Poetry Friday is at Author Amok.
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| Marc Chagall, The Poet Reclining, 1915. |
The Waters of March Águas de Março
by Antonio Carlos Jobim
A stick, a stone, it's the end of the road
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun
It's the rest of a stump, it's a little alone
It's a sliver of glass, it is life, it's the sun
It is night, it is death, it's a trap, it's a gun
The oak when it blooms, a fox in the brush
The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The will of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush
The will of the wind, a cliff, a fall
A scratch, a lump, it is nothing at all
It's the wind blowing free, it's the end of the slope
It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain, it's the joy in your heart
It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of the strain, it's the joy in your heart
The foot, the ground, the flesh and the bone
The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet, the range of a bow
The beat of the road, a slingshot's stone
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow
A fight, a bet, the range of a bow
The bed of the well, the end of the line
The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale
The dismay in the face, it's a loss, it's a find
A spear, a spike, a point, a nail
A drip, a drop, the end of the tale
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light
The sound of a shot in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps
The sound of a shot in the dead of the night
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump,
It's a girl, it's a rhyme, it's a cold, it's the mumps
The plan of the house, the body in bed
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the car that got stuck, it's the mud, it's the mud
A float, a drift, a flight, a wing
A hawk, a quail, the promise of spring
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
It's the promise of life, it's the joy in your heart
A snake, a stick, it is John, it is Joe
It's a thorn on your hand and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
It's a thorn on your hand and a cut in your toe
A point, a grain, a bee, a bite
A blink, a buzzard, a sudden stroke of night
A pass in the mountains, a horse and a mule
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue
In the distance the shelves rode three shadows of blue
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart
It's the promise of life in your heart, in your heart
A stick, a stone, the end of the road
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
The rest of a stump, a lonesome road
A sliver of glass, a life, the sun
A knife, a death, the end of the run
And the river bank talks of the waters of March
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart
It's the end of all strain, it's the joy in your heart
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8 comments:
Thank you Doug for providing this offering. I enjoyed the musical rendition of it as well as the poem. I often forget that summer here is another season elsewhere.
That song was voted the #1 top song of Brazil. Of course they are all upside down in that hemisphere so go figure! Thanx!
Lovely poem, Doug. We are experiencing the waters of August in Tucson. We've had a very wet monsoon season which is good for all involved. I love the idea of
the river bank "talking". = )
I love the sung version. The notes call it "surreal." True that. It flows like a river. Like Becky Shillington's poem. And this autumn river goes perfectly with Karen Edmisten's poem this week. So many connections. That's what I love about Poetry Friday!
Thank you Carol, Bridget, and Mary Lee. The funny thing is, if more people live in the Southern Hemisphere than the Northern hemisphere maybe it would be march now here.
I like, "It's a beam, it's a void, it's a hunch, it's a hope" -- Nice. Love the Chagall, too.
Mary Lee, I like the connection you made to Absolute September, too.
I have always loved this song and yet never bothered have a close look at the lyrics. What a treat- thank you for sharing! Having lived for several years in an upside down country (Australia) I can honestly say its a welcome change of perspective!
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