gongora was a poet/priest in spain in the 15th century. among other things he was a carouser, a drinker and a lothario. he wrote many epic poems during his career as bishop.
the poem fortunes comes from a much larger work entitled 'letrillas' and is around 40 pages or so. this copy of the poem is from a spanish anthology dealing with gongoras works. of note here is the line concerning the thief who gets away with a thousand crimes. in the original version the crimes number only in the hundreds. i suppose brendan thought that that may have been a few crimes too few and changed it to thousands. also of note, although the translation if followed fairly closely, brendan has rearranged some of the stanzas.
(special note to the keeper of the dcd web home page: i have more original versions of dcd songs in print, email me and we'll talk if you want these included in the home page. t.s.)
as ever comments are welcome-
Da bienes Fortuna
que no esta'n escritos:
Cuando pitos flautas,
cuando flautas pitos.
Cua'n diversas sendas
se suelen seguir
en el repartir
honras y y haciendas!
A unos da encomiendas,
a otros sambenitos.
cuando pitos flautas,
cuando flautas pitos.
A veces despoja
de choza y apero
al mayor cabrero;
y a quien se le antoja
la cabra ma's coja
pare dos cabritos.
Cuando pitos flautas,
cuando flautas pitos.
En gustos de amores
suele traer bonanza
y en breve mudanza
los vuelve en doloros.
No da a uno favores,
y a otro infinitos.
Cuando pitos flautas,
cuando flautas pitos.
Porque en una aldea
un pobre mancebo
hurto' so'lo un huevo,
al sol bambolea;
y otro se pasea
con cien mil delitos.
Cuando pitos flautas,
cuando flautas pitos.
I ran across this recently and i thought i would post it for those interested.
From the book entitled 'a celtic miscellany', penguin books, penguin classic
edition 1951.These are an early set of lyrics for the tradtional irish folk song - 'the unquiet grave', which brendan perry sings on towards the within as 'i am stretched on your grave'. this is a prosaic interpretation of a gaelic written song. Of interest here are the lyrics that brendan and sinead o'connor do not sing.
i am stretched on your grave, and you will find me there always; if i had the bounty of your arms i should never leave you. little apple, my beloved, it is time for me to lie with you; there is the cold smell of clay on me, the tan of the sun and the wind. There is a lock on my heart, which is filled with love for you, and melancholy beneath it as black as the sloes. if anything happens to me, and death overthrows me, i shall become a fairy wind-gust down on the meadows before you. when my family thinks that i am in my bed, it is on your grave i am stretched from night till morning, telling my distress and lamenting bitterly for my quiet lovely girl who was bethrothed to me as a child. do you remember the night when you and i were under the blackthorn tree, and the night freezing? a hundred praises to jesus that we did nothing harmful, and that your crown of maidenhood is a tree of light before you! the priests and the monks every day are angry with me for being in love with you, young girl, when you are dead. i would be a shelter from the wind for you and protection from the rain for you; and oh, keen sorrow to my heart that you are under the earth!
Ihr saht den weisen Salomon Ihr wisst, was aus ihm wurd. Dem Mann war alles sonnenklar Er verfluchte die Stunde seiner Geburt Und sah, dass alles eitel war. Wie gross und weis war Solomon! Und seht, da war es noch nicht Nacht Da sah die Weld die Folgen schon: Die Weisheit hatte ihn so weit gebracht! Beneidenswert, wer frei davon! Ihr saht den kuehnen Caesar dann Ihr wisst, was aur ihm wurd. Der sass wien Gott auf dem Altar Und wurde ermordet, wie ihr erfuhrt Und zwar, als er am grossten war. Wie schrie der laut: Auch du, mein Sohn! Denn seht, da war es noch nicht Nacht Da sah die Welt die Folgen schon: Die Kuehnheit hatte ihn so weit gebracht! Beneidensweit, wer frei davon! Ihr kennt den redlichen Sokrates Der stets die Wahrheit sprach: Ach, nein sie wussten ihm keinen Dank Vielmehr stellten die Obern boese ihm nach Und reichten ihm den Schierlingsstrank. Wie redlich war des Volkes grosser Sohn! Und seht, da war es noch nicht Nacht Da sah die Welt die Folgen schon: Die Redlichkeit hatt' ihn so weit gebracht! Beneidensweit, wer frei davon! Der heilige Martin, wie ihr wisst Ertrug nicht fremde Not. Er sah im Schnee ein armen Mann Und er bot seinen halben Mantel ihm an Da frorn sie alle beid zu Tod. Der Mann sah nicht auf irdischen Lohn! Und seht, da war es noch nicht Nacht Da sah die Welt die Folgen schon: Selbstlosigkeit hatt' ihn so weit gebracht! Beneidensweit, wer frei davon! Hier seht ihr ordentliche Leut Haltend die zehn Gebot. Es hat uns bisher nichts genuetzt: Irh, die am warmen Ofen sitzt Helft lindern unsre grosse Not! Wie kreuzbrav waren wir doch schon! Und seht, da war es noch nicht Nacht Da sah die Welt die Folgen schon: Die Gottesfurcht hat uns so weit gebracht! Beneidensweit, wer frei davon!
