THE FISHERMAN
In the uncertain shadow of sunset
A Fisherman was dozing off,
His face was streak'd all along
With something just like a smile.
A man came running to the shore,
His eyes so big, just like a child's,
His eyes were fill'd with pain and fear
As if reflecting some adventure.
He ask'd the old man for some bread,
"I am in haste and am so hungry";
He ask'd the old man for some wine,
"I am so thirsty and am an outlaw."
The old man he did open his eyes
Without e'en looking 'round himself;
He simply gave his bread and wine
To a man who was so thirsty and hungry.
No longer than one instant's warmth,
Then he fled away in the wind;
Before his eyes the sun was shining,
Behind his back, an old man sleeping.
Behind his back, an old man sleeping
And memories of pains endur'd,
Memories of a past springtime
In a yard, playing in the shadow.
Two gendarmes came dressed in arms,
Well mounted on their horses' back;
They ask'd the old man if he'd seen
Someone pass by him on the shore.
In the uncertain shadow of sunset
A Fisherman was dozing off,
His face was streak'd all along
With something just like a smile
His face was streak'd all along
With something just like a smile.
this is a song by fabrizio de andrè, one of the best italian songwriter.
when he died 3 years ago cohen said that he was so sad for the lost of a voice so familiar.
he "translated" suzanne and "joan of arc" from leonard cohen.
i hope that you liked that song.
the fisherman
- tom.d.stiller
- Posts: 1213
- Joined: Fri Mar 07, 2003 8:18 am
- Location: ... between the lines ...
- Contact:
i am glad to have brought something important for me to someone.
thank you.
yes, it is "il pescatore".
here you can find some songs by de andrè translated in english:
http://utenti.lycos.it/Guctrad/index-1.html
bye
thank you.
yes, it is "il pescatore".
here you can find some songs by de andrè translated in english:
http://utenti.lycos.it/Guctrad/index-1.html
bye
happy for the reply you sent me, tom, i wrote here a song wrote by franceso guccini.
the translation wont be perfect since i made it by myself....
Incontro.
Meeting
And running she met me on the stairs,
almost anything seemed changed in her.
then the sadness swept us like honey,
for the time slided on us.
the sun that was already falling
turning red the city,
already our and now stranger and unbelivable and cold.
like an instant dejavu,
shadow of youth,
the mist was enclosing we both.
still cars watched us silently,
old walls proposig new heroes,
ten years to tell each other
but, the words were still in us
what are you doing now?
do you remember?
how beautiful were our times
i wrote you last year they told me you were still away.
then the date to her house,
my new kindness
kitchenware of nostalgia colour
and those phrases as we should be two old
were just running after the time behind us,
for the first time i saw those mirrors
i did understood the paints, the the furniture and her parents.
our myths dead now,
the discovery of hemingway,
feeling new, the things dreamed seen by now.
mine america and her one
turned in the way
our city so sad.
paper and wind blow away
trough the station
cold and lights turned on maybe for us there,
and at the end shortly her situation,
just like many of our films.
like in a bad-wrote book
he killed himeself for christmas,
but the sad novel seemed absorbed by the darkness.
poor friend, telling ten years with few phrases
and i mine with just one greething.
and i thought rocked by the carriage
dear friend the time takes, the time gives.
we just run in one direction,
but what it is and what meaning it has
who knows?
you know remain only the no-time dreams,
the impression of a momen,t
the light in the darkness saw from a train.
we are something that does not remains,
empty phrases in our mind,
and the heart of symbols full.
the translation wont be perfect since i made it by myself....
Incontro.
Meeting
And running she met me on the stairs,
almost anything seemed changed in her.
then the sadness swept us like honey,
for the time slided on us.
the sun that was already falling
turning red the city,
already our and now stranger and unbelivable and cold.
like an instant dejavu,
shadow of youth,
the mist was enclosing we both.
still cars watched us silently,
old walls proposig new heroes,
ten years to tell each other
but, the words were still in us
what are you doing now?
do you remember?
how beautiful were our times
i wrote you last year they told me you were still away.
then the date to her house,
my new kindness
kitchenware of nostalgia colour
and those phrases as we should be two old
were just running after the time behind us,
for the first time i saw those mirrors
i did understood the paints, the the furniture and her parents.
our myths dead now,
the discovery of hemingway,
feeling new, the things dreamed seen by now.
mine america and her one
turned in the way
our city so sad.
paper and wind blow away
trough the station
cold and lights turned on maybe for us there,
and at the end shortly her situation,
just like many of our films.
like in a bad-wrote book
he killed himeself for christmas,
but the sad novel seemed absorbed by the darkness.
poor friend, telling ten years with few phrases
and i mine with just one greething.
and i thought rocked by the carriage
dear friend the time takes, the time gives.
we just run in one direction,
but what it is and what meaning it has
who knows?
you know remain only the no-time dreams,
the impression of a momen,t
the light in the darkness saw from a train.
we are something that does not remains,
empty phrases in our mind,
and the heart of symbols full.
- tom.d.stiller
- Posts: 1213
- Joined: Fri Mar 07, 2003 8:18 am
- Location: ... between the lines ...
- Contact: