This space is dedicated to the proposition that we need to know the history of the struggles on the left and of earlier progressive movements here and world-wide. If we can learn from the mistakes made in the past (as well as what went right) we can move forward in the future to create a more just and equitable society. I will be reviewing books, CDs, and movies I believe everyone needs to read, hear and look at as well as making commentary from time to time.

Thursday, April 30, 2009

*On The 34th Anniversary Of The Fall Of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City)

Click On Title To Link To "Wikipedia"'s Entry For The Fall Of Saigon And A Famous Photograph Of The Evacuation Of The United States Embassy In The Wake Of The North Vietnamese Army Advances On Saigon.

Commentary

April 30th Marks The 34th Anniversary Of The Military Victory Of The North Vietnamese Army/South Vietnamese National Liberation Front With The Fall Of Saigon (Ho Chi Minh City).

Other years I have used this occasion to review some work directly related to that victory from the view point of highlighting some exploit of the victors in that war- our side. One should not underestimate the importance of that victory by a determined, if outgunned military force, in crimping the style of American imperial policy for a significant period (and some would argue its continuing effect today). One should also note, sadly, that this event (always dramatically visualized in the mind’s eye by those pictures of the helicopters evacuating American and other personnel from the rooftop of the U.S. Embassy) the last clear cut anti-capitalist victory that we have been able to celebrate. That, in itself, is cause for reflection.

This year, with the almost daily growing evidence by the Obama administration that it is seeking to escalate the American presence in the quagmire that is Afghanistan beyond any rational necessity, I wish to review the memoir of one of the American architects of the American escalation in Vietnam, Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara. As McNamara’s version of the Vietnam saga unfolds, and not incidentally or accidentally his craven attempt to reshape the history of his involvement in that process as well, one cannot help but see that the same sense of American hubris is at play now. As always to be on the safe side here the slogan remains- Obama- All U.S./Allied Troops Out Of Iraq and Afghanistan Now!

The Fog Of War, Part II- War Secretary Robert McNamara’s View Of His Handiwork in Vietnam

Book Review

In Retrospect: The Tragedy And Lessons Of Vietnam, Robert Strange McNamara with Brain VanDeMark, Random House, 1995


Anyone who had caught the Friday March 27, 2009 headlines is aware that the Democratic Party-run Obama government has called for some 4,000 additional troops for Afghanistan and what they, euphemistically, call civilian support teams in order to bolster the sagging regime of “Mayor of Kabul” Karzai. Those numbers are in addition to the 17,000 extras already committed by the Obama regime in February. Does the word escalation seem appropriate here?

One of the problems of having gone through the Vietnam experience in my youth (including periods of lukewarm support for American policy under John F. Kennedy, a hands-off attitude in the early Lyndon B. Johnson years and then full-bore opposition under the late Johnson, Richard M. Nixon and Gerald Ford regimes) is a tendency to view today’s American imperial policy in the same by-the-numbers approach as I took as a result of observing the Vietnam War as it unfolded. There are differences, some of them hugely so, between Vietnam and Afghanistan. Just as, I have previously noted in this space, there are differences between Vietnam and the recently “completed” Iraq War. (Hey, I’m just going by what the media tells me is going on. They wouldn’t lead us astray, would they?)

But, I keep getting this eerie feeling in the back of my neck every time I hear, or see, anything concerning Afghanistan coming out of this new Obama administration. They appear clueless, yet are determined to forge ahead with this policy that can only lead to the same kind of quagmire than Vietnam and Iraq turned into. That is where the analogies to Vietnam do connect up. In this regard, I have recently been re-reading Kennedy/Johnson War Secretary Robert Strange (that’s his middle name, folk, I didn’t make it up and didn’t need to) McNamara’s memoirs, written in 1995, of his central role in the development of Vietnam policy, “In Retrospect: The Tragedy and Lessons of Vietnam”.

Obviously McNamara has put his own ‘spin’ on his personal role then in order to absolve himself (a little) before history. That is to be expected. What comes through crystal clear, however, because in the final analysis McNamara still doesn’t get it, is that when you’re the number one imperial power all the decisions you make are suppose to fall into place for your benefit because you represent the “good guys”. Regardless of what you do, or do not, know about the internal workings of the situation at hand. The Kennedy/Johnson administrations were almost totally ignorant of the internal working of Vietnamese society. That is why I have that eerie, very eerie, feeling about this Obama war policy.

In the normal course of events former high level bureaucrats in American presidential administrations usually save their attempts at self-justification for high ticket published memoirs or congenial `softball' speaking tours and conferences. In short, they prefer to preach to the choir at retail prices. Apparently, Cold Warrior extraordinaire Secretary of War Robert Strange McNamara felt that such efforts were very necessary in his case and hence he had to go to the prints in order to whitewash his role in the history of his times. Despite an apparent agreement with his “ghost writer” not to cover certain subjects and be allowed to present his story his way it is always good to catch a view of how the other side operates. It ain't pretty.

After a lifetime of relative public silence, at the age of 8o something, McNamara decided to give his take on events in which he was a central figure like dealing with the fact of American imperial military superiority in the post- World War II period, dealing with the Russians and the fight for American nuclear superiority during the Cold War, the ill-conceived Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba, the later Cuban Missile crisis and above all his role in the escalation of the wars in Southeast Asia, primarily Vietnam.

Very little here focuses on his time at the World Bank, a not unimportant omission that would highlight my point that he might have changed his clothing in the course of his career but not his mindset. While those of us interested in learning the lessons of history have long understood that to know the political enemy is the beginning of wisdom one will not find much here that was not infinitely better covered by the late journalist David Halberstam in his classic “The Best and The Brightest”.

McNamara has chosen to present his story in the form of parables, or rather, little vignettes about the “lessons” to be drawn from experiences (eleven in all by the way). Thus, we are asked to sit, embarrassingly, through McNamara's freshman course in revisionist history as he attempts to take himself from the cold-hearted Cold Warrior and legitimate “war criminal” to the teddy-bearish old man who has learned something in his life- after a lifetime of treachery. Yet, like that freshman course there are things to be learned despite the professor and more to learn, if only by reading between the lines, than he or she wanted to express.

McNamara presents his take by dividing the Vietnam War buildup, at least at the executive level, into periods; the early almost passive Kennedy days; the post Kennedy assassination period when Lyndon Johnson was trying to be all things to all men; the decisive post-1964 election period; and, various periods of fruitless and clueless escalation. It is this process that is, almost unwittingly, the most important to take from this world. Although McNamara, at the time of writing was an older and wiser man, when he had power he went along with ever step of the “hawks”, civilian and military. He led no internal opposition, and certainly not public one. This is the classic “good old boys” network where one falls on one’s sword when the policy turns wrong. And he is still scratching his head over why masses of anti-war protesters chanted “war criminal” when they confronted him with his deeds. And then listen to the latest screeds by current War Secretary Gates concerning Afghanistan. It will sound very familiar.

In the end, if one took his story at face value, one could only conclude that he was just trying to serve his bosses the best way he could and if things went wrong it was their fault. Nothing new there, though. Henry Kissinger has turned that little devise into an art form. Teary-eyed at the end McNamara might be as he acknowledges his role in the mass killings of his time, but beware of a wolf in sheep's clothing. Yet, you need to read this book if you want to understand how these guys (and gals) defended their state then, and now.


As is always appropriate on international working class holidays and days of remembrance here is the song most closely associated with that movement “The Internationale” in English, French and German. I will not vouch for the closeness of the translations but certainly of the spirit. Workers Of The World Unite!


The Internationale [variant words in square brackets]


Arise ye workers [starvelings] from your slumbers
Arise ye prisoners of want
For reason in revolt now thunders
And at last ends the age of cant.
Away with all your superstitions
Servile masses arise, arise
We'll change henceforth [forthwith] the old tradition [conditions]
And spurn the dust to win the prize.

So comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race.
So comrades, come rally
And the last fight let us face
The Internationale unites the human race.

No more deluded by reaction
On tyrants only we'll make war
The soldiers too will take strike action
They'll break ranks and fight no more
And if those cannibals keep trying
To sacrifice us to their pride
They soon shall hear the bullets flying
We'll shoot the generals on our own side.

No saviour from on high delivers
No faith have we in prince or peer
Our own right hand the chains must shiver
Chains of hatred, greed and fear
E'er the thieves will out with their booty [give up their booty]
And give to all a happier lot.
Each [those] at the forge must do their duty
And we'll strike while the iron is hot.




