Aus urheberrechtlichen Gründen
wage ich es nicht mp3 hier abzulegen. Nur einige Texte von der "I'm
Paul, that's all."-CD müssen schon sein (Die gälischen Texte
lass ich weg, denn wer außer Paul hat schon ein
Gälisch-Wörterbuch?):
Die Sängerin Niamh (Nief!)
Parsons haben wir in einem Pub in Dublin kennengelernt (siehe auch Reisebericht
1997 Dublin). Sie hat dort in einem Nebenraum hin und wieder
ein Lied zum Besten gegeben, und Paul war bald im Gespräch mit ihr. Er
fragte sie ganz locker, ob sie nicht nach Deutschland kommen
und im Irish Folk Festival auftreten wolle. Später stellte sich heraus,
dass sie eine der besten Sängerinnen in ganz Irland ist, und 1999 kam
sie tatsächlich nach Deutschland! Sie hat uns damals erklärt,
dass die traurigen irischen Lieder nicht dazu da sind, die Menschen
traurig zu stimmen, sondern im Gegenteil, die Traurigkeit
herauszulassen und so bei der Bewältigung von Kummer und Leid zu helfen. Hier
der Text eines ihrer schönsten und traurigsten Lieder.
Black is the colour
(Traditional,
lyrics as sung by Niamh Parsons )
Refrain: Black
is the color of my true love's hair Her lips are like
some roses fair She's got the sweetest smile
and the gentlest hands I love the ground whereon she
stands
I love my love and well she knows I
love the ground whereon she goes And I wish the day
it soon might come, when she and I can be as one.
<Refrain>
I'll
go to the Clyde and I mourn and weep, but satisfied I never
shall be I write her a letter just a few short lines And
suffer death ten thousand times.
<Refrain>
Then
I sat down and I wrote this song I wrote it neat, I wrote it
long And with every line I shed one tear And at
last I say: "Farewell my dear".
<Refrain>
So
fare thee well my own true love I love you like the stars above But
if Heaven and Earth no more I'll see I'll ne'er treat you like
you treated me.
<Refrain> I
love the ground on where she stands
"Background: This is an
old song dating with tune origins probably dating to the 18th century.
The lyrics were first recorded in around 1916 and believed to be out of
the Appalacian Mountains, although it is so fully engrained in the folk
tradition that many believe it to be out of Scotland as attibuted by
the verse "I'll go to the Clyde" which is a river that runs through
Glasgow."
Das folgende
Lied war auf einer der ersten CDs mit irischer Musik, welche Paul mir
zum Anhören gegeben hat. Es stammt aus der Zeit, als viele wegen Hunger
und Armut aus Irland auswandern mussten. In diesem Lied geht es um
Abschied von der liebgewonnenen Heimant und seinen Freunden.
Emigrant's
Farewell
Farewell
to old Ireland the land of my childhood That now and forever I
am bound for to leave Farewell to the shores where the
Shamrock is growing It's the bright spot of beauty and the
home of the brave
I will think on its valleys with
fond admiration Though never again its green hills will I see I
am bound for to cross o'er the wide swelling ocean In search
of fame, fortune and sweet liberty
It's
hard to be forced from the land that we live in Our houses and
farms we're obliged for to sell And to wander alone among
Indians and strangers To find some sweet spot where our
children may dwell
Oh, I have a wee lassie I fain
would take with me Her dwelling at present lies in County Down It
would break my poor heart for to leave her behind me We'll
both roam together this wide world around
So it's
come along Bessie my own blue eyed lassie Bid farewell to your
mother and then come with me And I'll make my endeavour for to
keep your mind easy Till we reach the greenfields of Americay
Our
ship at the present lies in lovely Derry To bear us away o'er
the wide swelling sea May heaven be her pilot and grant her
fond breezes Till we reach the greenfields of Americay
Our
artists our farmers our tradesmen are leaving To seek for
employment far over the sea Where they will get riches with
care and with industry There's nothing but hardship at home if
you stay
So it's cheer up your hearts now you lads
and you lassies There's gold for the digging and lots of it too Here's
health to the heart that has courage to venture Bad luck to
the lad or the lass that would rue
There's brandy in
Quebec at ten cents a quart boys The ale in New Brunswick's a
penny a glass There's wine in that sweet town they call
Montreal, boys At inn after inn we will drink as we pass
And
we'll call for a bumper of ale, wine and brandy And we'll
drink to the health of those far, far away Our hearts will all
warm at the thought of old Ireland When we're in the
greenfields of Americay