Come, all my brethren, let us take a rest,
While the moon shines so brightly and clear;
Old master is dead, and left us at last,
And has gone at the Bar to appear.
Old master has died, and lying in his grave,
And our blood will awhile cease to flow;
He will no more trample on the neck of the slave;
For he's gone where the slaveholders go.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe—
Take down the fiddle and the bow—
Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest;
He has gone where they all ought to go.
I heard the old doctor say the other night,
As he passed by the dining–room door—
'Perhaps the old man may live through the night,
But I think he will die about four.'
Young mistress sent me, at the peril of my life,
For the parson to come down and pray,
For says she, 'Your old master is now about to die,'
And says I, 'God speed him on his way.'
Hang up the shovel and the hoe—
Take down the fiddle and the bow—
Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest;
He has gone where they all ought to go
At four o'clock at morn the family was called
Around the old man's dying bed;
And oh! but I laughed to myself when I heard
That the old man's spirit had fled.
Mr. Carlton cried, and so did I pretend;
Young mistress very nearly went mad;
And the old old person's groans did the heavens fairly rend;
But I tell you I felt mighty glad.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe—
Take down the fiddle and the bow—
Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest;
He has gone where they all ought to go
We'll no more be roused by the blowing of his horn,
Our backs no longer he will score;
He no more will feed us on cotton–seeds and corn;
For his reign of oppression now is o'er.
He no more will hang our children on the tree,
To be ate by the carrion crow;
He no more will send our wives to Tennessee;
For he's gone where the slaveholders go.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe,
Take down the fiddle and the bow,
We'll dance and sing,
And make the forest ring,
With the fiddle and the old banjo.
While the moon shines so brightly and clear;
Old master is dead, and left us at last,
And has gone at the Bar to appear.
Old master has died, and lying in his grave,
And our blood will awhile cease to flow;
He will no more trample on the neck of the slave;
For he's gone where the slaveholders go.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe—
Take down the fiddle and the bow—
Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest;
He has gone where they all ought to go.
I heard the old doctor say the other night,
As he passed by the dining–room door—
'Perhaps the old man may live through the night,
But I think he will die about four.'
Young mistress sent me, at the peril of my life,
For the parson to come down and pray,
For says she, 'Your old master is now about to die,'
And says I, 'God speed him on his way.'
Hang up the shovel and the hoe—
Take down the fiddle and the bow—
Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest;
He has gone where they all ought to go
At four o'clock at morn the family was called
Around the old man's dying bed;
And oh! but I laughed to myself when I heard
That the old man's spirit had fled.
Mr. Carlton cried, and so did I pretend;
Young mistress very nearly went mad;
And the old old person's groans did the heavens fairly rend;
But I tell you I felt mighty glad.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe—
Take down the fiddle and the bow—
Old master has gone to the slaveholder's rest;
He has gone where they all ought to go
We'll no more be roused by the blowing of his horn,
Our backs no longer he will score;
He no more will feed us on cotton–seeds and corn;
For his reign of oppression now is o'er.
He no more will hang our children on the tree,
To be ate by the carrion crow;
He no more will send our wives to Tennessee;
For he's gone where the slaveholders go.
Hang up the shovel and the hoe,
Take down the fiddle and the bow,
We'll dance and sing,
And make the forest ring,
With the fiddle and the old banjo.
inviata da Pluck - 25/11/2023 - 08:01
Lingua: Italiano
Traduzione italiana trovata da Pluck
O COMPAGNI, VENITE A PRENDER RIPOSO
O compagni, venite a prender riposo
mentre la luna risplende,chiara e lucente;
il vecchio padrone è morto e alla fine ci ha lasciati:
è andato a presentarsi alla sbarra del giudizio !
Il vecchio padrone è morto e giace nella tomba,
il nostro sangue cessera’ di scorrere;
egli non calpestera’ piu’ il collo degli schiavi
perché è andato dove gli aguzzini vanno.
Alzate la pala e la zappa,
che mi importa di lavorare ?
Il vecchio è andato al riposo degli aguzzini:
è andato dove tutti loro dovrebbero andare.