________________________________________

L'Internationale

Debout les damnés de la terre
Debout les forçats de la faim
La raison tonne en son cratère
C'est l'éruption de la fin
Du passe faisons table rase
Foules, esclaves, debout, debout
Le monde va changer de base
Nous ne sommes rien, soyons tout

C'est la lutte finale
Groupons-nous, et demain (bis)
L'Internationale
Sera le genre humain

Il n'est pas de sauveurs suprêmes
Ni Dieu, ni César, ni tribun
Producteurs, sauvons-nous nous-mêmes
Décrétons le salut commun
Pour que le voleur rende gorge
Pour tirer l'esprit du cachot
Soufflons nous-mêmes notre forge
Battons le fer quand il est chaud

L'état comprime et la loi triche
L'impôt saigne le malheureux
Nul devoir ne s'impose au riche
Le droit du pauvre est un mot creux
C'est assez, languir en tutelle
L'égalité veut d'autres lois
Pas de droits sans devoirs dit-elle
Egaux, pas de devoirs sans droits

Hideux dans leur apothéose
Les rois de la mine et du rail
Ont-ils jamais fait autre chose
Que dévaliser le travail
Dans les coffres-forts de la bande
Ce qu'il a crée s'est fondu
En décrétant qu'on le lui rende
Le peuple ne veut que son dû.

Les rois nous saoulaient de fumées
Paix entre nous, guerre aux tyrans
Appliquons la grève aux armées
Crosse en l'air, et rompons les rangs
S'ils s'obstinent, ces cannibales
A faire de nous des héros
Ils sauront bientôt que nos balles
Sont pour nos propres généraux

Ouvriers, paysans, nous sommes
Le grand parti des travailleurs
La terre n'appartient qu'aux hommes
L'oisif ira loger ailleurs
Combien, de nos chairs se repaissent
Mais si les corbeaux, les vautours
Un de ces matins disparaissent
Le soleil brillera toujours.


________________________________________

Die Internationale

Wacht auf, Verdammte dieser Erde,
die stets man noch zum Hungern zwingt!
Das Recht wie Glut im Kraterherde
nun mit Macht zum Durchbruch dringt.
Reinen Tisch macht mit dem Bedranger!
Heer der Sklaven, wache auf!
Ein nichts zu sein, tragt es nicht langer
Alles zu werden, stromt zuhauf!

Volker, hort die Signale!
Auf, zum letzten Gefecht!
Die Internationale
Erkampft das Menschenrecht

Es rettet uns kein hoh'res Wesen
kein Gott, kein Kaiser, noch Tribun
Uns aus dem Elend zu erlosen
konnen wir nur selber tun!
Leeres Wort: des armen Rechte,
Leeres Wort: des Reichen Pflicht!
Unmundigt nennt man uns Knechte,
duldet die Schmach langer nicht!

In Stadt und Land, ihr Arbeitsleute,
wir sind die starkste Partei'n
Die Mussigganger schiebt beiseite!
Diese Welt muss unser sein;
Unser Blut sei nicht mehr der Raben
und der machtigen Geier Frass!
Erst wenn wir sie vertrieben haben
dann scheint die Sonn' ohn' Unterlass!

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Wednesday, April 29, 2009

*The First Family Of Mountain Music-The Carter Family-"Country Legends"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Carter Family Doing "My Clinch Mountain Home".

CD Review

RCA Country Legends: The Carter Family, The Carter Family, RCA, 2004

So what is good here? Obviously the classic track "My Clinch Mountain Home” (which has many variations). The much covered “Wabash Cannonball” (again, with many variations). “Bury Me Beneath The Weeping Willow” (a variation) and "Hello Central, Give Me Heaven” also stick out. The others give a good feel for what this music is all about for the beginner. I would also note that unlike some other early Carter Family anthologies that I could listen to the whole CD at one sitting.



"Hello Central, Give Me Heaven"

Hello central give me heaven
For I know my mother's there
And you'll find her with the angels
Over on the golden stair

She'll be glad it's me a speaking
Wont you call her for me please
For I surely want to tell her
That we're sad without her here

Hello central give me heaven
For I know my mother's there
You will find her with the angels
Over on the golden stair

Poppa dear is said and lonely
Sobbed the tearful little child
Since momma's gone to heaven
Poppa dear you do not smile

I will speak to her and tell her
That we want her to come home
You just listen while I call her
Call her through the telephone

I will answer just to please her
Yes dear heart I'll soon come home
Kiss me momma it's your darling
Kiss me through the telephone

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*The First Family Of Mountain Music-The Carter Family- "The Country Music Hall Of Fame"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Carter Family Doing "Weeping Willow".

The Country Music Hall Of Fame: The Carter Family, MCA, 1991

So what is good here? Obviously the classic track "In The Shadow Of Clinch Mountain” (which has many variations). The much covered song, particularly associated with Emmy Lou Harris in the modern era, “Hello Stranger”. “Answer To Weeping Willow” (a variation) and "You Are My Flower” also stick out. The others give a good feel for what this music is all about for the beginner. I would also note that unlike some other early Carter Family anthologies that I could listen to the whole CD at one time.

“Hello Stranger”

Hello stranger
Put your loving hand in mine
You are a stranger
And you're a friend of mine
Get up, rounder
Let a working girl lay down
You are a rounder
And you're all out and down

Every time
I ride the four and six street cars
I can see my baby
Peeping through the bars

He bowed his head
And he waved both hands at me
He's prison bound
And longing to be free

I'll see you
When your troubles are like mine
Yes. I'll see you
When you haven't got a dime

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*The First Family Of Mountain Music-The Carter Family-"Anchored In Love"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Carter Family Doing "Anchored In Love".

CD Review
Anchored In Love: Their Complete Victor Recordings 1927-28, The Carter Family, Rounder Records, 1993

So what is good here? Obviously the classic title track "Anchored in Love". The much covered Depression classic “Keep On The Sunny Side",” Bury Me Under The Weeping Willow" and "River Of Jordan" also stick out. I would also note that unlike some other early Carter Family anthologies that I could listen to the whole CD at one time. Moreover, the technical quality, for the times, of the Victor label shows here.


"Anchored In Love"

I've found a sweet haven of sunshine at last,
and Jesus abiding above,
His dear arms around me are lovingly cast
and sweetly He tells His love

The tempest is o'er
(The danger, the tempest forever is o'er)
I'm safe evermore
(I'm anchored in hope and have faith evermore)
What gladness what rapture is mine
The danger is past
(The water's receding, the danger is past)
I'm anchored at last
(I'm feeling so happy I'm anchored at last)
I'm anchored in love divine

He saw me endangered and lovingly came
To pilot my storm-beaten soul
Sweet peace He has spoken and bless His dear name
The billows no longer roll

His love shall control me through life and in death
Completely I'll trust to the end
I'll praise Him each hour of my last fleeting breath
Shall sing of my soul's Best Friend

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*The First Family Of Mountain Music-The Carter Family-"Gold Watch And Chain"

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Carter Family Doing "Keep On The Sunny Side".

CD REVIEWS

Gold Watch and Chain: Their Complete Victor Recordings 1933-34, The Carter Family,Rounder Records, 1998

The body of this review has been used elsewhere in this space to comment on other The Carter Family CDs.


This information is from a review Of a PBS documentary and serves my purpose here by bringing out the main points that are central to the place of The Carter Family in American musical history. The last paragraph will detail the outstanding tracks on this CD.

“I have reviewed the various CDs put out by the Carter Family, that is work of the original grouping of A.P., Sara and Maybelle from the 1920’s , elsewhere in this space. Many of the thoughts expressed there apply here, as well. The recent, now somewhat eclipsed, interest in the mountain music of the 1920’s and 30’s highlighted in such films as “The Song Catcher” and George Clooney’s “Brother, Where Art Thou”, of necessity, had to create a renewed interest in the Carter Family. Why? Not taking the influence of that family’s musical shaping of mountain music is like neglecting the influence of Bob Dylan on the folk music revival of the 1960’s. I suppose it can be done but a big hole is left in the landscape.

What this PBS production has done, and done well, is put the music of the Carters in perspective as it relates to their time, their religious sentiments and their roots in the seemingly simple mountain lifestyle. Is there any simpler harmony than the virtually universally known Carter song (or better, variation) “Will the Circle Be Unbroken”? Nevertheless, these gentle mountain folk were as driven to success, especially A.P, as any urbanite of the time. Moreover, they seem, and here again A.P. is the example, to have had as many interpersonal problems (in short, marital difficulties) as us city folk.

