No, I have to tell a story about that. Maybe 30 years after listening to the original bossa nova music as a college student, I rediscovered it, around 10 years ago.
Then a little later, I found the Agua de Marco track, probably never having heard it. I listened to it about 100 times and finally mentioned it to my daughter, who was 18 then.
"Yes, Dad, I know that music. I spent a few months listening to the words to memorize them. When I go walking in the fields behind our house, I repeat them."
Is music passed on through genes?
I think it must be about building a house.
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The Waters of March (Los Aguas de Marco)
Antonio Carlos Jobim
from the recording with Stan Getz: The Best of Two Worlds
A stick, a stone, it’s the end of the road,
It’s the rest of a stump, it’s a litter alone.
It’s a sliver of glass, it is light, it’s the sun,
It is night, it is death, it’s a trap, it’s a gun.
The oak when it groans, the fox in the brush,
The knot in the wood, the song of a thrush.
The mood 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.
A mile, a must, a thrust, a bump.
it’s a girl it’s a rhyme it’s a goat, it’s the mumps.
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 sling shot stone.
A fish, a flash, a silvery glow,
A fight a bet, the range of the bull.
The bed of the whale, 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 tail
A truckload of bricks in the soft morning light,
The shot of a gun in the dead of the night.
The plane of the house, the body in bed,
And the car that got stuck, it’s the mud, it’s the mud.
Afloat, adrift, a flight, a wing,
A honk, a quail, it’s the promise of spring...
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the end of our strength
It's the joy in your heart
A snake
A stick
It is John
It is Joe
It's a phone
In your hand
And a cut
On your toe
A point
A crane
A bee
A bite
A blink
A buzzer
A sudden stroke of night
A pin
A needle
A sting
A pain
A snail
A riddle
A wasp
Or a stain
A pass in the mountains
A horse and a mule
In the distance the shells
Open shadows of blue
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the promise of love
In your heart in your heart
A stick
a stone
The end of the lude
The rest of the stump
A lonesome move
A sliver of glass
A life
A sun
A knife
A death
The end of a run
And the riverbank talks
Of the waters of March
It's the end of our strength
It's the joy in your heart
Author
Topic: Bossa Nova (Read 2474 times)