1. Les Siciliens | 2. Le `olam | 3. La peddi nova | 4. Lu focu | 5. Colapesce | 6. A li matri di li carusi | 7. Arvulu | 8. Storia di Lorenzo Panepinto | 9. La ballata del Prefetto Mori | 10. La tristizza | 11. Abballati! | 12. A la vò |

 

1.  Les Siciliens   | 

Lyrics: Etta Scollo + Music: Etta Scollo

Friends, lets carry on! And ponder on the unholy fate of these honest people, whose freedom is at an end. // Let us take as examples the most courageous from the times of the Vesper, resourceful young people // Les Siciliens, Les Siciliens // These resourceful people, whose bravery had no value, because in those days one cherished the constricted and the ignorant. // On the peak of a mountain in the castle of Sperlinga they hid the French with all their families // Les Siciliens, Les Siciliens... // From everwhere people sprung up, / a great many soldiers and officers, even the judiciary called to them in loud voices „surrender yourselves, Frenchmen, otherwise you are dead“ // „There is no one here, no one here is French“ // answered the Friends in Sperlinga, „There are only sheep and goats everywhere. Those who don`t want to believe, // should try these Cavagna*“ // „Before these cowards are dead, I will find no peace / and when it comes to pass, / I will get drunk on good wine“ / so sang the triumphant soldiers // but then the tables were turned // Les Siciliens, Les Siciliens.. // because it was the milk of the french women, // which saved the lives of their sons and husbands / the clever people of Sperlinga / made ricotta from it // and threw it down // on the soldiers at the gate // and even though no eyes saw this / and no ear heard / so the legend will have it / of the Sicilians and the French... Les Siciliens, Les Siciliens....

(*“Cavagna“ – a type of goats cheese ricotta)

 

2.  Le `olam   | 

Lyrics: Sebastiano Burgaretta + Music: Etta Scollo

Only the wind knows, how this huge, powerful and clasping light comes. / Only the wind knows, where it tumultuously bursts out, to assail me revolvingly.// Le `olam, le `olam, the wind blows! / Le `olam, le `olam, the wind blows! // But the wind doesn`t speak: it trumpets and sings without notes, without those played on the violin. / It roars and steers without rules, without those laid out on the table. // Le `olam, le `olam, the wind blows! // Le `olam, le `olam, the wind blows! I am overawed, dizzy from this wind, dazzled by this light, Le `olam, // I search for myself incessantly, I touch myself and stamp with my feet on the floor, to reassure myself, that I am here, Le `olam, Le `olam. // I feel, that I am really there. It is me: the one who runs and burns the whole day long; the one who ransacks the mud with tired and dirty feet, / the one who always talks harshly. // And yet I may not be. This comedy doesn`t end with me. When did I search for theater seats and tables in the spotlights? / Hidden I remained in order to work: not even the wind rushing by was allowed to know. / Le `olam, le `olam, the wind blows! / Le `olam, le `olam, the wind blows!

 

3.  La peddi nova   | 

The new skin

Lyrics: Ignazio Buttitta + Music: Etta Scollo

For sure it was beautiful, to write like a drunk, / one who drinks in the taverna and looks at the bottle and speaks to it and smiles at the glass, which he empties and again refills. // To write, saturated in love: The pregnancy, the labour pains, the birth, the right time to bear a son and a poem. // For sure it was beautiful, but now I am gutted and ruptured and I write / with the pain, which has me writhing like a tendril in an oven; like someone being followed by a ghost, driven by bees. // The story of these torrid years has minced me with nails, and I stand still shocked and see how all the people hang by a single thread of destiny, in a ship of straw, sinking. // I hear that my voice, which calls them from afar, has limits, limits also of love, and in the air passes away. // I would like to be a grain of sand on a sandy beach; a fish in a net with the others, who are busy trying to scupper the cage which entombs them. // I want to empty myself, skin myself, / make a new skin for me, like the black snakes.

 

4.  Lu focu   | 

The fire

Lyrics: Traditional + Music: Traditional

A passing fancy does not last long, / like the love of a liar, /love that lasts less than an hour, /the whimsical fire of a witch.// My loving eye saw you clearly, / a spring of water, crystal-clear and pure, / but when the stones / have been removed from the riverbed, / all that remains is mud in a ditch.// The death bells toll, / now that you have killed my love / the sun has darkened, / as have the sky and the sea, / and my heart is full of pain. // You have given my heart to the gravediggers, / they are digging ditches and graves. / They are looking for skulls and evil souls / to give me thorns instead of flowers.//

 

5.  Colapesce   | 

Lyrics: Giovanni Meli + Music: Etta Scollo

In Sicily the mythical name of Colapesce is popular, an amphibian who was born during the reign of Friedrichs II, essentially a well proportioned man. //*This man dived in, an amphibian under water, and never came back out, and never came back out, / He came in and it appeared an easy, a week, to stay there for a week. // He ate there, slept and persued his business, and returned to breathe air after seven days. // Through the unique natural abilities of a fish, to be with the fishes on the seabed together and to be able to explore the deep blue sea, he saw the wonders under the waves. // *this man dived in....// Once he decided to dive down, there he reappeared as that well known one – and he was, at that - Colapesce of the myths.

