Apalpando as palavras do salmom

09 julho 2008

Directamente da taverna ao cenário

Celebrando Ortigueira (e agardando por Zás, que como todos os anos fai-se de rogar...), aqui vos deixo un vídeo dun dos grupos que honrará este ano o cenário principal do festival de festivais. Son The Dubliners, tocando a duo cos míticos The Pogues un tema ben coñecido da tradizón musical irlandesa, "The Irish Rover". A letra, como podeis ver, fala-nos dunha estraña tripulazón que parte cara a Nova Iorque e dun dramático naufráxio. Todo, por suposto, adubado co espírito rebelde e trangalleiro destes devotos da taverna. Ao mellor estilo Irish, como non.
Por certo, xa vedes que por unha boca tan maltreita como a de Shane McGowan poden sair versos ben xeitosos. Aru!

On the Fourth of July, 1806
We set sail from the sweet Cobh of Cork
We were sailing away with a cargo of bricks
For the Grand City Hall in New York
Twas a wonderful craft
She was rigged fore and aft
And oh, how the wild wind drove her
She stood several blasts
She had twenty seven masts
And they called her The Irish Rover
We had one million bags of the best Sligo rags
We had two million barrels of bones
We had three million bales of old nanny goats' tails
We had four million barrels of stones
We had five million dogs
And six million hogs
Seven million barrels of porter
We had eight million sides of old blind horses' hides
In the hold of the Irish Rover
There was awl Mickey Coote
Who played hard on his flute
And the ladies lined up for a set
He would tootle with skill
For each sparkling quadrille
Though the dancers were fluther'd and bet
With his smart witty talk
He was cock of the walk
As he rolled the dames under and over
They all knew at a glance
When he took up his stance
That he sailed in The Irish Rover
There was Barney McGee
From the banks of the Lee
There was Hogan from County Tyrone
There was Johnny McGurk
Who was scared stiff of work
And a man from Westmeath called Malone
There was Slugger O'Toole
Who was drunk as a rule
And Fighting Bill Tracy from Dover
And your man, Mick McCann
From the banks of the Bann
Was the skipper of the Irish Rover
For a sailor its' always a bother in life
It's so lonesome by night and by day
That he longs for the shore and a pretty young whore
Who will melt all his troubles away
Oh, the noise and the rout
Swillin' poiteen and stout
For him soon the torment's over
Of the love of a maid he is never afraid
An old salt from the Irish Rover
We had sailed seven years
When the measles broke out
And the ship lost its way in the fog
And that whale of a crewWas reduced down to two
Just myself and the Captain's old dog
Then the ship struck a rock
Oh Lord! what a shock
The bulkhead was turned right over
Turned nine times around
And the poor old dog was drowned (1,2,3!)
I'm the last of The Irish Rover

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