Bokelskere.no

Kom over denne sangen da jeg googlet etter sanger som har påvirket historien. Kom på denne tråden og jeg synes den fortjener å løftes fram lyset igjen.

I Wish I knew How it Would Feel to be Free
(Billy Taylor in 1954)

I wish  I knew how it would feel to be free
I wish I could break all the chains holding me
I wish I could say all the things that  I should say
say 'em loud, say 'em clear
for the whole round world to hear.

I wish I could share all the love that's in my heart
remove all the bars that keep us apart
I wish you could know what it means to be me
Then you'd see and agree
that every man should be free.

I wish I could give all I'm longing to give
I wish I could live like I'm longing to live
I wish that I could do all the things that  I can do
though I'm way overdue I'd be starting anew.

Well I wish  I could be like a bird in the sky
how sweet it would be if I found  I could fly
Oh I'd soar to the sun and look down at the sea
and I'd sing cos I'd know that
I'd know how it feels to be free

Sangen var veldig populær under The Civil Rights Movement og har fortsatt stor betydning.

Har hørt sangen med Nina Simone. Veldig flott.

Jeg kom plutselig til å tenke på Woody Guthrie, en mann som skrev sanger med et utrolig engasjement for de svake. En av dem er sangen DeporteePlane Wreck at los Gatos. Sangen er inspirert av en virkelig hendelse; nesten 30 mexicanske immigranter som kom til California for å jobbe som landarbeidere, skulle deporteres tilbake til Mexico. Men flyet styrtet. Alle ble drept, men identiteten til immigrantene ble aldri frigitt, kun navnene på piloten og sikkerhetsvaktene. Immigrantene fikk ikke engang en skikkelig begravelse, men ble plassert i en massegrav. Det er noen tiår siden Guthrie skrev sangen, men den dag i dag er det ikke bare lett for mexicanere å emmigrere til USA, så på mange måter er den fremdeles relevant.

Teksten er her: Deportee (Plane Wreck at Los Gatos) Tekst: Woody Guthrie, Melodi: Martin Hoffman

The crops are all in and the peaches are rott'ning, The oranges piled in their creosote dumps; They're flying 'em back to the Mexican border To pay all their money to wade back again

Goodbye to my Juan, goodbye, Rosalita, Adios mis amigos, Jesus y Maria; You won't have your names when you ride the big airplane, All they will call you will be "deportees"

My father's own father, he waded that river, They took all the money he made in his life; My brothers and sisters come working the fruit trees, And they rode the truck till they took down and died.

Some of us are illegal, and some are not wanted, Our work contract's out and we have to move on; Six hundred miles to that Mexican border, They chase us like outlaws, like rustlers, like thieves.

We died in your hills, we died in your deserts, We died in your valleys and died on your plains. We died 'neath your trees and we died in your bushes, Both sides of the river, we died just the same.

The sky plane caught fire over Los Gatos Canyon, A fireball of lightning, and shook all our hills, Who are all these friends, all scattered like dry leaves? The radio says, "They are just deportees"

Is this the best way we can grow our big orchards? Is this the best way we can grow our good fruit? To fall like dry leaves to rot on my topsoil And be called by no name except "deportees"?