I have mentioned elsewhere, and it bears repeating here, that the fundamentalist religious sentiment expressed throughout their work does not have that same razor-edged feel that we find with today’s evangelicals. This is a very personal kind of religious expression that drives many of the songs. These evangelical people took their beating during the Scopes Trial era and turned inward. Fair enough. That they also produced some very simple and interesting music to while away their time is a product of that withdrawal. Listen.”

So what is good here? Obviously the classic title track "Gold Watch and Chain" that I first heard covered by Alice Stuart over forty years ago. The pathos of desperate, seemingly unrequited, love still comes through after all that time. The much covered "See That My Grave Is Kept Green” (clean, in other versions that I have heard), "Cowboy Jack" and "Faded Flowers" also stick out. I would also note that unlike some other early Carter Family anthologies that I could listen to the whole CD at one time. Moreover, the relatively technical quality, for the times, of the Victor label shows here.


AMBER TRESSES

Far away in sunny mountains
Where the merry sunbeams play
There I wander through the clover
Singing to a village maid

She was dearer than the dearest
Ever loving kind and true
And she wore beneath her bonnet
Amber tresses tied with blue

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

Fate decreed that we be parted
Ere the leaves of autumn fell
When two hearts are separated
That had loved each other well

She was all I had to cherish
Ever loving kind and true
Now I see in every vision
Amber tresses tied with blue

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

She was dearer than the dearest
Ever loving kind and true
And she wore beneath her bonnet
Amber tresses tied with blue



--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ANCHORED IN LOVE

I found a sweet haven of sunshine at last
In Jesus abiding above
His dear arms around me are lovingly cast
And sweetly he tells his love

The tem----------pest is o'er
(The dangerous tempest forever is o'er)
I'm safe----------evermore
(My anchor is holding, I'm safe evermore)
What gladness, what rapture is mine
(What gladness, what rapture is mine)
The dan--------------ger is past
(The waters are peaceful, the danger is past)
I'm an-----------chored at last
(My spirit is happy, I'm anchored at last)
I'm anchored in love divine
(I'm anchored in love divine)

He saw me endangered and lovingly came
To pilot my stormy doomed soul
Sweet peace he has spoken and bless his sweet name
The billows no longer roll

The tem----------pest is o'er
(The dangerous tempest forever is o'er)
I'm safe----------evermore
(My anchor is holding, I'm safe evermore)
What gladness, what rapture is mine
(What gladness, what rapture is mine)
The dan--------------ger is past
(The waters are peaceful, the danger is past)
I'm an-----------chored at last
(My spirit is happy, I'm anchored at last)
I'm anchored in love divine
(I'm anchored in love divine)

His love shall enfold me through life and in death
Completely I'll trust to the end
I'll praise him each hour and my last fleeting breath
Shall sing of my soul's best friend

[CHORUS]


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ANGEL BAND

My latest sun is sinking fast
My race is nearly run
My strongest trials now are past
My triumph is begun


O come, angel band
Come and around me stand
O bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home
O bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home


[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


O bear my longing heart to him
Who bled and died for me
Where blood now cleanses from all sin
And gives me victory


O come, angel band
Come and around me stand
O bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home
O bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home


[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


I've almost gained my heavenly home
My spirit loudly sings
The Holy one before me comes
I hear the noise of wings


O come, angel band
Come and around me stand
O bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home
O bear me away on your snowy wings
To my immortal home

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ANSWER TO WEEPING WILLOW


My love is dead and buried yonder
Beneath the weeping willow tree
What wrecks my life and makes me wonder
Is because he died for me


Then lay me down in death beside her
For she's all this life to me
That I may join and e'er caress her
In a land beyond the sea

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

Yes, she died before I told her
That I loved her true and kind
And that I did not mean to fool her
But she'd left me to repine


Then lay me down in death beside her
For she's all this life to me
That I may join and e'er caress her
In a land beyond the sea

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


God, shall I ever get forgiveness
For the deeds that I have done
And meet up yonder her sweet charming
For I know she bids me come


Then lay me down in death beside her
For she's all this life to me
That I may join and e'er caress her
In a land beyond the sea


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


ARE YOU LONESOME TONIGHT

Are you lonesome tonight, do you miss me, I say
Are you sorry we drifted apart
Does your memory cling to that bright summer day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart


Like a rose on the vine I am clinging to you
As I did when we drifted apart
I am wishing you back to that little shack
Where I kissed you and called you sweetheart


[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

Does the chair in your parlor seem empty and bare
Do you miss me and wish I was there
Is your heart filled with pain, shall I come back again
Tell me, darling, are you lonesome tonight


Are you lonesome tonight, do you miss me, I say
Are you sorry we drifted apart
Does your memory cling to that bright summer day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart


[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


I have counted the days, I have counted the nights
I've counted the months and the years
I have counted on you since we've drifted apart
Tell me, darling, are you lonesome tonight


Are you lonesome tonight, do you miss me, I say
Are you sorry we drifted apart
Does your memory cling to that bright summer day
When I kissed you and called you sweetheart

Back to top


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

ARE YOU TIRED OF ME, MY DARLING

Are you tired of me, my darling
Did you mean those words you said
That has made me yours forever
Since the day that we were wed


Tell me, could you live life over
Would you make it otherwise
Are you tired of me, my darling
Answer only with your eyes


Do you ever rue the springtime
Since we first each other met
Since we spoke in warm affection
Words my heart can ne'er forget


Tell me, could you live life over
Would you make it otherwise
Are you tired of me, my darling
Answer only with your eyes


Do you think the bloom departed
From these cheeks you once thought fair
Do you think I've grown cold-hearted
With the passing of the years


Tell me, could you live life over
Would you make it otherwise
Are you tired of me, my darling
Answer only with your eyes

Back to top


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------


BEAUTIFUL HOME

There's a beautiful home far over the sea
There are mansions of bliss for you and for me
Oh the beautiful home so wonderously fair
That savior for me has gone to prepare.


[CHORUS:]
There's a beautiful hom (beautiful home)
Far over the sea (far over the sea)
There's a beautiful home (for you and for me)
Its glittering towers (glittering towers)
The sun outshine (the sun outshine)
That beautiful home (that beautiful home)
Someday shall be mine.

In that beautiful home a crown I shall wear
With the glorified throng their glories to share
But the joys of that home can never be known
Till the Savior we see upon his white throne.

[repeat chorus]

Back to top


BEAUTIFUL BROWN EYES


Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes
Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes
Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes
I'll never love blue eyes again


Willie, my darling, I love you
Love you with all of my heart
We could have been married
But liquor has kept us apart



Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes
Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes
Beautiful, beautiful brown eyes
I'll never love blue eyes again

Back to top


--------------------------------------------------------------------------------



BEAUTIFUL ISLE O'ER THE SEA

I will not be your sweetheart
I'll tell you the reason why
My mama always told me
To pass a drunkard by

Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
There's someone waiting for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Some say there's pleasure in courting
What pleasure is it to me
For the boy I love so dearly
Has turned his back on me

Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
There's someone waiting for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Now, young man, I will tell you
If you want my heart, my hand
You'd better quit your drinking
And be a sober man

Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
There's someone waiting for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Go prove yourself, be faithful
Go prove yourself, be true
And sometime in the future
Perhaps I'll marry you

Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
Beautiful isle o'er the sea, o'er the sea
There's someone waiting for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


BLACK JACK DAVID

Black Jack David came riding through the woods
And he sang so loud and gaily
Made the hills around him ring
And he charmed the heart of a lady. (2x)

"How old are you my pretty little miss
How old are you my honey?"
She answered him with a silly little smile
"I'll be sixteen next Sunday". (2x)

"Come go with me my pretty little miss
Come go with me my honey
I'll take you across the deep blue sea
Where you never shall want for money." (2x)

She pulled off her high-heeled shoes
They were made of Spanish leather
She put on those low-heeled shoes
And they both rode off together. (2x)

"Last night I lay on a warm feather bed
Beside my husband and baby
Tonight I lay on the cold, cold ground
By the side of Black Jack David." (2x)


BONNIE BLUE EYES

Goodbye, my little Bonnie blue eyes
Goodbye, my little Bonnie blue eyes
You've told me more lies than the stars in the skies
Goodbye, my little Bonnie blue eyes

Oh, Bonnie, you've done me wrong
Oh, Bonnie, you've done me wrong
You've done me wrong and now I'm gone
Oh, Bonnie, you've done me wrong

I saw my little Bonnie last night
She looked so dear to me
She's the only girl I ever loved
She's now gone back on me

I stayed in the country too long
I stayed in the country too long
The only wrong that I have done
I stayed in the country too long

Come and go with me to the train
Come and go with me to the train
Come and go with me and see me get on
Goodbye, my little Bonnie, I'm gone

BRING BACK MY BLUE-EYED BOY TO ME

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

'Tis true the rainbow has no end
It's hard to find a faithful friend
And when you find one just and true
Change not the old one for the new

Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
That I may ever happy be


Must I go bound and him go free
Must I love a boy that don't love me
Or must I act the childish part
And love that boy that broke my heart

Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
That I may ever happy be

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Last night my lover promised me
To take me across the deep blue sea
And now he's gone and left me alone
An orphan girl without a home

Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
That I may ever happy be


Oh, dig my grave both wide and deep
Place marble at my head and feet
And on my breast a snow white dove
To show to the world I died for love

Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
Bring back my blue-eyed boy to me
That I may ever happy be

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


BRING BACK MY BOY

Out in the cold world and far away form home
Somebody's boy is wandering alone
No one to guide him and keep his footsteps right
Somebody's boy is homeless tonight.

