ニュース

2017年11月09日

とんでもないニュースが飛び込んできた。
loccitaneフィギュアスケートの羽生結弦選手が、NHK杯公式練習中に4回転ルッツで転倒し、右足を痛めたという。
予定していた記者会見も欠席した。
10日にショートプログラム(SP)、11日にフリーが行われる予定が、出場が危ぶまれている。
NHK杯もだが、それよりなにより来年2月には平昌五輪が控えている。
心配だ。
心配と言えば、この年齢になると、体臭がとても心配。
これまでアイルランド製の"Man of Aran"というコロンを使ってきたが、残り少なくなってきたので、L’OCCITANEでこちらのコロンを買った。
ええ感じ

waits2 at 23:30コメント(0) 

2017年10月27日

2017 ドラフト指名選手
広島東洋カープ:
nakamura1.中村奨成 / 捕 / 広陵高 / 右右
2.山口翔 投 / 熊本工高 / 右右
3.ケムナ・ブラッド・誠 / 投 日本文理大 / 右右
4.永井敦士 / 外 / 二松学舎大付高 / 右右
5.遠藤淳志 / 投 / 霞ケ浦高 / 右右
6.平岡敬人 / 投 / 中部学院大 / 右右

同じく一位指名した中日と抽選、残り物には福があるで、無事、中村君を獲得
日本シリーズに出られんのじゃもん。
このくらい、ええことないとね
左投手は外国人選手を探すんじゃね。
枠、あるんかいの

waits2 at 06:49コメント(0) 

2017年10月15日

カープはこの秋のドラフトで、広陵の中村くんを指定することを決定したようだ!
nakamura中村くんは、この夏の甲子園で、大会記録の6本塁打をマークした。
出身は、地元・廿日市。
カープが地元の高校生をドラフト指名するのは、何年振り?
彼なら"まったくの実力指名"ということで、問題あるまいとの判断だろう
打撃力だけでなく、肩の強さを見込まれているようだが、坂倉がいるだけにポジションはサードコンバート?
それとも、次世代の要としてじっくり育てるのか!?
いずれにしても、楽しみだ!
本人も嬉しいだろう
しかし、ドラフトなので、運命は"くじ"が握っている。
他球団が遠慮して一位指名をやめてくれる!?とは思えんし....
どうなるんかねぇ




waits2 at 08:58コメント(0) 

2017年10月07日

2017年のノーベル平和賞は、核兵器の非合法化と廃絶を目指す国際NGOで、今年の核兵器禁止条約成立に貢献した「核兵器廃絶国際キャンペーン」(ICAN)が受賞することとなった。
授賞理由としてノーベル委員会は、「核兵器がもたらす破滅的な結果を人々に気づかせ、条約で禁止しようと草分け的な努力をしてきた」と説明している。

ICAN(核兵器廃絶国際キャンペーン)は、「核戦争防止国際医師会議」(IPPNW/1985年にノーベル平和賞受賞)のオーストラリアの運動から派生し、2007年に正式に発足。本部はスイスのジュネーブにある。日本のピースボートなど101カ国に468のパートナー団体を持つ。核兵器禁止条約を求める国際世論を高めたりするために、メディアやネットを使ったキャンペーンを展開してきた。
ICANの読み方は、「アイキャン」

waits2 at 09:11コメント(0) 

2017年10月05日

2017年のノーベル文学賞は、日系イギリス人作家のイシグロ・カズオ氏(62)が受賞することとなった。
つまりは、またしてもM氏、受賞ならず。
うーん、もうないのかなぁ。

waits2 at 23:30コメント(0) 

2017年10月03日

351BB353-1140-4EB9-8012-C1F7214D3EDBエド・シーランがインスタでこの画像をアップしていた。
Pray for Las Vegas

waits2 at 23:30コメント(0) 

2017年10月02日

米国ラスベガスで1日夜、銃乱射事件が起きた。
少なくとも50人が死亡、400人以上が負傷する米国史上最悪の銃乱射事件となった。
CNNによると、容疑者の男は地元に住むスティーブン・パドック(64)で既に自殺している。
え!?64歳!?
何を考えとるんや!
60年以上も生きて、こんな馬鹿なことをするなんて
酷すぎる。


waits2 at 23:47コメント(0) 

