joook (joook) wrote,
joook
joook

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Peter Hammill = 65!



Человек, который серьёзно изменил моё отношение к музыке и её восприятие. Думаю, у всех есть подобные примеры, когда сначала "хм... что это за фигня?", потом "а вот тут интересно!", и в итоге - "а что ещё у них есть? дайте переписать!".


Вот первая песенка, которую я услышал в 1990/91 году:


//А ещё его тексты временами внушали СПГС. Немаленький для музыканта словарный запас плюс игры с английскими пословицами и поговорками...

Sometimes you feel so far away,
distanced from all the action of the play,
unable to grasp significance,
marking the plot with diffident dismay,
stranded at centre stage,
scrabbling through your diary for a lost page:
unsure of the dream.

Kicking a stone across the beach,
aching for love and comfort out of reach:
the way ahead seems to be so bleak,
there's no-one with any friendship left to speak
or show you any relation
between your present and future situations...
lost to the dream.

Away, away, away--look to the future day
for hope, some form of peace
within the growing storm.

I climb through the evening,
alive and believing
in time we shall all know our goals
and so, finally, home;
for now, all is secret -
though how could I speak it,
allow me the dream in my eye!
I've been waiting for such a long time
just to see it at last, all of the hands tightly clasped,
all of us pilgrims.

Walking in silence down the coast,
merely to journey - here hope is the most,
merely to know there is an end;
all of us - lovers, brothers, sisters, friends
hand in hand.
Shining footprints on the wet sand
lead to the dream.

The time has come, the tide has almost run
and drained the deep: I rise from lifelong sleep.

It seems such a long time
I've dreamed but now, awake,
I can see we are pilgrims and so
must walk this road,
unknown in our purpose,
alone, but not worthless,
and home ever calling us on.
We've been waiting here for so long,
all of our hands joined in hope,
holding the weight on the rope
all of us pilgrims.

Нуичтобдваразаневставать...
Песенка, на которую меня можно ловить живьём, как того слона из колобков ))



Или то же, живьём и с оркестром


Along the track the wires are humming
In bursts of code like far-off drums....
Fathering the message:
Further up the line
Someone's shouting
Down the passage of time.

The corridor restrains the window,
No view without the eye within....
Bold upon the threshold
But holding on the line
We're shouting
Down the passage of time.

Relatives speak on the phone, on the train,
Talking before they have thought to explain;
Voices pitched wildly on tracks in the night
Can't pick the pace up -
Oh let there be light!

How light becomes the soul!

You know yourself the centre of attention,
You see yourself the locus of event...
I'm sorry if it's painful quarrying the line,
Stage centre, shouting down the passage of time.

The corridor retains it's shadows,
It's secrets compartmentalised....
Damping down on ambience,
Damp the teeth and grind,
Shouting down the passage of time!

What's there to see or make clear?
What's there to know
When the voice is right here?
What's there to promise or vow?
What's to believe when the time is right now?

Relatives spoke on the phone, on the train,
Talking before they had sought to retain;
Voices projected, spears in mid-flight,
Frozen forever...
Oh let there be light!

//СПГС - я до сих пор не понимаю, о чём это. Слова понятны, предложения тоже, смысл увы.

И бонус. Я это ещё никому не показывал. 1995 год.



Tags: music
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