[CHORUS:] Bring back my boy, my wandering boy
Far, far away, wherever he may be
Tell him his mother with faded cheeks and hair
At their old home is waiting him there.

Out in the hallway there stands a vacant chair
Yonder's the shoes my darling used to wear
Empty the cradle, the one that's loved so well
Oh how I miss him there's no toung can tell.

[CHORUS]

Oh could I see him and fold him to my breast
Gladly I'd close my eyes anmd be at rest
There is no other that's left to give me joy
Bring back my boy, my wandering boy.

[CHORUS]


THE THE BROKEN HEARTED LOVER

Would you let her part us, darling
Could you truly turn away
Would it make your heart ache, darling
Not to see me night or day

I've been dreaming of you, darling
Dreaming of your eyes so blue
Take me back, for love I'm dying
For I love none else but you

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Many a day with you I've rambled
Down by the shades of the deep blue sea
There you told me that you loved me
That you loved none else but me

I am dreaming of you, darling
Dreaming of your eyes so blue
Take me back, for love I'm dying
For I love none else but you

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


I will give you back your letters
And your picture I love so well
How it makes my heart ache, darling
Oh, 'tis hard to say farewell

I been dreaming of you, darling
Dreaming of your eyes so blue
Take me back, for love I'm dying
For I love none else but you

BURY ME BENEATH THE WILLOW

My heart is sad and I'm in sorrow
For the only one I love
When will I see him, no, no, never
Till I meet him in heaven above


Then bury me beneath the willow
Beneath the weeping willow tree
Where he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

He told me that he dearly loved me
How could I believe him untrue
Until an angel softly whispered
He has proven untrue to you


Then bury me beneath the willow
Beneath the weeping willow tree
Where he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Tomorrow was their wedding day
But, alas, oh, where can he be
He's gone, he's gone to wed another
And he no longer cares for me


Then bury me beneath the willow
Beneath the weeping willow tree
Where he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me


BURY ME UNDER THE WEEPING WILLOW (II)

My heart is sad and I'm in sorrow
For the only one I love
When shall I see him, oh, no, never
Till I meet him in heaven above


Oh, bury me under the weeping willow
Yes, under the weeping willow tree
So he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me


They told me that he did not love me
I could not believe it was true
Until an angel softly whispered
He has proven untrue to you


Oh, bury me under the weeping willow
Yes, under the weeping willow tree
So he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

Tomorrow was our wedding day
But, Lord, oh, where is he
He's gone to seek him another bride
And he cares no more for me


Oh, bury me under the weeping willow
Yes, under the weeping willow tree
So he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Oh, bury me under the violets blue
To prove my love to him
Tell him that I would die to save him
For his love I never could win


Oh, bury me under the weeping willow
Yes, under the weeping willow tree
So he may know where I am sleeping
And perhaps he will weep for me

BY THE TOUCH OF HER HAND

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


There are days so dark that I seek in vain
For the face of my own true love
But the darkness hides, she is there to guide
By the light of the moon above


Oh the lonesome pine, oh the lonsome pine
Where I met that sweetheart of mine
With her hand in mine, and our hearts entwined
As we stroll through the lonesome pine


[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Bright stars above, two sweethearts in love
As we sing to the cooing doves
She has brought me back to that mountain shack
By the touch of her hand in love


Oh the lonesome pine, oh the lonsome pine
Where I met that sweetheart of mine
With her hand in mine, and our hearts entwined
As we stroll through the lonesome pine


[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

CAN THE CIRCLE BE UNBROKEN

I was standing by my window
On one cold and cloudy day
And I saw the hearse come rolling
For to carry my mother away

Can the circle be unbroken
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye
There's a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky


Oh, I told the undertaker
Undertaker, please drive slow
For this body you are hauling
How I hate to see her go

Can the circle be unbroken
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye
There's a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky


Lord, I followed close beside her
Tried to hold up and be brave
But I could not hide my sorrow
When they laid her in the grave

Can the circle be unbroken
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye
There's a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky

Went back home Lord, My home was lonely
Since my mother she had gone
All my brothers, sisters crying
What a home so sad and lone

Can the circle be unbroken
Bye and bye, Lord, bye and bye
There's a better home a-waiting
In the sky, Lord, in the sky


CAN'T FEEL AT HOME IN THIS WORLD ANYMORE

This world is not my home, I'm just passing through
My treasures and my hopes are all beyond the blue
Where many many friends and kindred have gone on before
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore


Over in Glory land, there is no dying there
The saints are shouting victory and singing everywhere
I hear the voice of them that I have heard before
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore


Oh, lord, you know I have no friend like you
If heaven's not my home, oh, lord, what would I do
Angels beckon me to heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore


Heaven's expecting me, that's one thing I know
I fixed it up with Jesus a long time ago
He will take me through though I am weak and poor
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore


Oh, I have a loving mother over in Glory land
I don't expect to stop until I shake her hand
She's gone on before, just waiting at heaven's door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore


Oh, lord, you know I have no friend like you
If heaven's not my home, oh, lord, what would I do
Angels beckon me to heaven's open door
And I can't feel at home in this world anymore


CHURCH IN THE WILDWOOD

There's a church in the valley in the wildwood
No lovelier place in the dell
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the dell

[bass] Oh, come, come, come, come
[all] Come to the church in the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the dell
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the dell
[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]
How sweet on a clear sabbath morning
To listen to the clear ringing bells
Its gongs so sweetly are calling
Oh, come to the church in the dell

[bass] Oh, come, come, come, come
[all] Come to the church in the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the dell
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the dell
There, close by the side of the loved one
'Neath the tree where the wildflowers bloom
She sleeps, sweet love sleeps 'neath the willow
Disturb not her rest in the tomb

[bass] Oh, come, come, come, come
[all] Come to the church in the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the dell
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the dell

[bass] Oh, come, come, come, come
[all] Come to the church in the wildwood
Oh, come to the church in the dell
No spot is so dear to my childhood
As the little brown church in the dell

CLIMBING ZION'S HILL

Oh, the heaven bells are ringing and I'm a-going home
I'm a-going home, yes, I'm a-going home
Oh, the heaven bells are ringing and I'm a-going home
Climbing up Zion's hill

I'm climbing, I'm climbing
Climbing up Zion's hill
I'm climbing, I'm climbing
Climbing up Zion's hill

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

If you don't, my mother, you'll be too late
You'll be too late, you'll be too late
If you don't, my mother, you'll be too late
Climbing up Zion's hill

I'm climbing, I'm climbing
Climbing up Zion's hill
I'm climbing, I'm climbing
Climbing up Zion's hill

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]

If you don't, my father, you'll be too late
You'll be too late, you'll be too late
If you don't, my father, you'll be too late
Climbing up Zion's hill

I'm climbing, I'm climbing
Climbing up Zion's hill
I'm climbing, I'm climbing
Climbing up Zion's hill

[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]



COAL MINER'S BLUES

Some blues are just blues
Mine are the miner's blues
Some blues are just blues
Mine are the miner's blues
My troubles are coming
By threes and by twos
[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


Blues and more blues
It's a coal black blues
Blues and more blues
It's a coal black blues
Got coal in my hair
Got coal in my shoes
[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


These blues are soul blue
They are the coal black blues
These blues are soul blue
They are the coal black blues
For my place will cave in
And my life I will lose
[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


You say they are blues
These old miner's blues
You say they are blues
These old miner's blues
Now I must have sharpened
These picks that I use
[INSTRUMENTAL BREAK]


I'm out with these blues
Dirty coal black blues
I'm out with these blues
Dirty coal black blues
We'll lay off tomorrow
With the coal miner's blues

COME BACK TO ME

Come back to me in my dreaming
Come back to me once more
Come with the love light gleaming
As in the days of yore