2017年09月10日

桐生君、遂に10秒を切ったね。
9.98
日本人初の9秒台
良かった、良かった。
昨日はもう一つ良いことがあった。
「何だ?」
又吉くんと連絡が取れました
「え?ライブ、今度の木曜じゃないのか?」
はい、打ち合わせをしなければならないことは山ほどあるのですが、最後に連絡が取れたのが先月の27日。
そう、今月になって初めて連絡が取れたのです
今月と言えば、カープ、9月になってまだ一度も負けてないらしいね。
昨日も勝って、マジック6。
だだ、問題は、14日のライブとXデーがかぶりそうで
困ったもんじゃ

waits2 at 02:00コメント(0) 

2017年09月05日

9月4日、キャサリン妃が第3子を妊娠していることを、英王室は発表した。
キャサリン、やるなぁ。
彼女は本当に堂々としている。
ウィリアム王子に対して、「王子様」なんて気持ちなんか微塵も感じない。
本当に"仕方なく結婚してやった"感じがする。
一切の媚びを感じない。
気持ちいい。


waits2 at 00:55コメント(0) 

2017年08月15日

IMG_0504英国ロンドンにある国会議事堂の大時計、通称「ビッグベン」が、大規模改修工事のため今月21日の正午を最後に、2021年までの4年間停止するという。
あらあら、それは寂しいですねぇ。
今年の4月、"Ding-Dong"という曲を書きましたが、このタイトルは、この大時計の鐘の音で、前奏等に、あのメロも使わせてもらっています。
なので、この曲を歌っている時、頭の中ではこの写真を撮った時の光景が浮かんでいることが多いのです。
人って、目を開けたまま、全然違うものを見ることが出来るんよね

waits2 at 23:55コメント(0) 

2017年07月18日

IMG_0322日野原重明先生が亡くなられた。

享年105歳。

最期まで、ずっと「生き方」を見せ続けてくださった。



waits2 at 23:51コメント(0) 

2017年07月15日

30ついさっき、テレビで見たニュース。
広島の安佐動物公園にいるクロサイの「ハナ」が今日、51サイの誕生日を迎えたという。
長寿世界記録を更新中だとか。
お祝いに訪れていた地元の園児の女の子がインタビューを受けていた。
お母さんに「着て行きなさい」と言われたという、その女の子が着ていたのは、真っ赤なカープのユニホーム。
鈴木誠也のユニホーム。
背番号51
そう、サイの年齢に合わせてのチョイスだ
広島のこんなローカルニュースをなぜ?と笑った後、検索してみると、安佐動物公園の公式ツイッターがイベントの様子をツイートしていた。
見ると、赤いユニホームを着た女の子が写っている
さっきの子だ

waits2 at 18:19コメント(0) 

2017年07月03日

IMG_0138昨日、一つ目の戦いは都議会議員選挙。
もちろん、僕も近所のコミュニティセンターへ投票に行った。
ここ最近、とんでもない政治家の話しか耳にしてないだけに、慎重に選びたいところだが、投票判断の頼りは、この公報くらいしかないからなぁ。
近所の投票所に行ったのはお昼ちょっと前。
予想より混んでいた。
新聞によると、期日前投票が前回の1.44倍だとか。
新都知事就任後、初の都議選だけに、関心が高いようだ。

投票後は歌の練習へ

IMG_0141練習の後は、カープの応援。
大瀬良がピリッとせず、厳しい展開だったが、磯村のプロ初ホームランで1点差に迫ったかと思うと、四番セイヤが逆転3ランを放った!
カープ、強い!!
そしてもう一つ、長〜い戦いが続いていた。

IMG_0142それは、藤井四段。
初めて対局中の藤井くんを観たが、というか将棋の対局中継自体、何十年振りで観たのだが、中盤までなかなか動かないので、まるで野鳥を観察しているような気分だったが、後半から"解説"と"聞き手"のやり取りが面白くなり、終盤は藤井くんの負けが濃厚だったにもかかわらず、「まだわからない」という解説が続いた。そのくらいこれまで藤井くんは苦しい局面を乗り越えてきたということだろう。
しかし、最後の最後、さすがの藤井くんも投了。
劇的な瞬間を観たような気がした。
長い戦いを見届けた後、ケーブルテレビから地上波に切り替えると、都民ファーストが圧勝しているではないか
素人集団の都民ファーストに託すしかないくらい自民党への怒りがたまっていたということだろう。
その怒りは醜聞だけでなく、共謀罪強行採決も入っとるよね?

