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Kategori: Nyheter Publicerad måndag, 16 december 2013 Skriven av Super User
SAXDALEN MEN´S CHOIR PRESENTS music from MUSICAL with LYRICS BY DAN ANDERSSON
The Saxdalen Men´s Choir from Dalarna, Sweden will present songs from the musical Holiday Eve at a Log Cabin.
written by Dan Andersson
 
 
"A Musical performed, edited and constructed by Saxdalen´s Men´s Choir." The musical is based on a short story "On my way to the deep forest" from Charcoal-Burners Tales.
(This is a very short summary of the beginning of this musical)
 
Dan Andersson rests at a barn around the outskirts of Grangärde Forest, called "Finnmarken Forest". Around him gathers characters like -Mats, the lumberjack-Lasse from Langfall, the old charcoalburner,-Nisse Udd, the vagabond and many others from the Grangärde Forest. A fire has been made, there is holiday eve, memories and jokes are told. This is the story!!)
 
Holiday Eve in the Log Cabin
Away, the weakness desire from soothy chests
turn your troubles from snownfilled nests
We have fire, we have meat we have spirit for consolation
Here is Holiday, deep in the silence forest
Sing, Bearman-Jon from the depth of your voice
about love about roses and spring 
Tone your violine Brogren and play us a valse
for gost-blue, moonlighted bushes
Under starlighted glitters away the dust of night
As a whisper over barkcovered roof 
and alarming noice from cracking Lammelom ice 
where it sounds from open crack.
Miles after miles to barns and housestest where snow flows greedly at your gate 
but here is joy at stock-fire yellow light 
that shivers in mildly nightly wind 
You are handsome, Brogren in stardust red
when you play your black violine tone 
for food and for whisky your troubles are gone 
and your forhead shines bright like a sun 
And Jon where you sit at your food-pot fine 
a baron in mouseskin dressed 
look, though years have gone and carved out your skin
in your sooth you are young like a god
And Wolfstream-Fredrik, you laughing man 
carying for tramps outdoor men 
Come sing about the sin of your youth if you can 
and a toast for your childly sole
And when stars of the morning will faint and die 
and when dustsflames are frozen to ice 
and when daylight is shivering over moor and lake 
we sleep on the smelling rise 
Then sleep do we all on pine-tree leaves deep
and dream about pale-skinned brides 
and snore and turn both manly and calm 
/Translation Stefan Selkman
 
 
 
The valley of Pajso
 
Hallo! Listen everyone! Hear we have party here tonight.
At the fire you will find characters like Bearman-Jon,
Wolfstream-Fredrik, Gunnar-the roadman and many many more.
 
Holiday Eve in the Log Cabin
Away, the weakness desire from soothy chests
turn your troubles from snownfilled nests
We have fire, we have meat we have spirit for consolation
Here is Holiday, deep in the silence forest
Sing, Bearman-Jon from the depth of your voice
about love about roses and spring
Tone your violine Brogren and play us a valse
for gost-blue, moonlighted bushes
Under starlighted glitters away the dust of night
As a whisper over barkcovered roof
and alarming noice from cracking Lammelom ice
where it sounds from open crack.
Miles after miles to barns and houses
where snow flows greedly at your gate
but here is joy at stock-fire yellow light
that shivers in mildly nightly wind
You are handsome, Brogren in stardust red
when you play your black violine tone
for food and for whisky your troubles are gone
and your forhead shines bright like a sun
And Jon where you sit at your food-pot fine
a baron in mouseskin dressed
look, though years have gone and carved out your skin
in your sooth you are young like a god
And Wolfstream-Fredrik, you laughing man
carying for tramps outdoor men
Come sing about the sin of your youth if you can
and a toast for your childly sole
And when stars of the morning will faint and die
and when dustsflames are frozen to ice
and when daylight is shivering over moor and lake
we sleep on the smelling rise
Then sleep do we all on pine-tree leaves deep
and dream about pale-skinned brides
and snore and turn both manly and calm
/Translation Stefan Selkman
 
I wait by my stock-fire...
I wait by my fire while hours passes by
while stars walking high and nights going high 
I wait for a woman from routes far away
the dearest, my dearest with eyes deep blue 
I thought of a walking snowcovered flowers 
dreamed about shivering, enticing laugh
I believed I saw the most beloved in my high 
through the forest, over moors a snowy dark night. 
Shearful I like my love in my hands to carry
through brushwood away where my cabin stands,
and raise a shouting cry towards the loved I merry
Welcome you, the expected for many lonely years 
I wait by my fire while hours passes by 
while the forest sing and skies are high 
I wait for a traveller from far far away
the dearest, my dearest with eyes shining bright.
 