And tell me that you still love me
And that your heart is still true
When the spring roses are blooming
Then I'll come back to you


Somewhere a heart is breaking
Calling me back to you
Memories of loved ones awaiting
Each happy home and you


Absence makes my heart fonder
Is it the same with you
Are you still happy, I wonder
Or do you feel lonesome, too


When the sun is sinking
In the golden west
And the birds and flowers
They have gone to rest


Come tell me that you still love me
And that your heart is still true
When the roses are blooming
Then I'll come back to you

THE CURTAINS OF NIGHT

When the curtains of night are pinned back with a star
And the beautiful moon climbs the sky
And the dewdrops of heaven are kissing the rose
It is then that my memory flies

As upon the wings of some beautiful dove
In haste with the message it bears
To bring a kiss of affection and say
I'll remember you, love, in my prayers

Go wherever you will, over land, over sea
I will share all your sorrows and cares
And at night when I kneel by my bedside to pray
I'll remember you, love, in my prayers

I have loved you too fondly to ever forget
The words you have spoken to me
With a kiss of affection still warm on my lips
When you told me how true you would be

Go wherever you will, over land, over sea
I will share all your sorrows and cares
And at night when I kneel by my bedside to pray
I'll remember you, love, in my prayers

As the heavenly angels are guarding the good
As God has ordained them to do
In answer to prayers I have offered for you
I know there is one watching you

Go wherever you will, over land, over sea
I will share all your sorrows and cares
And at night when I kneel by my bedside to pray
I'll remember you, love, in my prayers

And may its bright spirit go with you through life
To guide you up heaven's bright stairs
To meet with the one who has loved you so true
And remembered to love in her prayers

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*Walking The Line-At The End- The Carter Family’s June Carter Cash Bids Adieu

Click on title to link to YouTube's film clip of June Carter Cash performing the original Carter Family classic "Will You Miss Me When I Am Gone?

CD Review

Wildwood Flower, June Carter Cash, Johnny Cash, Norman and Nancy Blake and various artists, produced by John Carter Cash, Dueltone Records, 2003


Recently I did a series of DVD reviews of legendary folklorist Pete Seeger’s old television show “Rainbow Quest” in which, on one of the segments, June Carter Cash and Johnny Cash were featured. Here is part of what I had to say there:

“In a year that has featured various 90th birthday celebrations it is very appropriate to review some of the 1960’s television work of Pete Seeger, one of the premier folk anthologists, singers, transmitters of the tradition and “keeper” of the folk flame. This DVD is a “must see” for anyone who is interested in the history of the folk revival of the 1960’s, the earnest, folksy style of Pete Seeger or the work of the also tradition-oriented , although that fact was previously unknown to me, Johnny Cash and June Carter Cash (she of the famous Carter Family tribe. How is that for traditional bloodlines?). This is not only a musical treat seeing the real subjects of the hit movie of a few years ago, “Walk The Line” that got me interested, at least somewhat, in Johnny Cash’s music but filled with information about the Carter Family that I have been interested in for a long time. Pete, by the way, couldn’t be more pleased in working with this pair and they regale us with some old Carter Family songs like “Worried Man Blues”. “

As a result of that experience I went back and reviewed the film “Walk The Line” and here is what I had to say, in part, there:

“I am reviewing this nicely done commercial effort to delve into parts of the lives of the legendary singers Johnny Cash and his (eventual) wife June Carter Cash (of the famous mountain music Carter Family bloodlines. Her mother was the incredible vocalist and guitarist Maybelle Carter) in reverse order. Although I saw the this film for the first time when it was released in theaters (and have viewed it several times on DVD) several years ago I am reviewing now after having just seen the real Johnny Cash and June Carter on one of the segments of Pete Seeger’s black and white television programs from the mid-1960s, “Rainbow Quest” where they appeared. And knocked me, and I think Pete, over with their renditions of Carter Family material and information about that clan.

Okay, here is the skinny. If you want to get the glamorous, sexy romance and a fetching June Carter (Reese Witherspoon), the heartache and longing of pain in the butt Johnny Cash and the eventual joining together of two great musical talents story then this is the place to start. But, if you want the reason why this film was made in the first place, the legendary musical talent, warts and all, then watch them go through their paces along with old Pete Seeger. Both are worth the time. “

Well, my friends, excuse this roundabout way to get to the CD under review but the points made above will stand for my thoughts on this last June Carter Cash CD. I can only add that when you listen to it you will feel the Appalachian mountain breeze, the sound from the hollows below but most of all you will hear the voice of Maybelle Carter come back to life in daughter June in 2002. And with the likes of Norman and Nancy Blake as backup where is there anything to find wrong with here? The tops here are two classic Carter Family songs, a soulful “Storms Are On The Ocean” and a cryptic (under the circumstance as she way dying at the time) “Will You Miss Me When I Gone?” with the whole gang, including Johnny joining in. Whoa, what a send off!

Storms are on the ocean

I'm go[C]ing a[F]way to [C]leave you, love, I'm going a[G]way for a[C]while,

but I'll re[F]turn to [C]you some time, if I go ten thou[G]sand [ C]miles.

CH

The [F]storms are on the [C]ocean, the [F]heavens may [G]cease to [C]be,

this [F]world may lose its [C]motion, love, if I prove [G]false to [C]thee.



Oh, who will dress your pretty little feet, oh, who will glove your hand.

Oh, who will kiss your rosy red cheek, when I'm in a far off land?



The storms are on the ocean, the heavens may cease to be,

this world may lose its motion, love, if I prove false to thee.



3.Oh,Poppa will dress my pretty little feet,and Momma will glove my hand.

You can kiss my rosy red cheeks, when you return again.

CH


Oh, have you seen those mournful doves, flying from pine to pine,

a-mourning for their own true love just like I mourn for mine.

CH


I'll never go back on the ocean, love, I'll never go back on the sea,

I'll never go back from the blue-eyed girl, till she goes back on me.

CH

WILL YOU MISS ME WHEN I’M GONE
D
1. When death shall close these eyelids,
G D
and this heart shall cease to beat,

and they lay me down to rest
A A7 D
in some flowery-bound retreat.
D
Will you miss me (miss me when I'm gone) ?
G D
Will you miss me (miss me when I'm gone) ?

Will you miss me (miss me when I'm gone) ?
A A7 D
Will you miss me when I'm gone ?

D
2. Perhaps you'll plant a flower
G D
on my poor, unworthy grave.

Come and sit alone beside me,
A A7 D
when the roses nod and wave. + CHORUS
D
3. One sweet thought my soul shall cherish,
G D
when this fleeting life has flown,

this sweet thought will cheer when dying,
A A7 D
will you miss me when I'm gone. + CHORUS
D
4. When these lips shall never more
G D
press a kiss upon thy brow,

but lie cold and still in death,
A A7 D
will you love me then as now. + CHORUS

(capo 2 nd) (The Carter Family)

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Tuesday, April 28, 2009

*A Communist Before His Time –Gerrard Winstanley and the Digger Colonies in the English Revolution

Click on the headline to link to a YouTube film clip of Billy Bragg (Known In This Space As Narrator Of Woody Guthrie And His Guitar: The Machine Kills Fascists)performing The World Turned Upside Down.

DVD REVIEW

Winstanley, starring Miles Harriwell, directed by Kenneth Brownlow, 1975

The time of the English Revolution in the 1640's, Oliver Cromwell's time, as in all revolutionary times saw a profusion of ideas from all kinds of sources- religious, secular, the arcane, the fanciful and the merely misbegotten. A few of those ideas however, as here, bear study by modern militants. As the film under review amplifies, True Leveler Gerrard Winstanley's agrarian socialist utopian tracts from the 1640's, the notion of a socialist solution to the problems of humankind has a long, heroic and storied history. The solutions presented by Winstanley had and, in a limited sense, still do represent rudimentary ways to solve the problem of social and economic distribution of the social surplus produced by society. Without overextending the analogy Winstanley's tract represented for his time, the 1600's, what the Communist Manifesto represented for Marx's time-and ours-the first clarion call for the new more equitable world order. And those with property hated both men, with the same venom, in their respective times.

One of the great advances Marx had over Winstanley was that he did not place his reliance on an agrarian solution to the crisis of society as Winstanley, by the state of economic development of his times, was forced to do. Marx, moreover, unlike Winstanley, did not concentrate on the question of distribution but rather on who controlled the means of production a point that all previous theorists had either failed to account for, dismissed out of hand or did not know about. Thus, all pre-Marxist theory is bound up with a strategy of moral as well as political persuasion as a means of changing human lifestyles. Marx posed the question differently by centering on the creation of social surplus so that under conditions of plenty the struggle for daily survival would be taken off the human agenda and other more lofty goals put in its place. Still, with all the True Levelers' weaknesses of program and their improbabilities of success in the 1640's militants today still doff our hats to Winstanley's vision.