 

6.  A li matri di li carusi   | 

To the Mothers of the Carusi

Lyrics: Ignazio Buttitta + Music: Etta Scollo

Mothers, those of you who send your sons to the sulphur mine, I ask you, why do you give your sons eyes, when they can`t see the light of day? Why do you give them feet, when they crawl on all fours? // Don`t send them to the sulphur mine! Don`t send them to the sulphur mine!..// When you have no bread, tear a breast off, a piece of flank, to satisfy them. Wish them rather death; Sooner a dead one in the centre of the house, stretched out on a mended sheet, whom you could mourn for, and be close to.// Sooner a dead one, laid out on the miserable bed of your house with the people who come to see him and raise their hats when they come inside. Sooner a dead one in the house as buried in the sulphur mine, and you cry over the earth, scratch with your nails, eat stones, listen to the dirges without being able to free him from the stones that crush him. Make them out of sulphur, the sons! Make them out of sulphur, the sons!

 

7.  Arvulu   | 

Tree

Lyrics: Biagio Guerrera + Music: Etta Scollo

Tree, tree, who wanders, who seeks the earth. Where is the earth? Where? The earth is the blood of your mother. Where is the earth? Where? The earth is the heart of your mother, to beat roots around. // We chop them down, we chop these branches down and it cries. We chop them down, we chop these branches down and it cries. We have to chop them down, to bind wreaths. We have to chop them down, to weave crowns.

 

8.  Storia di Lorenzo Panepinto   | 

Story of Lorenzo Panepinto

Lyrics: Traditional + Music: Etta Scollo

The sixteenth of May in the early evening / the weather dark and a moonless sky // The wicked villains and traitors / did not want to light the lamps // In the town how much mourning there was / when the daughter, poor creature arrived // Father mine what shall I do now / a child left alone. // And Don Lorenzo goes to his burial / accompanied by the entire League / Accompanied by the entire League / everyone kept his tongue dumb // Everyone kept his tongue dumb / thinking again of the life of Don Lorenzo. // All Sicilians cried: / the father who defended our bread is dead. // The tenants are accomplices / and also the agents of the town hall. // The powerful didn’t like this / that Don Lorenzo opened up our eyes. // And for having helped the people / Don Lorenzo ended up killed.

 

9.  La ballata del Prefetto Mori   | 

The Ballad of Prefect Mori

Lyrics: Ignazio Buttitta + Music: Ennio Morricone

My heart cries, now, since I stopped singing of this true story , when I remember that the mafia stands at the altar and betrays this poor and honest earth, which wants bread and work, freedom, justice and schools, but not the mafia, and not the infamous law of the Lupara, and not the honour, honour and glory for the one who steals and shoots. This we scream, we, with our voice, which arouses the dead. How tired we are, and we want to change lives and fate.

 

10.  La tristizza   | 

The sadness

Lyrics: Ignazio Buttitta + Music: Etta Scollo

The sadness has built very slowly, like a spoiled dog – comes today, comes tomorrow – a house with seven floors in my heart. Never did I see someone; it’s certain that one morning I saw how the sadness (without foreman and limestone) built a house with seven floors in my heart, with a narrow and steep staircase, so that it can climb when it pleases. The house is always locked, each crack is sealed, on the walls and the doors the black insignia of death, black above, black below, like on the floor of a grotto; and without eyes and without lashes the sadness is there and guards. // Now it ascends, now it descends: From where does it come? How did this sadness come to build this house with seven floors? That wants to drag me down.

 

11.  Abballati!   | 

Dance!

Lyrics: Traditional + Music: Traditional

Dance, dance, you single and you married women and if you don`t dance well, I won´t sing for you and I won´t play for you. // Sciù, sciù, sciù, how many women there are there! // Sciù, sciù, sciù, how many men there are there! // There are four who are crushed, whom we prepare with potatoes, there are four who are gentle, whom we prepare with peas.

 

12.  A la vò   | 

Lyrics: Traditional + Music: Traditional

Bless the day and the moment / when your mother finds you next to her / after nine months of hardship / mummy made it and on your / forehead she will kiss you. // Sleep little one, alongside your angels / sleep and rest, and I will sing you la vò. / Vò v`vò / sleep my beauty, fai la vò. // If a star should fall from the sky / it wouldn’t have the splendour / of you my beloved beauty / lying in this cot of roses and flowers. // Sleep little one, alongside your angels / sleep and rest, and I will sing you la vò. / Vò v`vò / sleep my beauty, fai la vò. //