And so the night darkens, the winds are cool. In the dust you see a man walking his last jouney to the poor house....
This is the beginning of a story told by Dan Andersson 
Greetings Stefan Selkman
 
The Beggar from Luossa
From Luossa came a beggar singing to the village folk.
Round the watchfire they lingered while he sang
Songs of pilgrims and of beggars, song of wondrous, wondrousthings
And of his yerning did he sing the whole night long
"There is someting beyond mountains, beyond stars and all the blossoms,
Something, too, behind my song, behind this burning heart of mine
Listen-something goes and whispers, goes and lures me and beseeches
Come to us, for earth below is not the kingdom that is thine!"
I have listened to the lapping of waves upon the shore,
I have dreamed that the wildest seas were calm and still.
And in spirit I have hurried to that contourless land,
Where the dearest we have known we´ll know no more.
To a wild, eternal longing were we born of ash-pale mothers,
And from travail, anxious, painful, rose our first, our wailing cry
Were we tossed on plain and hillside, just to tumble round and frolic,
Then we played at elk and lion, beggar, God and butterfly.
Did I sit beside her, silent, she whose heart was as my own,
Did she tend our home with soft and gentle hands,
Loudly was my own heart shouting, "What you own that is not yours!"
And my spirit drove me onsward to find peace.
What I love is lying yonder, lies concealed in dusky distance,
And my rightful way leads high to wonders there.
In this clamor I am tempted to beseech Him, "Lord, OMaster,
Take all earth away, for own I will what no one, no one has
Join me, brother, beyond mountains with their still and cooling rivers,
Where the sea is slow to slumber in its peak-encircled bed.
Somewhere far beyond the heavens lies my home, have I my mother
In a gold-besprinkled vapor, in rose-tinted mantle clad.
May the black and brackish waters cool our cheeks with fever reddended,
May we be from life far distant where the morning is awake
Never was I one with this world, and unended tribulation
whered, restless, unbelieving, suffered from my burning heart.
On a seashore sown with cockles stands a gate with roses laden,
Where in slumber, vagrants perish and all weary souls find peace.
Songs is never heard resounding, viols never echo, ringing
Under arches where forever cherups of salvation dwell.
 
 
 
Translation/Caroline Schleef
 
Wild Geese
 
When those old, old wounds are hotly tearing
And from loneliness your cheeks are wet with tear
When your life is just a stone to carry
And your song is grief, like crying cranes astray,
Go and drink a whiff of windy autumn,
Watch with me the fading pale blue sky!
Come, we´ll lean against the pasture gate-bars
While those wild, wild geese are flying, flying by.
 
Song
 
 
My love was born in the yoyful spring
On shores of the dancing, shimering waters.
I sipped wild honey in the years of my youth
In meadows damp with the dew of nightfall.
By Pajso River ny love was born,
Where salmon go leaping and garfish go hunting.
The song that you heard was a self-sung song.
A rev´ler´s jag and a fiddler´s salt
It seethed in my blood every surging spring,
Born anew to lure and to conquer,
It sings when the world is a Bacchanal,
And earth and heavens are flaming.
No more do I love, no more do I love
As in rose-budding years, as at pajso River.
Old is my love, tis now´gfrowing grey,
And finds wild honey at nightfall no longer.
 
Charcoal-Burner´s Ballad
 
Black steals the night over stone-scattered land
Slumber not, Slumber not indoors
If you slumber you´ll be wakened by a hellish flame
And the hunger bearing grief will be yours
Round rides the wind, complaining, cold,
Biting and stinging hard.
Hence over treeless tracts he goes to graze,
Ravanger of Restless Lodge.
Here by your watchfire, he is mild like a lamb,
Bites not, rives not at all.
Mumbling and whisp´ring, he coaxes about,
Lullaby-low is his song.
Oh heed not his song, your bread you must guard,
Watchman, till your watch is done
Blood-red in splendor the sun will soon
Climb those forest-gates of the dawn.
Your Wilderness need you may then forget
Slumber not, sluimber slumber not before
Then sleep you shall have, and dream yourself dead
Behind your charcoal cabin´s sooty door.
 
 
 
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