Oh! Isn’t it a pity
That such a pretty girl as I
Should be sent to the factory
To pine away and die?
Oh! I cannot be a slave;
I will not be a slave,
For I’m so fond of liberty
That I cannot be a slave.
That such a pretty girl as I
Should be sent to the factory
To pine away and die?
Oh! I cannot be a slave;
I will not be a slave,
For I’m so fond of liberty
That I cannot be a slave.
envoyé par Bernart Bartleby - 23/4/2015 - 10:10
Langue: anglais
La canzone femminista sulla cui melodia le Lowell Mill Girls costruirono il loro inno di sciopero.
In molte raccolte della prima metà dell’800, come per esempio “The American Minstrel: A Choice Collection of the Most Popular Songs, Glees, Duets, Choruses, & C.”, a cura di J.A. James, Cincinnati, 1837. La data di composizione dovrebbe essere comunque precedente, primissimi anni dell’800.
In molte raccolte della prima metà dell’800, come per esempio “The American Minstrel: A Choice Collection of the Most Popular Songs, Glees, Duets, Choruses, & C.”, a cura di J.A. James, Cincinnati, 1837. La data di composizione dovrebbe essere comunque precedente, primissimi anni dell’800.
I WON'T BE A NUN
Now is it not a pity that such a pretty girl as I
Should be couped up in a Nunnery to pine away and die
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
I am sure I cannot tell now, what mischief I have done
But my Mother often tells me that I must be a Nun
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
I could not bear confinement no, it would not do for me
For I like to go a-shopping and to see what I can see
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
I love to hear men flattering, love fashionable clothes
I love music and dancing and chatting with the beaus
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
So Mother don't be angry now but let your daughter be
For the Nuns would not like to have a novice wild as me
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
Now is it not a pity that such a pretty girl as I
Should be couped up in a Nunnery to pine away and die
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
I am sure I cannot tell now, what mischief I have done
But my Mother often tells me that I must be a Nun
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
I could not bear confinement no, it would not do for me
For I like to go a-shopping and to see what I can see
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
I love to hear men flattering, love fashionable clothes
I love music and dancing and chatting with the beaus
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
So Mother don't be angry now but let your daughter be
For the Nuns would not like to have a novice wild as me
But I won't be a Nun, No I won't be a Nun
I am so fond of pleasures that I cannot be a Nun.
envoyé par Bernart Bartleby - 27/4/2015 - 10:46
Una canzone di David Rovics dedicata alla Lowell Mill Girls.
Testo trovato su Genius
Testo trovato su Genius
THE LOWELL FACTORY GIRL
No more shall I work in the factory
Greasy up my clothes
No more shall I work in the factory
Splinters in my toes
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I hear the bosses say
"Boys, you better dauf"
No more shall I hear those bosses say
"Spinners, you better clean off"
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I hear the drummer wheels
Rolling over my head
When factories are hard at work
I'll be in my bed
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I wear the old black dress
Greasy all around
No more shall I wear the old black bonnet
With holes all in the crown
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I see the super come
All dressed up so proud
For I know I'll marry a country boy
When the year is out
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I work in the factory
Greasy up my clothes
No more shall I work in the factory
Splinters in my toes
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I hear the bosses say
"Boys, you better dauf"
No more shall I hear those bosses say
"Spinners, you better clean off"
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I hear the drummer wheels
Rolling over my head
When factories are hard at work
I'll be in my bed
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I wear the old black dress
Greasy all around
No more shall I wear the old black bonnet
With holes all in the crown
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
No more shall I see the super come
All dressed up so proud
For I know I'll marry a country boy
When the year is out
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
Pity me, my darling
Pity me, I say
Pity me, my darling
And carry me away
B.B. - 7/5/2018 - 09:51
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Canzone delle “Lowell Mill Girls”, le operaie tessili di Lowell, Massachusetts, protagoniste di diversi scioperi tra il 1834 ed il 1836 e tra le prime ad organizzarsi in una sorta di proto-sindacato, la Factory Girls Association.
Sull’aria di una famosa canzone del Music Hall intitolata “I Won't Be A Nun”
Nel 1834 i padroni imposero un taglio salariale del 15%. Le giovani operaie – tra i 13 e i 30 anni – entrarono in sciopero ma erano poco organizzate e fallirono. Nel 1836 la situazione si ripropose ma questa volta i padroni trovarono le operaie preparate: furono in 1.500 a fermarsi ed ebbero un forte sostegno da parte della comunità.
Lo sciopero fu un successo ma le conquiste furono comunque travolte dal “Panic of 1837”, una delle ricorrenti crisi finanziarie che i potenti innescano periodicamente per colpire le masse, spartirsi nazioni e capitali e riequilibrare le sfere di influenza.