waits2 at 00:13コメント(0) 

2017年06月28日

IMG_9982都議選に立候補している自民党候補の応援演説で、27日、稲田防衛大臣は、

「ぜひ2期目の当選、本当に大変ですから、お願いしたい。防衛省、自衛隊、防衛大臣、自民党としてもお願いしたいと思っている」

と発言した。
その後、発言の真意を「地元の皆さんに対する感謝の気持ちを伝える一環として...」と言い訳したらしいが、そもそも上記発言の「どこがどういけないのか」本人がまったく分かっていないことが一番の問題だろう。
防衛大臣がよ。
そりゃ資質が問われるわ。

waits2 at 23:00コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年06月22日

IMG_0068去年10月に史上最年少でプロ棋士となり、無敗のまま連勝し続けている藤井聡太四段が、昨日午後4時47分、澤田六段を下し、30年前の記録28連勝に並んだ。
凄いなぁ。
まだ14歳だよ。
中学生だよ
心配なのは、藤井くんの学校生活。
昨日って、平日でしょう。
学校はどうなってるの?
日本将棋連盟さん、せめて中学校を卒業するまで、何らかの配慮をしてあげてよ。

waits2 at 23:24コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年06月10日

IMG_9991昨日、このブログでぼやいた、例の怪文書扱いしていた「総理のご意向」文書について、松野博一文部科学相は、
「国民から『追加調査を行う必要がある』という声が多く寄せられている」
として追加調査する方針を表明したようだ。
日本中から
「ええ加減にせえ
という声が殺到したに違いない。
また、誰かが実名で名乗り出てしまう前に再調査を発表した方が良いだろうとの判断だろう。
ほんま、国民を馬鹿にし過ぎ!
どんな神経しとんや!
あれでなんとか逃げ切ろうとしていたことを、わしは忘れんけんの!
ちなみに、今回の功労者は、執拗に質問をして食い下がった記者たちじゃね

waits2 at 00:16コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年06月09日

IMG_9988菅官房長官の
「出どころなど、明らかでない文書は確認調査せず」
一点張り会見。
あれがまかり通る国、言うことじゃろ?
もう、国民、馬鹿にされまくり。


waits2 at 00:05コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年06月07日

ボブ・ディランがノーベル文学賞の受賞講演の音声をネットで公開したようだ。
一応、全文掲載。
なんかグッときた、最後の方の青と赤の文字のとこだけ訳してみた。



When I first received this Nobel Prize for Literature, I got to wondering exactly how my songs related to literature. I wanted to reflect on it and see where the connection was. I'm going to try to articulate that to you. And most likely it will go in a roundabout way, but I hope what I say will be worthwhile and purposeful.

If I was to go back to the dawning of it all, I guess I'd have to start with Buddy Holly. Buddy died when I was about eighteen and he was twenty-two. From the moment I first heard him, I felt akin. I felt related, like he was an older brother. I even thought I resembled him. Buddy played the music that I loved – the music I grew up on: country western, rock ‘n' roll, and rhythm and blues. Three separate strands of music that he intertwined and infused into one genre. One brand. And Buddy wrote songs – songs that had beautiful melodies and imaginative verses. And he sang great – sang in more than a few voices. He was the archetype. Everything I wasn't and wanted to be. I saw him only but once, and that was a few days before he was gone. I had to travel a hundred miles to get to see him play, and I wasn't disappointed.

He was powerful and electrifying and had a commanding presence. I was only six feet away. He was mesmerizing. I watched his face, his hands, the way he tapped his foot, his big black glasses, the eyes behind the glasses, the way he held his guitar, the way he stood, his neat suit. Everything about him. He looked older than twenty-two. Something about him seemed permanent, and he filled me with conviction. Then, out of the blue, the most uncanny thing happened. He looked me right straight dead in the eye, and he transmitted something. Something I didn't know what. And it gave me the chills.

I think it was a day or two after that that his plane went down. And somebody – somebody I'd never seen before – handed me a Leadbelly record with the song "Cottonfields" on it. And that record changed my life right then and there. Transported me into a world I'd never known. It was like an explosion went off. Like I'd been walking in darkness and all of the sudden the darkness was illuminated. It was like somebody laid hands on me. I must have played that record a hundred times.

