South Sligo NocturneNo never fear,
the trout's the king of leaping when the rain is near, Lough Arrow's what I'm thinking of. The corncrake speaks, the vixen in the night-time screaming, Come who seek, it's worse than I've been dreaming of. Not where the talkers go, Lough Arrow on its own is all the world enough for life to rise and fall. And when it's rising, fish will bite and flesh will ripen; when it falls, it's the end of us, the end of all. Midsummer's night, the lake alive and breathing in that northern light, Lough Arrow with the moon above. When manhood breaks, a woman's bound to be there somewhere. Man will ache; the curse that comes on reaching love. Not where the talkers go, Lough Arrow on its own is all the world enough for life to rise and fall. And when it's rising, fish will bite and flesh will ripen; when it falls, it's the end of us, the end of all. The boat so slim, two people on their knees would fill that space within, Lough Arrow in a mist of love. Do what you should, a lifetime there before you with this girl who would, the earth below and stars above. Not where the talkers go, Lough Arrow on its own is all the world enough for life to rise and fall. And when it's rising, fish will bite and flesh will ripen; when it falls, it's the end of us, the end of all. No never fear, the pike's the one for striking when the rain is near, Lough Arrow's what I'm thinking of. |
Notes: This song by Thom Moore was originally written about Drumshanbo and Lough Allen, and titled Drumshanbo On Its Own. Thom later re-wrote the song to feature Lough Arrow instead, and called it South Sligo Nocturne. I found the (very similar) new words somewhere and started singing them to the tune of Drumshanbo On Its Own, having heard Thom sing one of the versions (I can't remember which) at a live event where he was playing with Rick Epping. Thom eventually recorded the Lough Arrow version of the song under another title, The Mayfly and the Stone. This recording is on his long-awaited and warmly-welcomed album Seven Things Aloom (2013). The lyrics opposite are the version I sang on my CD, Hollow Lands and Hilly Lands (2012). |
The Bonny BroomHow blithe was I each morn to see
my lass come o’er the hill, she tripped a burn and ran to me, I met her with good will. Oh the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, the broom o’er Cowdenknowes, fain would I be in my own country herding her father’s ewes. She neither herded ewes nor lambs, the flock near us lay, she gathered in the sheep at night and cheered me all the day. Oh the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, the broom o’er Cowdenknowes, fain would I be in my own country herding her father’s ewes. Hard fate that I should banished be, go wearily and mourn that I had lost the fairest lass that ever yet was born. Oh the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, the broom o’er Cowdenknowes, fain would I be in my own country herding her father’s ewes. Farewell ye Cowdenknowes, farewell, farewell all pleasures there. To wander by her side again is all I crave or care. Oh the broom, the bonny, bonny broom, the broom o’er Cowdenknowes, fain would I be in my own country herding her father’s ewes. |
Notes: This is a version of Child Ballad 217, The Broom of Cowdenknows. Francis James Child's collection, titled The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, gives several variants of The Broom of Cowdenknows, some of which contain lines which clearly relate to parts of the song which I call The Bonny Broom. The version given here is as I sing it. This is track 6 on my CD, Hollow Lands and Hilly Lands (2012). In the song, 'ewes' is pronounced 'yows' as is common in Scotland, and rhymes with Cowdenknowes (pronounced Cow-den-nows). Broom is a shrubby plant with yellow flowers which is native to the Scottish Highlands. |
My Bonny Blue-eyed LassieHow could I live on the top of a mountain
with no money in my pocket or gold for the counting? I would let the money go, all for to gain her fancy and I would marry no-one but my bonny blue-eyed Nancy. She’s my bonny blue-eyed Nancy with an air so sweet and tender, her walk like swans on water and her waist so small and slender. Her golden hair in ringlets fair hangs over her snow-white shoulder and I’d ask her for to marry me and there’s no man could be bolder. And there’s some people say that she is very low in station, and there’s more people say that she’s the cause of my ruination, but let them all say what they will, to her I will prove constant still. Till the day that I die she’ll be my own lovely lady. And gently swim the swans o’er the deep waters of Eochaill and lightly sings the nightingale, so happy to behold her, and the winds do blow, and the moor-cocks crow, and the moon it shines so deeply, but deeper by far is my love for my young lady. And there’s some people say that she is very low in station, and there’s more people say that she’s the cause of my ruination, but let them all say what they will, to her I will prove constant still. Till the day that I die she’ll be my own lovely lady. |