O compagni, venite a prender riposo
mentre la luna risplende,chiara e lucente;
il vecchio padrone è morto e alla fine ci ha lasciati:
è andato a presentarsi alla sbarra del giudizio !
Il vecchio padrone è morto e giace nella tomba,
il nostro sangue cessera’ di scorrere;
egli non calpestera’ piu’ il collo degli schiavi
perché è andato dove gli aguzzini vanno.
Alzate la pala e la zappa,
che mi importa di lavorare ?
Il vecchio è andato al riposo degli aguzzini:
è andato dove tutti loro dovrebbero andare.
@ Pluck
Carissimo Pluck, per il momento abbiamo dato a questa cosa un "titolo provvisorio" riprendendolo dal primo verso (prassi comune in questi casi). Le domande d'obbligo sono:
a) Da dove hai ripreso questo testo? (La fonte)
b) Si tratta di una traduzione? E se sì, da che cosa?
In questo modo potremmo magari saperne di più...
(Grazie)
Carissimo Pluck, per il momento abbiamo dato a questa cosa un "titolo provvisorio" riprendendolo dal primo verso (prassi comune in questi casi). Le domande d'obbligo sono:
a) Da dove hai ripreso questo testo? (La fonte)
b) Si tratta di una traduzione? E se sì, da che cosa?
In questo modo potremmo magari saperne di più...
(Grazie)
CCG/AWS Staff - 25/11/2023 - 10:28
Come avevo accennato in una mia recente email si tratta di un testo in sola traduzione in italiano che ho trovato occasionalmente fra gli appunti di scuola media quando avevo 14 anni. Di certo lo aveva dettato la nostra prof. di lettere come altre poesie sempre in italiano di altri poeti Africo americani fra cui Langston Hughes. Era il 1958 e la lingua inglese non era ancora così diffusa in ambito scolastico. Il manoscritto non indicava alcun autore. Questo quanto è di mia conoscenza a tutt'oggi.
Pluck - 25/11/2023 - 18:41
N.B.
La lettura in originale della canzone è disponibile sull'audio presentato da :
Florida Center for Instructional Technology
Lit2Go - Clotel; or, The President's Daughter
by William Wells Brown
CHAPTER 16: DEATH OF THE PARSON
https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/161/clotel-...
a partire dal minuto 5:50
La lettura in originale della canzone è disponibile sull'audio presentato da :
Florida Center for Instructional Technology
Lit2Go - Clotel; or, The President's Daughter
by William Wells Brown
CHAPTER 16: DEATH OF THE PARSON
https://etc.usf.edu/lit2go/161/clotel-...
a partire dal minuto 5:50
Pluck - 2/12/2023 - 00:37
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E’ un canto di schiavi, quasi celebrazione di un’altra Bastiglia.
Ho recuperato in rete il testo originale da:
Singing for Equality - Hymns in the American Antislavery and Indian Rights Movements, 1640–1855 - Cheryl C. Boots p. 231 - 232
McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers - 2013
E' parte di una canzone inclusa nel romanzo "Clotel; or, The President's Daughter " di William Wells Brown ( ca.1814 - 1884 )
Uno degli schiavi piu' vecchi, Sam , canta le strofe mentre gli altri schiavi si uniscono nel ritonello
PS .
Il secondo verso del chorus è diverso dalla traduzione italiana per cui potremmo tradurre i primi 2 versi del chorus :
Hang up the shovel and the hoe –
Take down the fiddle and the bow –
Appendete la pala e la zappa –
Prendete il violino e l'archetto -
Commento da “Singing for Equality “ di Cheryl C. Boots – Ed. Mc Farland – 2013 - Pag. 232,233
This slave song establishes the agency of the slaves even in the midst of their bondage.The repeated line “For he's gone where the slaveholders go“ implies that old master has gone to some sort of perdition, a place “where they all ought to go”.
Despite Whites’ efforts to define Christianity for the slaves in terms of what behaviors will be punished after death and urging slaves to do what their masters tell them in order to go to heaven, in this song the slaves have inverted the consequences of behaviors for their masters, who must now pay the price for the way he has treated them : “ Our backs no longer he will score ….He no more will hang our children on the tree…. He no more will send our wives to Tennessee.
(Pluck)