Listening again to this 20+minute version, it is very clear where the part dcd sings comes in. i am providing the complete text to the chant in english, rather than in latin, unlike i have done with original versions previously, for i doubt few of you can read it. The chant is repeated a few times in the 20+min. version, however dcd does sing it all.
BTW dcd are extremely faithful to how this piece is supposed to be performed, if this original cd is any indication.
An eternal king will come Dressed in our mortal flesh: He will come from heaven certainly To pass judgement on the century. Before judgement is passed A great sign will show itself: The sun will lose its shine The earth will tremble with fear. After will come mighty thunder A sign of great wrath: In an infernal confusion Lightning and cries will resound. A great fire will come down from heaven In a stink of sulphur And the earth will burn furiously And great terror will afflict people. After will come the terrible signal Of a great earthquake As rocks shatter And mountains collapse. Then no-one will have pieces of gold Silver or riches, And everyone will await The sentence. Death will leave them without a penny, And will crush them all: There will remain only men in tears, And sadness will cover the world. The plains and peaks will be all the same, Good and evil will reach them both, Kings, dukes, counts and barons Will have to account for their actions. And then will come impressively The Son of God omnipotent, He will judge the dead and the living, The good will go to Heaven. Children not yet born Will cry from their mother's wombs, And with the crying say: "Help us, God, omnipotent". Mother of God, pray for us, You, the Mother of sinners, May the sentence be merciful, May Paradise be open to us. You, who listen to everything, Pray God with all devotion, With all your heart and fervour, That we should be saved.
the title of this poem originally appeared in a poem by thomas hood called the 'bridge of sighs'. oddly enough edgar allen poe also uses it as a title for one of his poems (boy this title gets around alot eh?)
i think the spirit of the poem is oddly captured in the song actually. it feels like the poem. sorry to be so abstract.
so without further ado:
It always seems to me that I should feel well in the place where I am not, and this question of removal is one which I discuss incessantly with my soul.
'Tell me, my soul, my poor chilled soul, what do you think of going to live in Lisbon? It must be warm there, and there you would invigorate yourself like a lizard. This city is on the sea-shore; they say that it is built of marble and that the people there have such a hatred of vegetation that they uproot all the trees. There you have a landscape that corresponds to your taste! a landscape made of light and mineral, and liquid to reflect them!'
My soul does not reply.
'Since you are so fond of stillness, coupled with the show of movement, would you like to settle in Holland, that beautifying country? Perhaps you would find some diversion in that land whose image you have so often admired in the art galleries. What do you think of Rotterdam, you who love forests of masts, as ships moored at the foot of houses?'
My soul remains silent.
'Perhaps Batavia attracts you more? There we should find, amongst other things, the spirit of Europe married to tropical beauty.'
Not a word. Could my soul be dead?
'Is it that you have reached such a degree of lethargy that you acquiesce in your sickness? If so, let us flee to lands that are analogues of death. I see how it is, poor soul! We shall pack our trunks for Tornio. Let us go farther still to the extreme end of the Baltic; or farther still from life, if that is possible; let us settle at the Pole. There the sun only grazes the earth obliquely, and the slow alternation of light and darkness suppresses variety and increases monotony, that half-nothingness. There we shall be able to take long baths of darkness, while for our amusement the aurora borealis shall send us its rose-colored rays that are like the reflection of Hell's own fireworks!'
At last my soul explodes, and wisely cries out to me: 'No matter where! No matter where! As long as it's out of the world!'