Notwithstanding the utopian nature of the experiment discussed above the filmmaker, Kenneth Brownlow, and his associates here have painstakingly, lovingly and with fidelity to the narrative and detail that are known from the researches of the likes of Christopher Hill and George Sabine, among others, that make for an excellent snapshot of what it might have been like up on Winstanley's St. George's Hill long ago. Two things add to that end.

First, the use of black and white highlights the bleak countryside (after all although the land was "common" it was waste that the landlord did not find it expedient to cultivate) and the pinched appearances of the "comrades" (especially the deeply-farrowed expressions of Miles Harriwell as Winstanley). Secondly, the director has used to the greatest extent possible Winstanley's own pamphlets that dealt with what was going on in Surrey and what his political purposes were (expressed as almost always in those days in religious terms- but taking land in common for use rather than profit is understanding in any language. I might add that the attempts to replicate the costumes of the period, the furnishings and the music round out a job well done.

Note: Part of this DVD contains a section on the hows and whys of the making of the film, including in-depth coverage of its making and commentary by Mr. Brownlow. You are getting this film for the Winstanley reenactment but this section is interesting if you are interested in filmmaking.


THE FOLLOWING IS A SONG BASED ON THE DIGGER EXPERIENCE IN 1650

If John Milton was the literary muse of the English Revolution then the Diggers and their leader, Gerrard Winstanley, were the political muses.

The World Turned Upside Down


We will not worship the God they serve, a God of greed who feeds the rich while poor folk starve.
In 1649 to St. George's Hill
A ragged band they called the Diggers came to show the people's
will
They defied the landlords, they defied the laws
They were the dispossessed reclaiming what was theirs.
We come in peace, they said, to dig and sow
We come to work the lands in common and make the waste
ground grow

This earth divided we will make whole
So it may be a common treasury for all "**
The sin of property we do disdain
No man has any right to buy or sell the earth for private gain

By theft and murder they took the land
Now everywhere the walls spring up at their command
They make the laws to chain us well
The clergy dazzle us with heaven, or they damn us into hell

We will not worship the God they serve,
a God of greed who feeds the rich while poor folk starve
We work and eat together, we need no swords
We will not bow to masters, nor pay rent to the lords

Still we are free, though we are poor
Ye Diggers all, stand up for glory, stand up now!
From the men of property the orders came
They sent the hired men and troopers to wipe out the Diggers'
claim

Tear down their cottages, destroy their corn
They were dispersed - only the vision lingers on
Ye poor take courage, ye rich take care
This earth was made a common treasury for everyone to share
All things in common, all people one
They came in peace - the order came to cut them down

WORDS AND MUSIC BY LEON ROSSELSON, 1981

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Monday, April 27, 2009

*The Unwritten American Civil War Saga- A Literary View

Click On Title To Link To Wikipedia's Entry For Ambrose Bierce An Important Post-Civil War Writer Now Somewhat Forgotten In Literary Circles And Who Is Mentioned In The Book Reviewed Below.

BOOK REVIEW

The Unwritten War: American Writers And The Civil War, Daniel Aaron, The University Of Wisconsin Press, 1987

As we approach the 150th Anniversary of the beginning of the American Civil War one would be hard pressed to find a subject related remotely to the war and its outcome that has not been covered by one or another Civil War buff. Needless to say the various major military and civilian figures have been covered ad nauseaum. Ditto for the main military strategies and their outcomes. Hardly a skirmish in some god forsaken hollow has been left untouched. And it goes on from there. The songs of both sides, the fashions of the day, the religions of the hour, the sacrifices on the home fronts and the financial credit ratings of both sides, just to pick some random examples, have all in their turn had their day in court. Lately, as the search for new material has gotten more doggedly elusive in the face of such scarcity factors such as the army morale, soldiers’ morality and the meaning of life (or the afterlife) for both sides have come in for inspection. In short, there is no lack of information about almost any facet of the struggle. Yet, this book under review, published originally some twenty years ago, concerning the way the American literary set at the time or since then have, or have not, written the definitive sage of the conflict is well worth the read, and as a very good source for further exploration on the subject as well.

Professor Aaron has taken as his thesis the notion that although the American Civil War would seem to have been a natural subject for some literary figure to attain immortality by writing the its definitive saga. He argues, for several reasons, that this did not occur, or if did it was by someone like William Faulkner who was substantially removed from any serious direct link to the struggle. Fair enough, More than one author, and here I am thinking of Norman Mailer, has broken his literary teeth trying, unsuccessfully, to write the great American novel, Thus that the same frustration may have occurred over a titanic human struggle by those who fought in or had the conflict touch their lives even indirectly does not come as a surprise. What is interesting here is the professor’s extensive overview of his subject and of the structure of his argument.

The professor has divided his book in several sections that reflect various applications of his overall theme. I will not go into detail here on each section but just say that a litany of the names that he evokes form a veritable who’s who of the American literary scene, some very familiar (Faulkner, James, Twain) others lost in the mist of time (DeForest, Tourgee, Cable), over the 100 years after the war (he basically ends his work after looking at Faulkner’s influence). I will, taking my hints from this book, spend more time in this space later going into more depth on many of these authors. For now though it is enough to summarize the sections.

Professor Aaron starts out by looking at the literary divide first- for or against one side or the other (or an off-hand indifference, as in the case of Melville). This tends toward a not unexpected divide between hot Northern “abolitionists” and Southern “fire-eaters”. He goes on to look at Hawthorne, Whitman, and the above-mentioned Melville. He thereafter gives space, but literary short shrift to the “malingerers” those who sat out the war, one way or another. Here Henry James, Mark Twain and Henry Adams get their just dessert. No one expects a literary figure to be a fighter or brave, but it helps when the subject is war, especially a war that will define a new age (successfully or not).

Actual combatant writers come under fire as well. Most of these writers are not memorable and Ambrose Bierce is the only one I have even seen anthologized. The second hand warriors are best represented by Stephen Crane His “Red Badge Of Courage”, required reading in high school certainly had the grit of the battlefield down but I agree with the professor that such a narrow scope is hardly the stuff of the “great” Civil War novel. Southern writers come in for some attention, especially the now well-known name of Sidney Lanier. Part of Professor Aaron argument is an assumption that while the South lost the war it “won” the literary battle. Certainly that was true until recently on the history front on the subjects of the fate of the slave under slavery and Radical Reconstruction. I am not as sure that this premise applies on this question.

Finally, the professor ends with a look at the Agrarians, a revisionist political/literary trend that took to defending the “old regime” in the South. The names Allen Tate, Robert Penn Warren (of “All The King’s Men” fame) and John Crow Ransome are associated most closely with this endeavor. And of course at the tag end of that movement, although a literary force in his own right, William Faulkner who put the South, at least in fiction, back on the map. We have nothing common, as far as I can tell, politically or socially but, damn, he could write. As one can see a mere summary leads to many tempting ideas and precludes anything other than a summary to be followed up. In the meantime read this book. It is worth the time.


This is Walt Whitman's well-known homage to the fallen Civil War President Abraham Lincoln. It deserves space in any left history blog. For an excellent musical rendition of this poem (and the inspiration for placing the poem here) listen to Carolyn Hester's "Carolyn Hester At Town Hall" recording from 1965.


O Captain! My Captain!

Walt Whitman


1

O CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won;
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! heart! heart! 5
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

2

O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills; 10
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head;
It is some dream that on the deck, 15
You’ve fallen cold and dead.

3

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will;
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done;
From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won; 20
Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!
But I, with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.



Walt Whitman (1819–1892). Leaves of Grass. 1900.

When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d

1

WHEN lilacs last in the door-yard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
I mourn’d—and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

O ever-returning spring! trinity sure to me you bring;
Lilac blooming perennial, and drooping star in the west, 5
And thought of him I love.

2

O powerful, western, fallen star!
O shades of night! O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d! O the black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless! O helpless soul of me! 10
O harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul!

3

In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the white-wash’d palings,
Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love,
With every leaf a miracle......and from this bush in the door-yard, 15
With delicate-color’d blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,
A sprig, with its flower, I break.

4

In the swamp, in secluded recesses,
A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary, the thrush, 20
The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,
Sings by himself a song.