It was on a label I'd never heard of with a booklet inside with advertisements for other artists on the label: Sonny Terry and Brownie McGhee, the New Lost City Ramblers, Jean Ritchie, string bands. I'd never heard of any of them. But I reckoned if they were on this label with Leadbelly, they had to be good, so I needed to hear them. I wanted to know all about it and play that kind of music. I still had a feeling for the music I'd grown up with, but for right now, I forgot about it. Didn't even think about it. For the time being, it was long gone.

I hadn't left home yet, but I couldn't wait to. I wanted to learn this music and meet the people who played it. Eventually, I did leave, and I did learn to play those songs. They were different than the radio songs that I'd been listening to all along. They were more vibrant and truthful to life. With radio songs, a performer might get a hit with a roll of the dice or a fall of the cards, but that didn't matter in the folk world. Everything was a hit. All you had to do was be well versed and be able to play the melody. Some of these songs were easy, some not. I had a natural feeling for the ancient ballads and country blues, but everything else I had to learn from scratch. I was playing for small crowds, sometimes no more than four or five people in a room or on a street corner. You had to have a wide repertoire, and you had to know what to play and when. Some songs were intimate, some you had to shout to be heard.

By listening to all the early folk artists and singing the songs yourself, you pick up the vernacular. You internalize it. You sing it in the ragtime blues, work songs, Georgia sea shanties, Appalachian ballads and cowboy songs. You hear all the finer points, and you learn the details.

You know what it's all about. Takin' the pistol out and puttin' it back in your pocket. Whippin' your way through traffic, talkin' in the dark. You know that Stagger Lee was a bad man and that Frankie was a good girl. You know that Washington is a bourgeois town and you've heard the deep-pitched voice of John the Revelator and you saw the Titanic sink in a boggy creek. And you're pals with the wild Irish rover and the wild colonial boy. You heard the muffled drums and the fifes that played lowly. You've seen the lusty Lord Donald stick a knife in his wife, and a lot of your comrades have been wrapped in white linen.

I had all the vernacular all down. I knew the rhetoric. None of it went over my head – the devices, the techniques, the secrets, the mysteries – and I knew all the deserted roads that it traveled on, too. I could make it all connect and move with the current of the day. When I started writing my own songs, the folk lingo was the only vocabulary that I knew, and I used it.

But I had something else as well. I had principals and sensibilities and an informed view of the world. And I had had that for a while. Learned it all in grammar school. Don Quixote, Ivanhoe, Robinson Crusoe, Gulliver's Travels, Tale of Two Cities, all the rest – typical grammar school reading that gave you a way of looking at life, an understanding of human nature, and a standard to measure things by. I took all that with me when I started composing lyrics. And the themes from those books worked their way into many of my songs, either knowingly or unintentionally. I wanted to write songs unlike anything anybody ever heard, and these themes were fundamental.

Specific books that have stuck with me ever since I read them way back in grammar school – I want to tell you about three of them: Moby Dick, All Quiet on the Western Front and The Odyssey.


Moby Dick is a fascinating book, a book that's filled with scenes of high drama and dramatic dialogue. The book makes demands on you. The plot is straightforward. The mysterious Captain Ahab – captain of a ship called the Pequod – an egomaniac with a peg leg pursuing his nemesis, the great white whale Moby Dick who took his leg. And he pursues him all the way from the Atlantic around the tip of Africa and into the Indian Ocean. He pursues the whale around both sides of the earth. It's an abstract goal, nothing concrete or definite. He calls Moby the emperor, sees him as the embodiment of evil. Ahab's got a wife and child back in Nantucket that he reminisces about now and again. You can anticipate what will happen.

The ship's crew is made up of men of different races, and any one of them who sights the whale will be given the reward of a gold coin. A lot of Zodiac symbols, religious allegory, stereotypes. Ahab encounters other whaling vessels, presses the captains for details about Moby. Have they seen him? There's a crazy prophet, Gabriel, on one of the vessels, and he predicts Ahab's doom. Says Moby is the incarnate of a Shaker god, and that any dealings with him will lead to disaster. He says that to Captain Ahab. Another ship's captain – Captain Boomer – he lost an arm to Moby. But he tolerates that, and he's happy to have survived. He can't accept Ahab's lust for vengeance.

This book tells how different men react in different ways to the same experience. A lot of Old Testament, biblical allegory: Gabriel, Rachel, Jeroboam, Bildah, Elijah. Pagan names as well: Tashtego, Flask, Daggoo, Fleece, Starbuck, Stubb, Martha's Vineyard. The Pagans are idol worshippers. Some worship little wax figures, some wooden figures. Some worship fire. The Pequod is the name of an Indian tribe.

