testi: songshine
Francesca Corrias
Songshine
Francesca Corrias – Voce e flauto
David Linx – Voce
Stefano D’Anna – Sassofono tenore
Alessandro Di Liberto – Pianoforte
Filippo Mundula – Contrabbasso
Pierpaolo Frailis – Batteria
the land of zulu
mngani, mngani wami udadewethu udade? ukuphi? uya kuphi?
The time has come for me to be solemn.
In autumn, when I first thought I should write my column,
Leaves were falling down to the ground making no sound but the sound of silence,
leaving me with the sound sense of loneliness.
Yes, apparently meaningless, unless you take it as a stream of consciousness rather
than rap, or just a map of my intimate feelings.
To the bleedings of the wounds of my heart you’re going to take part, and I’ll tell
everything just right from the start.
I figure out how you realized word is an art politics uses as a dart, smart how they dress
their inner intention as mere divine intervention, not to mention the manipulation of
lifelong conceptions, like trade union member, and after December my whole life will be sore.
This, and ten thousand times more, is the core of what you mean to me, you’re my
reverie, and now that you’ve finally gone to South Africa, now that you’ve become my
closest exotica, I want you to take this with you, so this chant will sound true, with the
promise we’ll meet in the land of Zulu.
haiku
From my window I see
A flowering cherry tree
Announcing spring
Lucky clouds keep fluttering
They don’t realize
That the World is caving in
Like waterfalls are the tears that I cry
Looking for the sun
A lizard is climbing up
A tree’s shadow
Desperation or relief?
While Death here inhabits things
I still want to breathe
Like waterfalls are the tears that I cry
How can you still count on your inner eye
Sending me haikus?
The moon shines
On my affliction
And On my sorrow
On your decision, your dreadful Intention
To rescue a land
By means of giving
As much as your life
To save other lives
na minha casa
O meu pé é leve e ligeiro
Na minha casa
E eu vou segura pensando
Na minha casa
Tudo tem a sua precisa ordem
Na minha casa
E eu vou segura pensando e sonhando
Na minha casa
O crochê, a malha e a televisão
A minha casa
Minha mãe, minha irmã
Sorriu e olho abaixo
Na minha casa
A lembrança se desperta como o perfume da salsa
Minha infância jogando a ciranda
No quintal da minha casa
Na minha casa
Sinto que eu vou morrer
Nessa casa
Mãe não chore, Pai não chore
Eu sei que eu vou morrer nesta casa
A lembrança se desperta como o perfume da salsa
Minha infância jogando a ciranda
No quintal da minha casa
Na minha casa
babel
Na rota da nota derrota a gota fria
Na bala da fala me abala a moça minha
A siren’s my guidance while I dance silence here
A squeaking I’m seeking so that you will come near
Innia tittia ninnia filla mia
Innia tittia ninnia filla mia
Lâmina de papel
Vivo numa Babel
Escrevo minha lua de mel
Pego tudo o que é de pastel
A criança tem sua música
A criança deixa a música criança
the prisoner’s lament
Jailer, hear me speak
If you’re the strong and I’m the weak
Please, hear this
Jailer, hear my cry
If you’re allowed to see the sky
Why can’t you bear this?
Woe is me! Dwell in Misery
How long’s this going to last, jailer?
Jailer, listen to my call
Spare your Sentence, your and my justice is God
Fire is in your mouth, mine was taken out
Beating my back’s no use, only adds some more rhythm to gloomy blues
Fire is in your gun, I’m a mother’s son
Hitting my head won’t do, it won’t widen the gap within me and you
Meanwhile
The wind blows through my window, light through the bars
Life through dying arms
See, you’re killing a body, jailer
For my soul has gone
To freedom
menino da floresta
Deixo falar a floresta
Na conversa das folhas eu quero confiar
Batem as gotas da água
Até eu posso dançar
Olho o meu pé que é descalço
Alguém me disse “o sapato é o calor do chão
Preciso somente caçar e apanhar para bem viver”
Deixo contar a floresta
Que nas balas da fala de homens acreditei
E o tempo passou
E do chão o calor eu não sentirei mais
Vou procurar-me um lugar
Só que meu lugar é esta floresta
Então?
the message
Shine all stars above
Fly my little bird
Find a girl for me
Her eye full of black
Ink on her fingers
Walking, Waiting not
Tell her clearly, whisper it not
Already she’ll know that
Birds realize freedom
“Earthly wings seize motion in thought”
Already she’ll know
President du pays
Ton peuple est mort
Les gens se nourrissent dans les poubelles
Regarde ce qui se passe dans ton pays
(Ttraduzione in francese dei versi tratti da “Rais Le Bled”, di Hamada Ben Amor, aka El Général