Song of the bleeding throat!
Death’s outlet song of life—(for well, dear brother, I know
If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would’st surely die.) 25

5

Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,
Amid lanes, and through old woods, (where lately the violets peep’d from the ground, spotting the gray debris;)
Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes—passing the endless grass;
Passing the yellow-spear’d wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising;
Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards; 30
Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,
Night and day journeys a coffin.

6

Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,
Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land,
With the pomp of the inloop’d flags, with the cities draped in black, 35
With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-veil’d women, standing,
With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night,
With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads,
With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,
With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn; 40
With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour’d around the coffin,
The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where amid these you journey,
With the tolling, tolling bells’ perpetual clang;
Here! coffin that slowly passes,
I give you my sprig of lilac. 45

7

(Nor for you, for one, alone;
Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring:
For fresh as the morning—thus would I carol a song for you, O sane and sacred death.

All over bouquets of roses,
O death! I cover you over with roses and early lilies; 50
But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,
Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes;
With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,
For you, and the coffins all of you, O death.)

8

O western orb, sailing the heaven! 55
Now I know what you must have meant, as a month since we walk’d,
As we walk’d up and down in the dark blue so mystic,
As we walk’d in silence the transparent shadowy night,
As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night after night,
As you droop’d from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all look’d on;) 60
As we wander’d together the solemn night, (for something, I know not what, kept me from sleep;)
As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, ere you went, how full you were of woe;
As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cold transparent night,
As I watch’d where you pass’d and was lost in the netherward black of the night,
As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where you, sad orb, 65
Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.

9

Sing on, there in the swamp!
O singer bashful and tender! I hear your notes—I hear your call;
I hear—I come presently—I understand you;
But a moment I linger—for the lustrous star has detain’d me; 70
The star, my departing comrade, holds and detains me.

10

O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?
And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?
And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love?

Sea-winds, blown from east and west, 75
Blown from the eastern sea, and blown from the western sea, till there on the prairies meeting:
These, and with these, and the breath of my chant,
I perfume the grave of him I love.

11

O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?
And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls, 80
To adorn the burial-house of him I love?

Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes,
With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,
With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air;
With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific; 85
In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there;
With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows;
And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,
And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.

12

Lo! body and soul! this land! 90
Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying tides, and the ships;
The varied and ample land—the South and the North in the light—Ohio’s shores, and flashing Missouri,
And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover’d with grass and corn.

Lo! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty;
The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes; 95
The gentle, soft-born, measureless light;
The miracle, spreading, bathing all—the fulfill’d noon;
The coming eve, delicious—the welcome night, and the stars,
Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.

13

Sing on! sing on, you gray-brown bird! 100
Sing from the swamps, the recesses—pour your chant from the bushes;
Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

Sing on, dearest brother—warble your reedy song;
Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.

O liquid, and free, and tender! 105
O wild and loose to my soul! O wondrous singer!
You only I hear......yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart;)
Yet the lilac, with mastering odor, holds me.

14

Now while I sat in the day, and look’d forth,
In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the farmer preparing his crops, 110
In the large unconscious scenery of my land, with its lakes and forests,
In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb’d winds, and the storms;)
Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the voices of children and women,
The many-moving sea-tides,—and I saw the ships how they sail’d,
And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor, 115
And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages;
And the streets, how their throbbings throbb’d, and the cities pent—lo! then and there,
Falling upon them all, and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,
Appear’d the cloud, appear’d the long black trail;
And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death. 120

15

Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,
And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,
And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,
I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not,
Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, 125
To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still.

And the singer so shy to the rest receiv’d me;
The gray-brown bird I know, receiv’d us comrades three;
And he sang what seem’d the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.

From deep secluded recesses, 130
From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still,
Came the carol of the bird.

And the charm of the carol rapt me,
As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night;
And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird. 135

DEATH CAROL.

16

Come, lovely and soothing Death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,
In the day, in the night, to all, to each,
Sooner or later, delicate Death.

Prais’d be the fathomless universe, 140
For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious;
And for love, sweet love—But praise! praise! praise!
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death.

Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet,
Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? 145

Then I chant it for thee—I glorify thee above all;
I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

Approach, strong Deliveress!
When it is so—when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead,
Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee, 150
Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death.

From me to thee glad serenades,
Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee—adornments and feastings for thee;
And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread sky, are fitting,
And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. 155

The night, in silence, under many a star;
The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know;
And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil’d Death,
And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song! 160
Over the rising and sinking waves—over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide;
Over the dense-pack’d cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways,
I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death!

17

To the tally of my soul,
Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, 165
With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night.

Loud in the pines and cedars dim,
Clear in the freshness moist, and the swamp-perfume;
And I with my comrades there in the night.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, 170
As to long panoramas of visions.

18

I saw askant the armies;
And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle-flags;
Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc’d with missiles, I saw them,
And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody; 175
And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)
And the staffs all splinter’d and broken.

I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,
And the white skeletons of young men—I saw them;
I saw the debris and debris of all the dead soldiers of the war; 180
But I saw they were not as was thought;
They themselves were fully at rest—they suffer’d not;
The living remain’d and suffer’d—the mother suffer’d,
And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suffer’d,
And the armies that remain’d suffer’d. 185

19

Passing the visions, passing the night;
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands;
Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying song of my soul,
(Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying, ever-altering song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night, 190
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,
Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,)
Passing, I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves;
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring, 195
I cease from my song for thee;
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,
O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night.

20

Yet each I keep, and all, retrievements out of the night;
The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird, 200
And the tallying chant, the echo arous’d in my soul,
With the lustrous and drooping star, with the countenance full of woe,
With the lilac tall, and its blossoms of mastering odor;
With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird,
Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I keep—for the dead I loved so well; 205
For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands...and this for his dear sake;
Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul,
There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim.

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Sunday, April 26, 2009

*The Music Of Irish Rebellion- The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Clancy Brothers Performing The Irish Revolutionary Fight Song From Wolfe Tone's 1798 Uprising "Rising Of The Moon".

CD REVIEWS

The Rising Of the Moon: Irish Songs Of Rebellion, The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem, Tradition, 1998

I have mentioned in this space more times than one is reasonably allowed that in my youth in the early 1960’s I listened to a local folk music radio program on Sunday nights. That program played, along with highlighting the then current up and coming folk revivalists like Bob Dylan and Dave Van Ronk, much American traditional music including things like the “Child Ballads”. In short, music derived from parts of the “British” homeland. What I have not previously mentioned is that directly after that program I used to listen on that same radio station to the “Irish National Hour”, a show devoted to all the old more traditional and unknown Irish ballads and songs. And, by the way, attempted to instill a respect for Irish culture, Irish heritage and the Irish struggle against the “bloody” British. (That struggle continues in one form or another today but that is a subject for another time.) Of course, today when every other ‘progressive’ radio station (or other technological format) has its obligatory “Keltic Twilight” programs we are inundated with music from the old country this is no big deal but then it was another question.

All of this is by way of reviewing the music of the Irish Diaspora. Our Irish forebears had the ‘distinct’ opportunity of following the British flag wherever it went, under one set of terms or another. And in those days the sun never set on the British Empire. So there are plenty of far flung traditions to talk about. But, first comes the old country and hence this review of The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem. Chocky Ar La (roughly translated- “Our Day Will Come”)

I have mentioned elsewhere that every devotee of the modern Irish folk tradition owes a debt of gratitude for the work of the likes of Tommy Makem and The Clancy Brothers for keeping the tradition alive and for making it popular with the young on both sides of the Atlantic. The obvious musical skills, talent and commitment to craftsmanship of this group during its history need no comment by me. Nor does their commitment to keeping alive the Irish folk tradition need further comment. Here the boyos produce a veritable what’s what of music of the Irish Rebellions from the early days through Wolfe Tone’s United Irishmen in 1798 to Easter, 1916 and beyond to the Civil War period. Let’s sort it out a little.

A word about the songs presented here. The liner notes included with the CD are helpful. The songs range in subject from “The Rising of the Moon” at the time of Wolfe Tone and the United Irishman, probably the last time that a united, independent, non-sectarian single Irish state was possible, to “Foggy Dew “which outlines the Easter struggle to “Kevin Barry' and `Sean Treacy' just before the partition in 1921, creating the mess that still confronts us politically today. That said, as these lines are being written we are approaching the 93rd Anniversary of the Easter Uprising of 1916. The vision that James Connolly and others of a Social Republic proclaimed at the General Post Office still waits. In short, there is still work to be done, North and South, united or as independent states. Listen to these songs to understand where we have come from and why we still need to fight.