Moby Dick is a seafaring tale. One of the men, the narrator, says, "Call me Ishmael." Somebody asks him where he's from, and he says, "It's not down on any map. True places never are." Stubb gives no significance to anything, says everything is predestined. Ishmael's been on a sailing ship his entire life. Calls the sailing ships his Harvard and Yale. He keeps his distance from people.

A typhoon hits the Pequod. Captain Ahab thinks it's a good omen. Starbuck thinks it's a bad omen, considers killing Ahab. As soon as the storm ends, a crewmember falls from the ship's mast and drowns, foreshadowing what's to come. A Quaker pacifist priest, who is actually a bloodthirsty businessman, tells Flask, "Some men who receive injuries are led to God, others are led to bitterness."

Everything is mixed in. All the myths: the Judeo Christian bible, Hindu myths, British legends, Saint George, Perseus, Hercules – they're all whalers. Greek mythology, the gory business of cutting up a whale. Lots of facts in this book, geographical knowledge, whale oil – good for coronation of royalty – noble families in the whaling industry. Whale oil is used to anoint the kings. History of the whale, phrenology, classical philosophy, pseudo-scientific theories, justification for discrimination – everything thrown in and none of it hardly rational. Highbrow, lowbrow, chasing illusion, chasing death, the great white whale, white as polar bear, white as a white man, the emperor, the nemesis, the embodiment of evil. The demented captain who actually lost his leg years ago trying to attack Moby with a knife.

We see only the surface of things. We can interpret what lies below any way we see fit. Crewmen walk around on deck listening for mermaids, and sharks and vultures follow the ship. Reading skulls and faces like you read a book. Here's a face. I'll put it in front of you. Read it if you can.

Tashtego says that he died and was reborn. His extra days are a gift. He wasn't saved by Christ, though, he says he was saved by a fellow man and a non-Christian at that. He parodies the resurrection.

When Starbuck tells Ahab that he should let bygones be bygones, the angry captain snaps back, "Speak not to me of blasphemy, man, I'd strike the sun if it insulted me." Ahab, too, is a poet of eloquence. He says, "The path to my fixed purpose is laid with iron rails whereon my soul is grooved to run." Or these lines, "All visible objects are but pasteboard masks." Quotable poetic phrases that can't be beat.

Finally, Ahab spots Moby, and the harpoons come out. Boats are lowered. Ahab's harpoon has been baptized in blood. Moby attacks Ahab's boat and destroys it. Next day, he sights Moby again. Boats are lowered again. Moby attacks Ahab's boat again. On the third day, another boat goes in. More religious allegory. He has risen. Moby attacks one more time, ramming the Pequod and sinking it. Ahab gets tangled up in the harpoon lines and is thrown out of his boat into a watery grave.

Ishmael survives. He's in the sea floating on a coffin. And that's about it. That's the whole story. That theme and all that it implies would work its way into more than a few of my songs.


All Quiet on the Western Front was another book that did. All Quiet on the Western Front is a horror story. This is a book where you lose your childhood, your faith in a meaningful world, and your concern for individuals. You're stuck in a nightmare. Sucked up into a mysterious whirlpool of death and pain. You're defending yourself from elimination. You're being wiped off the face of the map. Once upon a time you were an innocent youth with big dreams about being a concert pianist. Once you loved life and the world, and now you're shooting it to pieces.

Day after day, the hornets bite you and worms lap your blood. You're a cornered animal. You don't fit anywhere. The falling rain is monotonous. There's endless assaults, poison gas, nerve gas, morphine, burning streams of gasoline, scavenging and scabbing for food, influenza, typhus, dysentery. Life is breaking down all around you, and the shells are whistling. This is the lower region of hell. Mud, barbed wire, rat-filled trenches, rats eating the intestines of dead men, trenches filled with filth and excrement. Someone shouts, "Hey, you there. Stand and fight."

Who knows how long this mess will go on? Warfare has no limits. You're being annihilated, and that leg of yours is bleeding too much. You killed a man yesterday, and you spoke to his corpse. You told him after this is over, you'll spend the rest of your life looking after his family. Who's profiting here? The leaders and the generals gain fame, and many others profit financially. But you're doing the dirty work. One of your comrades says, "Wait a minute, where are you going?" And you say, "Leave me alone, I'll be back in a minute." Then you walk out into the woods of death hunting for a piece of sausage. You can't see how anybody in civilian life has any kind of purpose at all. All their worries, all their desires – you can't comprehend it.

