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Post by Immanuel on Dec 30, 2022 2:20:09 GMT -5
Say a prayer for the cowgirl, her horse ran away She'll walk 'til she finds him, her darlin', her stray But the river's in flood and the roads are awash And the bridges break up in the panic of loss
And there's nothin' to follow nowhere to go He's gone like the summer, gone like the snow And the crickets are breaking her heart with their song As the day caves in, and the night is all wrong
Did she dream, was it he who went galloping past And bent down the fern, broke open the grass And printed the mud with the well-hammered shoe That she nailed to his speed in the dreams of her youth
And although he goes grazin' a minute away She tracks him all night, she tracks him all day And she's blind to his presence except to compare Her injury here with his punishment there
Then at home on a branch on a high stream A songbird sings out so suddenly And the sun is warm and the soft winds ride On a willow tree by the riverside
Ah, the world is sweet, and the world is wide And he's there where the light and the darkness divide And the steam's comin' off him, he's huge and he's shy And he steps on the moon when he paws at the sky
And he comes to her hand, but he's not really tame He longs to be lost, she longs for the same And he'll bolt and he'll plunge through the first open pass To roll and to feed in the sweet mountain grass
Or he'll make a break for the high plateau Where there's nothing above and nothing below It's time for their burden, the whip and the spur Will she ride with him or will he ride with her?
So she binds herself to her galloping steed And he binds himself to the woman in need And there is no space, just left and right And there is no time, but there is day and night
Then she leans on his neck and whispers low Whither thou goest, I will go And they turn as one the head for the plain No need for the whip, oh no need for the rein
Now the clasp of this union who fastens it tight Who snaps it asunder the very next night Some say it's him, some say it's her Some say love's like smoke beyond all repair
So my darlin', my darlin', just let it go by That old silhouette on the great western sky And I'll pick out a tune, and they'll move right along And they're gone like smoke, and they're gone like this song
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Say a prayer for the cowgirl Source: Musixmatch Songwriters: Leonard Cohen Ballad of a Runaway Horse lyrics © Sony/atv Songs Llc
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Post by 溪山 on Dec 30, 2022 3:19:25 GMT -5
正好聽過Leonard Cohen的作品(audio book),每每驚訝於他詩歌用韻之妙且自然。他學吉他的故事記憶猶新: I was compelled in the midst of that ordeal of packing to go and open my guitar. I have a Conde guitar, which was made in Spain in the great workshop at Number 7 Gravina Street; a beautiful instrument that I acquired over 40 years ago. I took it out of the case and I lifted it. It seemed to be filled with helium -- it was so light. And I brought it to my face. I put my face close to the beautifully designed rosette, and I inhaled the fragrance of the living wood. You know that wood never dies. I inhaled the fragrance of cedar as fresh as the first day that I acquired the guitar. And a voice seemed to say to me, "You are an old man and you have not said thank you; you have not brought your gratitude back to the soil from which this fragrance arose." And so I come here tonight to thank the soil and the soul of this people that has given me so much -- because I know just as an identity card is not a man, a credit rating is not a country. Now, you know of my deep association and confraternity with the poet Federico Garcia Lorca. I could say that when I was a young man, an adolescent, and I hungered for a voice, I studied the English poets and I knew their work well, and I copied their styles, but I could not find a voice. It was only when -- when I read, even in translation, the works of Lorca that I understood that there was a voice. It is not that I copied his voice; I would not dare. But he gave me permission to find a voice, to locate a voice; that is, to locate a self, a self that that is not fixed, a self that struggles for its own existence. And as I grew older I understood that instructions came with this voice. What were these instructions? The instructions were never to lament casually. And if one is to express the great inevitable defeat that awaits us all, it must be done within the strict confines of dignity and beauty. And so I had a voice, but I did not have an instrument. I did not have a song. And now I’m going to tell you very briefly a story of how I got my song. Because -- I was an indifferent guitar player. I banged the chords. I only knew a few of them. I sat around with my college friends, drinking and singing the folk songs, or the popular songs of the day, but I never in a thousand years thought of myself as a musician or as a singer. One day in the early '60s, I was visiting my mother’s house in Montreal. The house is beside a park and in the park there's a tennis court where many people come to watch the beautiful young tennis players enjoy their sport. I wandered back to this park which I’d known since my childhood, and there was a young man playing a guitar. He was playing a flamenco guitar, and he was surrounded by two or three girls and boys who were listening to him. I loved the way he played. There was something about the way he played that -- that captured me. It was the way I wanted to play -- and knew that I would never be able to play. And I sat there with the other listeners for a few moments and when there was a -- a silence, an appropriate silence, I asked him if he would give me guitar lessons. He was a young man from Spain, and we could only communicate in my broken French and his broken French. He didn’t speak English. And he agreed to give me guitar lessons. I pointed to my mother’s house which you could see from the tennis court, and we made an appointment; we settled the price. And he came to my mother’s house the next day and he said, “Let me hear you play something.” I tried to play something. He said, “You don’t know how to play, do you?" I -- I said, “No, I really don’t know how to play.” He said, "First of all, let me tune your guitar. It’s -- It's all out of tune.” So he took the guitar, and -- and he tuned it. He said, "It’s not a bad guitar." It -- It wasn’t the Conde, but it wasn’t a bad guitar. So he handed it back to me. He said, “Now play.” couldn’t play any better.
He said "Let me show you some chords." And he took the guitar and he produced a sound from that guitar that I'd never heard. And he -- he played a sequence of chords with a tremolo, and he said, "Now you do it." I said, "It’s out of the question. I can’t possibly do it." He said, "Let me put your fingers on the frets." And he -- he put my fingers on the frets. And he said, "Now, now play." It -- It was a mess. He said, "I’ll come back tomorrow."
He came back tomorrow. He put my hands on the guitar. He -- He placed it on my lap in the way that was appropriate, and I began again with those six chords -- six chord progression that many, many flamenco songs are based on.
I was a little better that day.
The third day -- improved, somewhat improved. But I knew the chords now. And I knew that although I couldn’t coordinate my fingers with my thumb to produce the correct tremolo pattern, I knew the chords -- I knew them very, very well by this point.
The next day, he didn’t come. He didn’t come. I had the number of his -- of his boarding house in Montreal. I phoned to find out why he had missed the appointment, and they told me that he'd taken his life -- that he committed suicide. I knew nothing about the man. I -- I did not know what part of Spain he came from. I did not know why he came to Montreal. I did not know why he stayed there. I did not know why he he appeared there in that tennis court. I did not know why he took his life. I -- I was deeply saddened, of course.
speakola.com/arts/leonard-cohen-prince-of-asturias-awards-2011
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Post by Immanuel on Jan 4, 2023 9:13:25 GMT -5
Just read this to my friend John, who introduced me to a broad array of genres. We were greatly touched by this story. Thank you, sister, for sharing. What a beautiful soul! John has a good college friend David, who is a great artist, talented in so many ways. He shared David’s wife, Stephane’s cover for “the girl from Ipanema”. “She really nailed it.” Something to that effect, after we listened to two versions of her cover on this standard, John commented. I did share this thread with him.. So thank you on his behalf as well..
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Post by 溪山 on Jan 5, 2023 2:02:36 GMT -5
Thank you, brother, for sharing this wonderful song. You are so lucky to have a friend like John. A knowledgeable friend is a precious gift. Of course, my thanks also go to John! Yes, this Portuguese song is beautifully rendered. She looks like an angel and sings like one too.
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