date d'inscription : 17/08/2006

MessageSujet: Re: Mathilda    Mer 28 Jan 2009 - 10:41

Le version des Pogues est vraiment bien aussi.......

puis il y a les chansons d'Eric Bogle

et celle-ci pour Willie McBride, enterré à Authuille Military Cemetery
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Nombre de messages : 109
Localisation : Quievrain
Date d'inscription : 27/01/2009

MessageSujet: Re: Mathilda    Mer 28 Jan 2009 - 11:22

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Nombre de messages : 3583
Localisation : Sur HM, en CDI
Date d'inscription : 15/11/2008

MessageSujet: Re: Mathilda    Mer 28 Jan 2009 - 11:33

pour les nostalgiques de l'époque "babacool", Country Joe chantait aussi un plaidoyer pour l'arrêt de la guerre au VN (Uncle Sam needs a help again, got himself in a terrible jam - Be the first in your block to get your boy in a box)

Et puis, pour les jeunes, petite digression utile à l'apprentissage des coutumes de vos pères, l'immense Alvin Lee :

Tout cela est complètement hors sujet et sent la censure imminente, mais ça fait du bien /super/

Dernière édition par S. le Mer 19 Jan 2011 - 17:53, édité 1 fois
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Nombre de messages : 6696
Age : 42
Localisation : Argonne
Date d'inscription : 23/08/2006

MessageSujet: Re: Mathilda    Mer 28 Jan 2009 - 15:02

salut S. /tresbien/

et bien sur Very Happy

mais bon on s'éloigne de waltzing Mathilda

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MessageSujet: Re: Mathilda    Mer 28 Jan 2009 - 16:02


Pour en revenir aux poemes de Robert W Service mis en musiques et enegistrés par Country Joe Mc Donald

voici l'album...

et un lien vers les textes des chansons..

on est loin de Woodstock!!


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