sábado, 22 de octubre de 2011

Londonderry Air

Ayer, mientras nos adentrábamos en la gruta de la tarde, en el túnel del tiempo, sonaba The Londonderry Air

El origen de la melodía irlandesa es incierto. De las muchas letras que la han acompañado, la más estremecedora es la de Frederic Weatherly, que me trae a la memoria este poema de Joyce:

Rain on Rahoon falls softly, softly falling,
Where my dark lover lies.
Sad is his voice that calls me, sadly calling,
At grey moonrise.

Love, hear thou
How soft, how sad his voice is ever calling,
Ever unanswered, and the dark rain falling,
Then as now.

Dark too our hearts, O love, shall lie and cold
As his sad heart has lain
Under the moongrey nettles, the black mould
And muttering rain.


Y de los cientos de versiones que circulan por la red me gusta, por su sencillez, esta versión a cappella del trío Canig, miembros del coro Cantorion Colin Jones. La letra, para quienes quieran comparar con el texto de Joyce, bajo la música.

video
Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling
From glen to glen, and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the roses falling
'Tis you, 'tis you must go and I must bide.
But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so.

And when you come, and all the flowers are dying
If I am dead, as dead I well may be
You'll come and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me.

And I shall hear, tho' soft you tread above me
And all my grave shall warmer, sweeter be
For you will bend and tell me that you love me
And I shall sleep in peace until you come to me.