Raise me in your arms my brother.
Let me see the glorious sun.
I am weary, faint and dying,
How is the battle, loat or won;
I remember you my brother,
Sent to me that fatal dart,
Brother fighting against brother,
’Tis well ’tis well that thus we part,
Brother fighting against brother,
’Tis well, ’tis well that thus we part.
Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perish’d by his brother.
Not a word of that he said.
Father’s fighting for the Union,
And you may meet him on the field.
Could you raise your arm to smite him,
Oh, would you bid that Father yield;
He who loved us in our childhood,
Taught the infant pray’rs we said,
Brother take from me a warning,
I’ll soon be number’d with the dead,
Brother take from me a warning,
I’ll soon be number’d with the dead.
Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perish’d by his brother.
Not a word of that he said.
Do you ever think of mother,
In our home within the glen
Watching, praying for her children,
Oh, would you see that home again;
Brother I am surely dying,
Keep the secret for ’tis one,
That would kill our angel mother,
If she but knew what you have done,
That would kill our angel mother,
If she but knew what you have done.
Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perish’d by his brother.
Not a word of that he said.
Let me see the glorious sun.
I am weary, faint and dying,
How is the battle, loat or won;
I remember you my brother,
Sent to me that fatal dart,
Brother fighting against brother,
’Tis well ’tis well that thus we part,
Brother fighting against brother,
’Tis well, ’tis well that thus we part.
Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perish’d by his brother.
Not a word of that he said.
Father’s fighting for the Union,
And you may meet him on the field.
Could you raise your arm to smite him,
Oh, would you bid that Father yield;
He who loved us in our childhood,
Taught the infant pray’rs we said,
Brother take from me a warning,
I’ll soon be number’d with the dead,
Brother take from me a warning,
I’ll soon be number’d with the dead.
Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perish’d by his brother.
Not a word of that he said.
Do you ever think of mother,
In our home within the glen
Watching, praying for her children,
Oh, would you see that home again;
Brother I am surely dying,
Keep the secret for ’tis one,
That would kill our angel mother,
If she but knew what you have done,
That would kill our angel mother,
If she but knew what you have done.
Write a letter to my mother,
Send it when her boy is dead;
That he perish’d by his brother.
Not a word of that he said.
envoyé par Bernart Bartleby - 26/8/2015 - 09:41
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Parole di E. Bowers
Musica di P.B. Isaacs
Canzone risalente alla guerra civile americana, cavallo di battaglia di Charlie Poole (1892-1931), operaio tessile, musicista country virtuoso del banjo e leader del gruppo “North Carolina Ramblers”.
Una canzone che racconta di due fratelli rincontratisi dopo molto tempo. L’occasione però è tragica, la prima o la seconda battaglia di Bull Run, combattute tra Stati Uniti e Stati confederati ribelli nel 1861 e 1862. Il soldato confederato ha ferito mortalmente il fratello che combatteva per l’Unione ed è caduto prigioniero. Il moribondo cerca di calmare la disperazione del fratello ricordandogli della famiglia e dell’infanzia e poi gli chiede di comunicare alla madre la sua morte, ma senza rivelarle la tragica circostanza…
Un aspetto forse ancora assente dalle CCG (ne trovo un vago accenno in Kill the King sulla guerra civile inglese nel 600), quello della guerra civile che spacca le famiglie e che mette i fratelli contro i fratelli. Un dramma che è stato vissuto da molti in conflitti anche recenti, come quelli in Irlanda del Nord o nei Balcani, e che è certamente in atto nelle guerre civili che ancora oggi devastano le vite di tanti, come quella in Siria…
“An Officer captured at the Battle of Bull Run relates the following incident.