Notes: I first heard this extraordinary love song being sung by John Lyons in a session in Lena's (now Shortt's) bar in Feakle, Co. Clare. Many fans of traditional singing will no doubt be familiar with John and his brother Tim Lyons, both fine singers and musicians, and both gentlemen as well. The song is also known occasionally as Top of the Mountain or My Bonny Blue-eyed Nancy. It is track 9 on my CD, Hollow Lands and Hilly Lands (2012). |
Tiny Fish For Japan
Where Patterson Creek's muddy waters run down
Past the penny arcades, by the harbour downtown, All the old fishing boats rust in the rain Like they never will leave there again. But leave there they will in the hours before dawn, Slip out in the darkness without word or song; For a few more years yet they will work while they can To catch tiny fish for Japan. No white fish or trout here, we leave them alone. The inspectors raise hell if we take any home. What kind of fisherman can't eat his catch Or call what he's taken his own? But the plant works three shifts now, there's plenty of pay. We ship seventeen tons of this garbage each day. And if we want to eat fish, then we'll open a can, And catch tiny fish for Japan. In the Norfolk Hotel over far too much beer, The old guys remember when the water ran clear. No poisons with names that we can't understand And no tiny fish for Japan. Now the days run together, each one is the same. And it's good that the smelt have no lovelier name, for it's all just a job now, we'll work while we can, To catch tiny fish for Japan. The days run together, each one is the same. And it's good that the smelt have no lovelier name, for it's all just a job now, we'll work while we can, To catch tiny fish for Japan. |
Notes:
A song by Stan Rogers. The original third line is: 'All the old turtlebacks rust in the rain'. A turtleback was an unusual type of boat used for fishing on the Great Lakes which was enclosed from the hull upward (with no outer deck). Interestingly, there was also a type of cargo vessel called a 'whaleback', also peculiar to the Great Lakes, which similarly had a hull which curved up and around, resulting in a curved top with no outer exposed deck, the whole thing looking a bit like a submarine. |
An Buachaill Caol DubhWhen I go to the market to make a purchase
and grasp the earnest money within my hand a dark slender boy still seeks and searches till he slips beside me, sedate and bland. It's not long after my senseless laughter will reach the rafter and I'm left prone, when I pay what's owing even though it's snowing, seven months without a shirt I am going, my money gone. An buachaill caol dubh is tall and slender, clever and learned, of comely mien, but he has left me, and in pain bereft me of all my fortune, sheep and kine. Were I to travel to France, no go Cuan Binn Eadair, or back across to Inis Mor, swift as a swallow, my track he would follow, until on the morrow I would find him there. And the fairy queen of Thomond met us while roaming near the grey rock, and she told the lad if he would me abandon, that she would grant him a hundred topers, to make him glad. The slim boy answered in tones of banter it was n'er his fancy to lose a friend, over hill and o'er hollow, that he would follow a soak so mellow, until the end. |
Notes: This is a poetic version of a song originally written in Irish a few hundred years ago. It seems clear that An Buachaill Caol Dubh (the dark slender boy) is a metaphor for drink/alcoholism, which haunts, follows and tempts the author, leaving him bereft of money, belongings, and contentment. It is an especially beautiful and poignant song, seeming to inhabit a world of its own, describing aspects of the Irish landscape within the story it tells and incorporating the legendary fairy queen of Thomond, who tries in vain to bargain with 'an buachaill caol dubh'. Thomond was one of the ancient kingdoms of Ireland, comprising Co. Clare and some of the surrounding counties of Limerick, Tipperary and Kerry. Cuan Binn Eadair is the Irish term for Howth Harbour, Co. Dublin. Inis Mor is one of the Aran Islands, off the Clare/Galway west coast. The song contains a few unusual or archaic words: mien = bearing or general appearance - 'of comely mien' kine = plural of cow, as an alternative to 'cows' toper = a heavy drinker or alcoholic soak = much like 'toper', a heavy drinker The 'grey rock', near which the author meets the fairy queen of Thomond, may possibly refer to the Burren in north Clare, which contains extensive and striking areas of grey limestone. This song is the final track on my Hollow Lands and Hilly Lands album. |
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