Here are some songs of the Irish Rebellions

By the Rising of the Moon

words by J.K. Casey, music Turlough O'Carolan


And come tell me Sean O'Farrell tell me why you hurry so
Husha buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow
I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

The Croppy Boy

It was early, early in the spring
The birds did whistle and sweetly sing
Changing their notes from tree to tree
And the song they sang was Old Ireland free.
It was early early in the night,
The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright
The yeoman cavalry was my downfall
And I was taken by Lord Cornwall.

'Twas in the guard-house where I was laid,
And in a parlour where I was tried
My sentence passed and my courage low
When to Dungannon I was forced to go.

As I was passing my father's door
My brother William stood at the door
My aged father stood at the door
And my tender mother her hair she tore.

As I was going up Wexford Street
My own first cousin I chanced to meet;
My own first cousin did me betray
And for one bare guinea swore my life away.

As I was walking up Wexford Hill
Who could blame me to cry my fill?
I looked behind, and I looked before
But my aged mother I shall see no more.

And as I mounted the platform high
My aged father was standing by;
My aged father did me deny
And the name he gave me was the Croppy Boy.

It was in Dungannon this young man died
And in Dungannon his body lies.
And you good people that do pass by
Oh shed a tear for the Croppy Boy.

"The Foggy Dew"

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the shore of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew

But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I'd kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew.

"Kevin Barry"

In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree,
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.

But a lad of eighteen summers,
Still there's no one can deny,
As he walked to death that morning,
He proudly held his head on high.


2. Just before he faced the hangman,
In his dreary prison cell,
The Black and Tans tortured Barry,
Just because he wouldn't tell.

The names of his brave comrades,
And other things they wished to know.
"Turn informer and we'll free you"
Kevin Barry answered, "no".


3. "Shoot me like a soldier.
Do not hang me like a dog,
For I fought to free old Ireland
On that still September morn.

"All around the little bakery
Where we fought them hand to hand,
Shoot me like a brave soldier,
For I fought for Ireland."


4. "Kevin Barry, do not leave us,
On the scaffold you must die!"
Cried his broken-hearted mother
As she bade her son good-bye.

Kevin turned to her in silence
Saying, "Mother, do not weep,
For it's all for dear old Ireland
And it's all for freedom's sake."


5. Calmly standing to attention
While he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother
Whose grief no one can tell.

For the cause he proudly cherished
This sad parting had to be
Then to death walked softly smiling
That old Ireland might be free.


6. Another martyr for old Ireland;
Another murder for the crown,
Whose brutal laws to crush the Irish,
Could not keep their spirit down.

Lads like Barry are no cowards.
From the foe they will not fly.
Lads like Barry will free Ireland,
For her sake they'll live and die.

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* In Honor Of The Irish Cultural Gradient- The Clancy Brothers And Tommy Makem

Click On Title To Link To YouTube's Film Clip Of The Clancy Brothers And Tommy Makem Performing "Brennan On The Moor".

CD Review

Celtic Classic Treasures, The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem and Friends, Legacy International

If the CD “Rising Of The Moon” above was filled with fight songs of the Irish national liberation struggle in the classic period up in the 1920’s then this CD reflects the folk traditions of the rest of Irish life under the occupation. Moreover, there is a nice smattering of reels, jigs and ballads that are more familiar to most people when they think about Irish culture. And the boyos have brought in other voices and instruments to round out this work. Outstanding here are “Whiskey You’re The Devil” a perennial favorite concerning a subject near and dear to many Irish. “The Lowland Of Holland’ deals with the hard fact that many Irish, in order to get under from under the farm, enlisted in the British Army. A few children’s songs are thrown in which are always interesting as an example of how universal the concerns of childhood are. These are the songs that our grandmothers sang to us low and sweet. To round things out there are several tracks in Gaelic like the standard “Roisin Dubh”, “Amhran Dochais” and “An Bhruinnlin Bheasach”.


Here are some songs of the Irish Rebellions

By the Rising of the Moon

words by J.K. Casey, music Turlough O'Carolan


And come tell me Sean O'Farrell tell me why you hurry so
Husha buachaill hush and listen and his cheeks were all a glow
I bare orders from the captain get you ready quick and soon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
For the pikes must be together by the rising of the moon

And come tell me Sean O'Farrell where the gath'rin is to be
At the old spot by the river quite well known to you and me
One more word for signal token whistle out the marchin' tune
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
With your pike upon your shoulder by the rising of the moon

Out from many a mud wall cabin eyes were watching through the night
Many a manly heart was beating for the blessed warning light
Murmurs rang along the valleys to the banshees lonely croon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

By the rising of the moon, by the rising of the moon
And a thousand pikes were flashing by the rising of the moon

All along that singing river that black mass of men was seen
High above their shining weapons flew their own beloved green
Death to every foe and traitor! Whistle out the marching tune
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

'Tis the rising of the moon, 'tis the rising of the moon
And hurrah, me boys, for freedom, 'tis the rising of the moon

The Croppy Boy

It was early, early in the spring
The birds did whistle and sweetly sing
Changing their notes from tree to tree
And the song they sang was Old Ireland free.
It was early early in the night,
The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright
The yeoman cavalry was my downfall
And I was taken by Lord Cornwall.

'Twas in the guard-house where I was laid,
And in a parlour where I was tried
My sentence passed and my courage low
When to Dungannon I was forced to go.

As I was passing my father's door
My brother William stood at the door
My aged father stood at the door
And my tender mother her hair she tore.

As I was going up Wexford Street
My own first cousin I chanced to meet;
My own first cousin did me betray
And for one bare guinea swore my life away.

As I was walking up Wexford Hill
Who could blame me to cry my fill?
I looked behind, and I looked before
But my aged mother I shall see no more.

And as I mounted the platform high
My aged father was standing by;
My aged father did me deny
And the name he gave me was the Croppy Boy.

It was in Dungannon this young man died
And in Dungannon his body lies.
And you good people that do pass by
Oh shed a tear for the Croppy Boy.

"The Foggy Dew"

As down the glen one Easter morn to a city fair rode I
There Armed lines of marching men in squadrons passed me by
No fife did hum nor battle drum did sound it's dread tatoo
But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey swell rang out through the foggy dew

Right proudly high over Dublin Town they hung out the flag of war
'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky than at Sulva or Sud El Bar
And from the plains of Royal Meath strong men came hurrying through
While Britannia's Huns, with their long range guns sailed in through the foggy dew

'Twas Britannia bade our Wild Geese go that small nations might be free
But their lonely graves are by Sulva's waves or the shore of the Great North Sea
Oh, had they died by Pearse's side or fought with Cathal Brugha
Their names we will keep where the fenians sleep 'neath the shroud of the foggy dew

But the bravest fell, and the requiem bell rang mournfully and clear
For those who died that Eastertide in the springing of the year
And the world did gaze, in deep amaze, at those fearless men, but few
Who bore the fight that freedom's light might shine through the foggy dew

Ah, back through the glen I rode again and my heart with grief was sore
For I parted then with valiant men whom I never shall see more
But to and fro in my dreams I go and I'd kneel and pray for you,
For slavery fled, O glorious dead, When you fell in the foggy dew.

"Kevin Barry"

In Mountjoy jail one Monday morning
High upon the gallows tree,
Kevin Barry gave his young life
For the cause of liberty.

But a lad of eighteen summers,
Still there's no one can deny,
As he walked to death that morning,
He proudly held his head on high.


2. Just before he faced the hangman,
In his dreary prison cell,
The Black and Tans tortured Barry,
Just because he wouldn't tell.

The names of his brave comrades,
And other things they wished to know.
"Turn informer and we'll free you"
Kevin Barry answered, "no".


3. "Shoot me like a soldier.
Do not hang me like a dog,
For I fought to free old Ireland
On that still September morn.

"All around the little bakery
Where we fought them hand to hand,
Shoot me like a brave soldier,
For I fought for Ireland."


4. "Kevin Barry, do not leave us,
On the scaffold you must die!"
Cried his broken-hearted mother
As she bade her son good-bye.

Kevin turned to her in silence
Saying, "Mother, do not weep,
For it's all for dear old Ireland
And it's all for freedom's sake."


5. Calmly standing to attention
While he bade his last farewell
To his broken hearted mother
Whose grief no one can tell.

For the cause he proudly cherished
This sad parting had to be
Then to death walked softly smiling
That old Ireland might be free.


6. Another martyr for old Ireland;
Another murder for the crown,
Whose brutal laws to crush the Irish,
Could not keep their spirit down.

Lads like Barry are no cowards.
From the foe they will not fly.
Lads like Barry will free Ireland,
For her sake they'll live and die.

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