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Flower Lady

Phil Ochs
Lingua: Inglese


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filippo.
[1967]
Album "Pleasures of the Harbor"
Il testo della canzone, scritta da Ochs nel 1966, compare su Broadside Magazine n.79 del febbraio/marzo 1967
Pleasures of the Harbor

Flower LadyCredo che in questa bella e difficile canzone Ochs volesse descrivere la tristezza, il senso di prostrazione, la stanchezza, l'incomunicabilità che percorrevano la società americana durante la guerra in Vietnam...Nessuno più pensava a comprare e a regalare un fiore...
In particolare - sempre se ho capito bene - il significato della quarta strofa potrebbe essere il seguente:

"Soldati, disillusi, tornano a casa dalla guerra
Studenti, con sarcasmo, dicono loro di non combattere più
E discutono tutta la notte
Se il nero sia nero e il bianco sia bianco
Poi ciascuno se ne va
Convinto di essere nel giusto
Ma intanto nessuno sta più comprando fiori dalla fioraia"

Millionaires and paupers walk the hungry streets
Rich and poor companions of the restless beat
Strangers in a foreign land
Strike a match with trembling hand
Learn too much to ever understand
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Lover's quarrel, snarl away their happiness
Kissed crumble in a web of lonliness
It's written by the poison pen
Voices break before they bend
The door is slammed
It's over, once again
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Poets agonize, they cannot find the words
And the stone stares at the sculptor asks "are you absurd?"
The painter paints his brushes black
Through the canvas runs a crack
Portrait of the pain never answers back
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Soldiers, disillusioned, come home from the war
Sarcastic students tell them not to fight no more
And they argue through the night
Black is black and white is white
Walk away both knowing they are right
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Smoke dreams of escaping souls are drifting by
Dull the pain of living as they slowly die
Smiles change into a sneer
washed away by whiskey tears
In the quicksand of their mind they disappear
Still nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

Feeble, aged, people almost to their knees
Complain about the present using memories
Never found their pot of gold
Wrinkled hands pound weary holes
Each line screams out you're old, you're old, you're old
But nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

And the flower lady hobbles home without a sale
Tattered shreds of petals leave a fading trail
Not a pause to hold a rose
Even she no longer knows
The lamp goes out the evening now is closed
And nobody's buying flowers from the flower lady

inviata da Alessandro - 4/6/2009 - 09:15



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