copenhaga, mathilde bondo, australia, banjo paterson, gallipoli, eric bogle e tom waits

em 1976, tom waits foi fazer um concerto para a televisão dinamarquesa e a violinista mathilde bondo acompanhou-o.
depois da gravação, mathilde levou tom waits pelas ruas de copenhaga onde no one speaks english and everything’s broken.
fosse como reconhecimento dos créditos como violinista, ou por agradecimento pela simpatia da visita guiada por copenhaga, tom waits fez esta canção onde fala da waltzing (caminhante) matilda:

tom traubert's blues (four sheets to the wind in copenhagen

não sendo garantido que a canção é dedicada a mathilde bondo (esta gosta de acreditar que sim), a verdade é que tom waits reconhece que foi, na sua maior parte, escrita durante esta sua estadia em copenhaga (daí também o seu subtitulo 'four sheets to the wind in copenhagen'.

há, no entanto, algumas teorias divergentes.

uma,
que a aponta como uma homenagem ao hino oficioso da australia (aqui numa versão caseira em festa de natal de imigrantes australianos no canadá), escrito pelo poeta banjo paterson em 1890.
de facto, até os jogos olimpicos de sidney começaram com o waltzing matilda e não com o pedido para deus salvar a rainha, na verdade o hino oficial da australia.

outra,
que vai buscar a uma das melhores canções jamais feitas contra a guerra e que, essa sim, bebe directamente do 'hino' australiano,
the band played 'waltzing matilda' (aqui na versão dos magníficos e esquecidos clancy brothers) é uma canção escrita pelo escocês imigrado na australia eric bogle sobre a batalha de gallipoli, onde pela primeira vez os australianos combateram sob o comando de oficiais australianos e onde morreram 50 000 homens
é duma violência impressionante (especialmente na versão dos pogues, onde shane macgowan parece cantar como um dos milhares estropiados de guerra de que a canção fala.


o refrão da canção do tom waits não remete mais para esta segunda hipótese do que para a primeira, sendo que é o refrão que faz a ligação óbvia.

quer tenha sido inspirada pelas ruas de copenhaga e dedicado á sua então companheira de passeio mathilde bondo; quer tenha sido influenciada pelo 'hino' australiano, quer tenha sido pela magnifica canção composta por eric bogle nos anos 70, este tom traubert's blues é uma das mais bonitas canções de sempre.
a ela devo o começo da minha paixão por tom waits desde um longínquo dia de 1977 quando ouvi pela primeira vez o 'small change'


e aqui vão as letras sucessivas das 3 canções aqui descritas
vão à parte para que não tenham que as ler, se não estiverem para isso.


tom traubert's blues
(four sheets to the wind in copenhagen)
tom waits, 1976

wasted and wounded, it ain’t what the moon did
i got what i paid for now
see you tomorrow, hey frank, can i borrow
a couple of bucks from you?
to go waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
you’ll go waltzing matilda with me

i’m an innocent victim of a blinded alley
and i’m tired of all these soldiers here
no one speaks english, and everything’s broken
and my stacys are soaking wet
to go waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
you’ll go waltzing matilda with me

now the dogs are barking and the taxi cabs parking
a lot they can do for me
i begged you to stab me, you tore my shirt open
and i’m down on my knees tonight
old bushmills i staggered, you buried the dagger
in your silhouette window light
to go waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
you’ll go waltzing matilda with me

now i’ve lost my st. christopher, now that i’ve kissed her
and the one-armed bandit knows
and the maverick chinamen, and the cold-blooded signs
and the girls down by the strip-tease shows go
waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
you’ll go waltzing matilda with me

no, i don’t want your sympathy, the fugitives say
that the streets aren’t for dreaming now
and manslaughter dragnets, and the ghosts that sell memories
they want a piece of the action anyhow
go waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
you’ll go waltzing matilda with me

and you can ask any sailor, and the keys from the jailer
and the old men in wheelchairs know
that matilda’s the defendant, she killed about a hundred
and she follows wherever you may go
waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
you’ll go waltzing matilda with me

and it’s a battered old suitcase to a hotel someplace
and a wound that will never heal
no prima donna, the perfume is on
an old shirt that is stained with blood and whiskey
and goodnight to the street sweepers, the night watchmen, flame keepers
and goodnight, Matilda, too

the band played 'waltzing matilda'
eric bogle '70's

now when i was a young man i carried me pack
and i lived the free life of the rover.
from the murray's green basin to the dusty outback,
well, i waltzed my matilda all over.
then in 1915, my country said, "son,
it's time you stop ramblin', there's work to be done."
so they gave me a tin hat, and they gave me a gun,
and they marched me away to the war.

and the band played "waltzing matilda,"
as the ship pulled away from the quay,
and amidst all the cheers, the flag waving, and tears,
we sailed off for gallipoli.
and how well i remember that terrible day,
how our blood stained the sand and the water;
and of how in that hell that they call suvla bay
we were butchered like lambs at the slaughter.
johnny turk, he was waitin', he primed himself well;
he showered us with bullets, and he rained us with shell --
and in five minutes flat, he'd blown us all to hell,
nearly blew us right back to australia.
but the band played "waltzing matilda,"
when we stopped to bury our slain,
well, we buried ours, and the turks buried theirs,
then we started all over again.
and those that were left, well, we tried to survive
in that mad world of blood, death and fire.
and for ten weary weeks i kept myself alive
though around me the corpses piled higher.
then a big turkish shell knocked me arse over head,
and when i woke up in me hospital bed
and saw what it had done, well, i wished i was dead --
never knew there was worse things than dying.
for i'll go no more "waltzing matilda,"
all around the green bush far and free --
to hump tents and pegs, a man needs both legs,
no more "waltzing matilda" for me.
so they gathered the crippled, the wounded, the maimed,
and they shipped us back home to australia.
the armless, the legless, the blind, the insane,
those proud wounded heroes of suvla.
and as our ship sailed into circular quay,
i looked at the place where me legs used to be,
and thanked christ there was nobody waiting for me,
to grieve, to mourn and to pity.
but the band played "waltzing matilda,"
as they carried us down the gangway,
but nobody cheered, they just stood and stared,
then they turned all their faces away.
and so now every april, i sit on my porch
and i watch the parade pass before me.
and i see my old comrades, how proudly they march,
reviving old dreams of past glory,
and the old men march slowly, all bones stiff and sore,
they're tired old heroes from a forgotten war
and the young people ask "what are they marching for?"
and i ask meself the same question.
but the band plays "waltzing matilda,"
and the old men still answer the call,
but as year follows year, more old men disappear
someday, no one will march there at all.
waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda.
who'll come a-waltzing matilda with me?
and their ghosts may be heard as they march by the billabong,
who'll come a-waltzing matilda with me?





waltzing matilda
banjo' (a.b.) paterson, c. 1890


once a jolly swagman camped by a billabong
under the shade of a coolibah tree
and he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled
you'll come a-waltzing matilda with me

waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda
you'll come a waltzing matilda with me
and he sang as he watched and waited 'til his billy boiled
you'll come a-waltzing matilda with me

down came a jumbuck to dri-ink at that billabong
up jumped the swagman and grabbed him with glee
and he sang as he stuffed that jumbuck in his tucker-bag
you'll come a-waltzing matilda with me

up rode the squatter, mounted on his thoroughbred
up jumped the troopers, one, two, three
"who's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tucker-bag?"
you'll come a-waltzing matilda with me

up jumped the swagman and sprang into the billabong
"you'll never take me alive!", said he
and his ghost may be heard as you pa-ass by the billabong
you'll come a-waltzing matilda with me