More machine guns rattle, more parts of bodies hanging from wires, more pieces of arms and legs and skulls where butterflies perch on teeth, more hideous wounds, pus coming out of every pore, lung wounds, wounds too big for the body, gas-blowing cadavers, and dead bodies making retching noises. Death is everywhere. Nothing else is possible. Someone will kill you and use your dead body for target practice. Boots, too. They're your prized possession. But soon they'll be on somebody else's feet.

There's Froggies coming through the trees. Merciless bastards. Your shells are running out. "It's not fair to come at us again so soon," you say. One of your companions is laying in the dirt, and you want to take him to the field hospital. Someone else says, "You might save yourself a trip." "What do you mean?" "Turn him over, you'll see what I mean."

You wait to hear the news. You don't understand why the war isn't over. The army is so strapped for replacement troops that they're drafting young boys who are of little military use, but they're draftin' ‘em anyway because they're running out of men. Sickness and humiliation have broken your heart. You were betrayed by your parents, your schoolmasters, your ministers, and even your own government.

The general with the slowly smoked cigar betrayed you too – turned you into a thug and a murderer. If you could, you'd put a bullet in his face. The commander as well. You fantasize that if you had the money, you'd put up a reward for any man who would take his life by any means necessary. And if he should lose his life by doing that, then let the money go to his heirs. The colonel, too, with his caviar and his coffee – he's another one. Spends all his time in the officers' brothel. You'd like to see him stoned dead too. More Tommies and Johnnies with their whack fo' me daddy-o and their whiskey in the jars. You kill twenty of ‘em and twenty more will spring up in their place. It just stinks in your nostrils.

You've come to despise that older generation that sent you out into this madness, into this torture chamber. All around you, your comrades are dying. Dying from abdominal wounds, double amputations, shattered hipbones, and you think, "I'm only twenty years old, but I'm capable of killing anybody. Even my father if he came at me."

Yesterday, you tried to save a wounded messenger dog, and somebody shouted, "Don't be a fool." One Froggy is laying gurgling at your feet. You stuck him with a dagger in his stomach, but the man still lives. You know you should finish the job, but you can't. You're on the real iron cross, and a Roman soldier's putting a sponge of vinegar to your lips.

Months pass by. You go home on leave. You can't communicate with your father. He said, "You'd be a coward if you don't enlist." Your mother, too, on your way back out the door, she says, "You be careful of those French girls now." More madness. You fight for a week or a month, and you gain ten yards. And then the next month it gets taken back.

All that culture from a thousand years ago, that philosophy, that wisdom – Plato, Aristotle, Socrates – what happened to it? It should have prevented this. Your thoughts turn homeward. And once again you're a schoolboy walking through the tall poplar trees. It's a pleasant memory. More bombs dropping on you from blimps. You got to get it together now. You can't even look at anybody for fear of some miscalculable thing that might happen. The common grave. There are no other possibilities.

Then you notice the cherry blossoms, and you see that nature is unaffected by all this. Poplar trees, the red butterflies, the fragile beauty of flowers, the sun – you see how nature is indifferent to it all. All the violence and suffering of all mankind. Nature doesn't even notice it.

You're so alone. Then a piece of shrapnel hits the side of your head and you're dead.
You've been ruled out, crossed out. You've been exterminated. I put this book down and closed it up. I never wanted to read another war novel again, and I never did.

Charlie Poole from North Carolina had a song that connected to all this. It's called "You Ain't Talkin' to Me," and the lyrics go like this:

I saw a sign in a window walking up town one day.
Join the army, see the world is what it had to say.
You'll see exciting places with a jolly crew,
You'll meet interesting people, and learn to kill them too.
Oh you ain't talkin' to me, you ain't talking to me.
I may be crazy and all that, but I got good sense you see.
You ain't talkin' to me, you ain't talkin' to me.
Killin' with a gun don't sound like fun.
You ain't talkin' to me.


The Odyssey is a great book whose themes have worked its way into the ballads of a lot of songwriters: "Homeward Bound, "Green, Green Grass of Home," "Home on the Range," and my songs as well.

