"Our dead are never dead to us until we have forgotten them.."
"Death leaves a memory no one can heal, loves leaves a memory no one can steal.."
R.I.P. Paul William Walker (1973-2013)
Altan -The Jug of Punch
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
I heard a thrush singing on yon bush
And the song she sang was the jug of punch
What more pleasure can a boy desire
Than sitting down, oh beside the fire
What more pleasure can a boy desire
Than sitting down, oh beside the fire
And in his hand, oh a jug of punch
And on his knee a tidy wench
When I am dead and left in my mold
At my head and feet place a flowing bowl
When I am dead and left in my mold
At my head and feet place a flowing bowl
And every young man that passes by
He can have a drink and remember I
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
I heard a thrush singing on yon bush
And the song she sang was the jug of punch
"Noooooo, no es amor lo que tu sientes se llama obsesión..."
"Hice cita pal psiquiatra
a ver si me ayudaba..."
"tu amor sera mi alivio y hasta que no seas mia no vivire en paz..."
"el insomnio es mi castigo..."
"una ilusion en tu pensamiento, que te hace hacer cosas..."
"pero tendre paciencia porque el no es competencia..."
Aventura-Obsesion
Son la cinco de la mañana y yo no he dormido nada, pensando en tu belleza, loco voy a parar. el insomnio es mi castigo, tu amor sera mi alivio y hasta que no seas mia no vivire en paz. Hoy conoci tu novio, pequeño y no hermoso se que el no te quiere, por su forma de hablar. Ademas tu no lo amas, porque el no da la talla, no sabe complacerte como lo haria yo, pero tendre paciencia porque el no es competencia, por eso no hay motivos, para yo respetarlo.
Coro:(Yudy Santos) No, no es amor, lo que tu sientes, se llama obsesion, una ilusion en tu pensamiento, que te hace hacer cosas, asi funciona el corazon. Antony: Bien vestido y en mi lexus, pase por tu colegio, me informan que te fuistes, como loco te fui a alcanzar, te busque y no te encontraba, y eso me procupaba, para calmar mi ansia, yo te queria llamar, pero no tenia tu numero, y tu amiga ya me lo nego, esa bonita mucho me ayudo, y eso me trajo la solucion, yo se que le gustaba, y que le di una mirada, con un par de palabritas tu numero me dio, del celular llamaba, y tu no contestabas, luego te puse un beeper y no habia conexion, mi unica esperanza, es que oigas mis palabras (yudy) no puedo, tengo novio
(antony) no me enganches por favor Yudy: coro
Hice cita pal psiquiatra a ver si me ayudaba, pues ya no tengo amigos por solo hablar de ti, lo que quiero es hablarte, para intentar besarte ser pasion de una obsesion que no pueda morir. Y quizas pienses que soy tonto, bribon, y tambien loco, pero es que en el amor soy muy original, me enamoro como otros, conquisto a mi modo, amar es mi talento, te voy a enamorar, disculpa si te ofendo pero es que soy honesto con lujo de detalles escucha mi version pura crema e chocolate, huntarte y devorarte, llevarte a otro mundo en tu mente corazon. Ven vive aventura hagamos mil locuras voy a hacerte caricias que no se han inventado.
"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal..."
We're with YOU
Altan - The Jug of Punch
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
I heard a thrush singing on yon bush
And the song she sang was the jug of punch
What more pleasure can a boy desire
Than sitting down, oh beside the fire
What more pleasure can a boy desire
Than sitting down, oh beside the fire
And in his hand, oh a jug of punch
And on his knee a tidy wench
When I am dead and left in my mold
At my head and feet place a flowing bowl
When I am dead and left in my mold
At my head and feet place a flowing bowl
And every young man that passes by
He can have a drink and remember I
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
Being on the twenty-third of June
Oh as I sat weaving all at my loom
I heard a thrush singing on yon bush
And the song she sang was the jug of punch
SÉAMUS ENNIS TRIBUTE CONCERT on Sat, 22nd of June 2013, in Naul, Dublin, Ireland.
Celebrating the sustaining influence of Séamus Ennis' work on
generations of Irish musicians. Featuring Conor McKeon, Dermot
McLaughlin & Paddy Glackin.
Conor McKeon ranks as one of the most exciting and gifted young uilleann
pipers to emerge over the last ten years. A native of Dublin, Conor was
raised in a most musical household, his mother Mary Corcoran is a noted
fiddle and piano player and his father, Gay, is a highly regarded
uilleann piper. Conor is a former recipient of the 'TG4 Young Musician
of the Year' award and his style and repertoire has been influenced to a
large degree by the playing of Séamus Ennis. Conor studied pipes under
Robbie Hannan of Belfast and Sean Og Potts of Dublin and both these
pipers acknowledge Ennis as someone who helped shape their own musical
expression. Conor along with his brother Sean and his father Gay
features on a CD release entitled 'The Dusty Miller'. He plays a Cillian
Ó Briain set of pipes.
