Tuesday, February 4, 2014

Volume III:
   Il testamento - The Will

Quando la morte mi chiamerà
forse qualcuno protesterà
dopo aver letto nel testamento
quel che gli lascio in eredità
non maleditemi non serve a niente
tanto all'inferno ci sarò già

ai protettori delle battone
lascio un impiego da ragioniere
perché provetti nel loro mestiere
rendano edotta la popolazione

ad ogni fine di settimana
sopra la rendita di una puttana
ad ogni fine di settimana
sopra la rendita di una puttana

voglio lasciare a Bianca Maria
che se ne frega della decenza
un attestato di benemerenza
che al matrimonio le spiani la via

con tanti auguri per chi c'è caduto
di conservarsi felice e cornuto
con tanti auguri per chi c'è caduto
di conservarsi felice e cornuto

sorella morte lasciami il tempo
di terminare il mio testamento
lasciami il tempo di salutare
di riverire di ringraziare
tutti gli artefici del girotondo
intorno al letto di un moribondo

signor becchino mi ascolti un poco
il suo lavoro a tutti non piace
non lo consideran tanto un bel gioco
coprir di terra chi riposa in pace

ed è per questo che io mi onoro
nel consegnarle la vanga d'oro
ed è per questo che io mi onoro
nel consegnarle la vanga d'oro

per quella candida vecchia contessa
che non si muove più dal mio letto
per estirparmi l'insana promessa
di riservarle i miei numeri al lotto

non vedo l'ora di andar fra i dannati
per rivelarglieli tutti sbagliati
non vedo l'ora di andar fra i dannati
per riferirglieli tutti sbagliati

quando la morte mi chiederà
di restituirle la libertà
forse una lacrima forse una sola
sulla mia tomba si spenderà
forse un sorriso forse uno solo
dal mio ricordo germoglierà

se dalla carne mia già corrosa
dove il mio cuore ha battuto il tempo
dovesse nascere un giorno una rosa
la do alla donna che mi offrì il suo pianto

per ogni palpito del suo cuore
le rendo un petalo rosso d'amore
per ogni palpito del suo cuore
le rendo un petalo rosso d'amore

a te che fosti la più contesa
la cortigiana che non si dà a tutti
ed ora all'angolo di quella chiesa
offri le immagini ai belli ed ai brutti

lascio le note di questa canzone
canto il dolore della tua illusione
a te che sei per tirare avanti
costretta a vendere Cristo e i santi

quando la morte mi chiamerà
nessuno al mondo si accorgerà
che un uomo è morto senza parlare
senza sapere la verità
che un uomo è morto senza pregare
fuggendo il peso della pietà

cari fratelli dell'altra sponda
cantammo in coro giù sulla terra
amammo in cento l'identica donna
partimmo in mille per la stessa guerra
questo ricordo non vi consoli
quando si muore si muore soli
questo ricordo non vi consoli
quando si muore si muore soli.

Il testamento © 1963 Fabrizio De André

"Il testamento" was the A-side of the fourth 45 released by Karim, in 1963. De André was no doubt familiar with similar type songs by the French singer/songwriters Georges Brassens ("Le testament," 1955) and Jacques Brel ("Le moribond," 1961), as well as with the 15th century French poet François Villon, whose poem "Le testament: Ballade des dames du temps jadis" was the inspiration for Brassens's song. While these works may have given De André the idea for the setup of the song - the last will of a dying man - the lyrics themselves are classic De André, filled with humor, making fun of the well-to-do and siding with the have-nots. (Translation note: "rendita" means income earned on capital, like interest from a savings account or bond, and the most accurate translation is "unearned income." That translation however might suggest that prostitutes don't have to work for a living. De André's intent here was more to put the (good) money that could be made by a prostitute on the same plain as the (easy) money made by the moneyed class on their capital, or to posit a social outsider like a prostitute being able to earn and save enough so as to be able to receive "unearned income," probably to the chagrin of mainstream owners of capital.)



When Death calls for me,
maybe someone will protest
after having read in the will
what inheritance I am leaving them.
Don’t curse me, it won’t do any good,
I’ll be so far into hell already.

To the pimps of the hookers
I leave an accountant's task
so that experts in their line of work
keep the populace informed

at the end of every week
about the capital gains of a whore,
at the end of every week
about the capital gains of a whore.

I wish to leave White Mary,
who doesn’t give a damn about decency,
a certificate of merit
that might pave the way to marriage,

with all good wishes to whoever fell for it
to keep themselves happy and betrayed,
with all good wishes to whoever fell for it
to keep themselves happy and betrayed.

Sister Death, leave me the time
to finalize my will,
leave me the time to say goodbye,
to pay my respects, to give thanks to
all the great masters of ring-around-the-rosie
‘round the bed of a dying man.

Mister gravedigger, listen to me a little.
Everyone dislikes your work,
they don’t consider it such a great joke
to cover with earth whoever rests in peace.

And for this reason I am proud
to award you the golden spade,
and for this reason I am proud
to award you the golden spade.

For that lily-white old countess
who moves no more from my bed,
so as to extract from me the insane promise
of reserving for her my lottery numbers,

I can’t wait to go among the damned
to reveal all the wrong ones to her,
I can’t wait to go among the damned
to reveal all the wrong ones to her.

When Death asks me
to give it back my freedom,
perhaps a tear, maybe just one,
on my tomb will be spent,
perhaps a smile, maybe just one,
from my remembrance will sprout.

If from my meat already eaten away,
where my heart beat out the time,
should one day be born a rose,
I give it to the woman who offered me her tears.

For every beat of her heart
I’ll render to her a red petal of love.
For every beat of her heart
I’ll render to her a red petal of love.

To you who were the most sought-after,
the courtesan who didn’t give it up to just anyone,
you who now, at the corner of that church,
offer likenesses to the beautiful and ugly alike,

I leave the notes of this song.
I sing the sadness of your illusion
to you who, to scrape by, are
compelled to sell Christ and the saints.

When Death calls me,
no one in the world will realize
that a man died without speaking,
without knowing the truth,
that a man died without praying,
fleeing the burden of piety.

Dear brothers of the other shore,
we sang in chorus down there on earth,
we loved in hundreds the same woman,
we departed in thousands for the same war.
This memory might not console you all -
when people die, they die alone.
This memory might not console you all -
when people die, they die alone.

English translation © 2014 Dennis Criteser



Volume III, released in 1968 just three months after the release of Tutti morimmo a stento, included four new songs along with re-recorded versions of other songs released previously as singles. The new songs weren't originals, however: two translations of Georges Brassens songs, a 13th century Italian sonnet set to music, and a traditional 14th century French song. The lack of originals and the timing of the release points to the fact that De André's label wanted to release something on the heels of the huge success of the Mina cover of "Marinella" that was released at the end of 1967. Volume III had strong sales for two years following its release.
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