Non al denaro non all'amore nè al cielo: La collina - The Hill

Dove se n'è andato Elmer che di febbre si lasciò morire Dov'è Herman bruciato in miniera. Dove sono Bert e Tom il primo ucciso in una rissa e l'altro che uscì già morto di galera. E cosa ne sarà di Charley che cadde mentre lavorava dal ponte volò e volò sulla strada. Dormono, dormono sulla collina dormono, dormono sulla collina. Dove sono Ella e Kate morte entrambe per errore una di aborto, l'altra d'amore. E Maggie uccisa in un bordello dalle carezze di un animale e Edith consumata da uno strano male. E Lizzie che inseguì la vita lontano, e dall'Inghilterra fu riportata in questo palmo di terra. Dormono, dormono sulla collina dormono, dormono sulla collina. Dove sono i generali che si fregiarono nelle battaglie con cimiteri di croci sul petto dove i figli della guerra partiti per un ideale per una truffa, per un amore finito male hanno rimandato a casa le loro spoglie nelle barriere legate strette perché sembrassero intere. Dormono, dormono sulla collina dormono, dormono sulla collina. Dov'è Jones il suonatore che fu sorpreso dai suoi novant'anni e con la vita avrebbe ancora giocato. Lui che offrì la faccia al vento la gola al vino e mai un pensiero non al denaro, non all'amore né al cielo. Lui sì sembra di sentirlo cianciare ancora delle porcate mangiate in strada nelle ore sbagliate sembra di sentirlo ancora dire al mercante di liquore "Tu che lo vendi cosa ti compri di migliore?" La collina © 1971 Fabrizio De André/Giuseppe Bentivoglio/ Nicola Piovani "The Hill" is the opening poem of The Spoon River Anthology and sets the stage for the book's 240 poems from 212 different characters that follow.

Where’d Elmer go, who left himself to die of fever? Where’s Herman, burned in a mine? Where are Bert and Tom, the first one killed in a brawl and the other who got out of jail dead already? And what of Charley, who fell while working? From a bridge he flew, flew onto the road. They’re sleeping, they’re sleeping on the hill, they’re sleeping, they’re sleeping on the hill. Where are Ella and Kate, both dead by mistake, one from an abortion, the other of love? And Maggie, killed in a brothel by the caresses of a brute? And Edith consumed by a strange illness? And Lizzie who pursued life far away, and from England was carried back to this palm of earth? They’re sleeping, they’re sleeping on the hill, they’re sleeping, they’re sleeping on the hill. Where are the generals, who decorate themselves in the battles with cemeteries of crosses on their chests? Where the sons of the war, departed for an ideal, for a fraud, for a love that ended poorly? They sent home their remains in the barriers, bound tight so they seemed of one piece. They’re sleeping, they’re sleeping on the hill, they’re sleeping, they’re sleeping on the hill. Where is Jones the player, who was surprised by his ninety years and would still have played with life? He who offered his face to the wind, his throat to the wine, and never a thought to money, to love, nor to heaven. Yes, it seems one can hear him still prattling on about the crap eaten on the streets in the wrong hours. It seems you can still hear him saying to the liquor merchant, “You who sell it, what do you buy for yourself that’s better?” English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser Non al denaro non all'amore nè al cielo, released in 1971, is a concept album inspired by poems from The Spoon River Anthology by Edgar Lee Masters, published in 1915 and translated into Italian in 1943 by Fernanda Pivano. Each poem tells the story, as an epitaph, of one of the denizens of the fictional small town Spoon River. De André read and liked the book when he was 18, and when he re-read it years later was again struck by the relevance of the stories and the lives therein. He wanted to show, with the nine poems he chose, some aspects of life related to envy, love and the failure of science. The album was an immediate success upon its release.

The Hill – Edgar Lee Masters

Where are Elmer, Herman, Bert, Tom, and Charley,
The weak of will, the strong of arm, the clown, the boozer, the fighter?
All, all, are sleeping on the hill.

One passed in a fever,
One was burned in a mine,
One was killed in a brawl,
One died in jail,
One fell from a bridge toiling for children and wife--
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where are Ella, Kate, Mag, Lizzie, and Edith,
The tender heart, the simple soul, the loud, the proud, the happy one?--
All, all, are sleeping on the hill.

One died in shameful child-birth,
One of a thwarted love,
One at the hands of a brute in a brothel,
One of a broken pride, in a search for a heart's desire,
One after life in faraway London and Paris
Was brought to her little space by Ella and Kate and Mag--
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where are Uncle Issac and Aunt Emily,
And old Towny Kincaid and Sevigne Houghton,
And Major Walker who had talked
With venerable men of the revolution?--
All, all, are sleeping on the hill.

They brought them dead sons from the war,
And daughters whom life had crushed,
And their children fatherless, crying--
All, all are sleeping, sleeping, sleeping on the hill.

Where is old Fiddler Jones
Who played with life all his ninety years,
Braving the sleet with bared breast,
Drinking, rioting, thinking neither of wife nor kin,
Nor gold, nor love, nor heaven?
Lo! he babbles of the fish-frys of long ago,
Of the horse-races long ago at Clary's Grove,
Of what Abe Lincoln said
One time at Springfield.

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