Fiddle player Paddy Glackin was brought up in Dublin but his father's
people came from near Doochary in west Donegal and the music of that
county has been formative in shaping his own musical development.
Although widely associated with the rich fiddle tradition of Donegal,
Paddy Glackin also draws inspiration from such giants of Irish music as
Tommie Potts of Dublin, Padraig O'Keefe of Kerry and John Kelly of west
Clare among others. Another significant influence on Paddy's music was
Séamus Ennis and, as a former Traditional Music officer with the Arts
Council of Ireland, Paddy was instrumental in creating an educational
project in county Dublin that saw Séamus Ennis visit schools to talk
about and to play his music. A founding member of the enormously
influential Bothy Band, Paddy has recorded extensively with, among
others, Paddy Keenan, Donal Lunny, Jolyon Jackson, Robbie Hannan and
Micheal Ó Domhnaill.
Dermot McLaughlin is a native of Derry City and has lived in Dublin
since the late 1970s when he came to study in Trinity College. Although
primarily regarded as a fiddle player, Dermot is also an accomplished
piper. Like his friend, Paddy Glackin, he has been greatly influenced by
the music of John Doherty, the traveling tinsmith from Donegal. Other
Donegal musicians that have helped shape Dermot's approach to music are
Francie and Mickey Byrne of Kilcar, Con Cassidy of Teelin, James Byrne
of Glencolmcille and Vincent Campbell of Glenties.
Ine:LA UNICAque siguio, sigue y seguira los pasos de Ovséi-Gershen Aarónovich Apfelbaum (Grigori Zinóviev)
Gracias Ine!!
Ine:
Tenes la misma nariz, cara, la misma personalidad y el mismo espiritu que Apfelbaum
Igualita a mi :)
Apfelbaum
"saberme superior a tanta frivolidad..."
Ismael Serrano - Ya quisiera yo
Ya quisiera yo ser librepensador,
no oír el rugir de tripas de tantos, ni su llanto, ni su dolor,
establecerme correcto, filósofo, neutral, independiente,
manejarme bien con toda la gente.
Ya me gustaría a mí alinearme con los no violentos,
regalar flores, descalzo, arrancadas de algún tiesto,
sin tener que poner la otra mejilla para nadie,
a no ser amenazado por ningún indeseable.
El caso es que me afectan las cotidianas tristezas,
la de los supermercados, la del metro y las aceras,
también las que me quedan lejos,
las de los secos desiertos, las de las verdes selvas.
El caso es que me parecen buena gente,
algunos luchadores del ocaso,
que se parten el pecho por ser escuchados,
que morirán en alguna esquina, tiroteados.
Quisiera ser más listo, pasar de largo,
saberme libre de culpa y limpio de pecado,
y ser alma caritativa, Maria Goretti o santa,
sufrir sólo un poquito, sólo lo que Dios manda.
No entender de política, ni de sus actualidades,
convencerme que es red de araña, nido de alacranes,
y mutilar mi alma y mi esencia de animal social,
saberme superior a tanta frivolidad.
El caso es que me afectan demasiado,
la tristeza de los suburbios, el drama urbano,
saber que seremos caníbales dentro de poco
y que no habrá carne suficiente para todos.
El caso es que me afecta, quizá más de lo normal,
tener tanto miedo al cruzar mi portal,
ver que arde mi ciudad o que sangra el asfalto.
Quizá debería ver menos el telediario.
Quisiera ser más listo, adoptar bien la pose,
librarme de etiquetas, hasta la de hombre,
y entender que sólo yo me entiendo
y que no me entiende nadie,
ser un buen ciudadano formal y respetable.
Omitir de mis canciones
palabras como: compañero, obrero,
justicia, guerrilla, paz, hambre o miedo,
y hablar del amor, de cosas bonitas, de mis recuerdos,
contar alguna anécdota graciosa
de cuando era quinceañero.
El caso es que me afectan las cotidianas tristezas,
la de los supermercados, la del metro y las aceras,
también las que me quedan lejos,
las de los secos desiertos, las de las verdes selvas.
El caso es que me parecen buena gente,
algunos luchadores del ocaso,
que se parten el pecho por ser escuchados,
que morirán en alguna esquina, tiroteados.