The Odyssey is a strange, adventurous tale of a grown man trying to get home after fighting in a war. He's on that long journey home, and it's filled with traps and pitfalls. He's cursed to wander. He's always getting carried out to sea, always having close calls. Huge chunks of boulders rock his boat. He angers people he shouldn't. There's troublemakers in his crew. Treachery. His men are turned into pigs and then are turned back into younger, more handsome men. He's always trying to rescue somebody. He's a travelin' man, but he's making a lot of stops.

He's stranded on a desert island. He finds deserted caves, and he hides in them. He meets giants that say, "I'll eat you last." And he escapes from giants. He's trying to get back home, but he's tossed and turned by the winds. Restless winds, chilly winds, unfriendly winds. He travels far, and then he gets blown back.

He's always being warned of things to come. Touching things he's told not to. There's two roads to take, and they're both bad. Both hazardous. On one you could drown and on the other you could starve. He goes into the narrow straits with foaming whirlpools that swallow him. Meets six-headed monsters with sharp fangs. Thunderbolts strike at him. Overhanging branches that he makes a leap to reach for to save himself from a raging river. Goddesses and gods protect him, but some others want to kill him. He changes identities. He's exhausted. He falls asleep, and he's woken up by the sound of laughter. He tells his story to strangers. He's been gone twenty years. He was carried off somewhere and left there. Drugs have been dropped into his wine. It's been a hard road to travel.

In a lot of ways, some of these same things have happened to you. You too have had drugs dropped into your wine. You too have shared a bed with the wrong woman. You too have been spellbound by magical voices, sweet voices with strange melodies. You too have come so far and have been so far blown back. And you've had close calls as well. You have angered people you should not have. And you too have rambled this country all around. And you've also felt that ill wind, the one that blows you no good. And that's still not all of it.

When he gets back home, things aren't any better. Scoundrels have moved in and are taking advantage of his wife's hospitality. And there's too many of ‘em. And though he's greater than them all and the best at everything – best carpenter, best hunter, best expert on animals, best seaman – his courage won't save him, but his trickery will.

All these stragglers will have to pay for desecrating his palace. He'll disguise himself as a filthy beggar, and a lowly servant kicks him down the steps with arrogance and stupidity. The servant's arrogance revolts him, but he controls his anger. He's one against a hundred, but they'll all fall, even the strongest. He was nobody. And when it's all said and done, when he's home at last, he sits with his wife, and he tells her the stories.


So what does it all mean? Myself and a lot of other songwriters have been influenced by these very same themes. And they can mean a lot of different things. If a song moves you, that's all that's important. I don't have to know what a song means. I've written all kinds of things into my songs. And I'm not going to worry about it – what it all means. When Melville put all his old testament, biblical references, scientific theories, Protestant doctrines, and all that knowledge of the sea and sailing ships and whales into one story, I don't think he would have worried about it either – what it all means.

John Donne as well, the poet-priest who lived in the time of Shakespeare, wrote these words, "The Sestos and Abydos of her breasts. Not of two lovers, but two loves, the nests." I don't know what it means, either. But it sounds good. And you want your songs to sound good.

When Odysseus in The Odyssey visits the famed warrior Achilles in the underworld – Achilles, who traded a long life full of peace and contentment for a short one full of honor and glory – tells Odysseus it was all a mistake. "I just died, that's all." There was no honor. No immortality. And that if he could, he would choose to go back and be a lowly slave to a tenant farmer on Earth rather than be what he is – a king in the land of the dead – that whatever his struggles of life were, they were preferable to being here in this dead place.

That's what songs are too. Our songs are alive in the land of the living. But songs are unlike literature. They're meant to be sung, not read. The words in Shakespeare's plays were meant to be acted on the stage. Just as lyrics in songs are meant to be sung, not read on a page. And I hope some of you get the chance to listen to these lyrics the way they were intended to be heard: in concert or on record or however people are listening to songs these days. I return once again to Homer, who says, "Sing in me, oh Muse, and through me tell the story."

青:
歌は聴く者を感動させることができるかどうか、それが一番重要なんだ。歌の意味なんて、僕は知らなくていいんだ。

赤:
しかしながら、歌と文学は違う。歌は、読まれることではなく、歌われることを想定している。シェイクスピア演劇の言葉は、舞台の上で演じられることを想定している。それは、曲の歌詞が紙上で読まれることではなく、歌われることを想定しているのと同じように。僕としては、歌詞を本来の意図した形で聴く機会を持ってもらいたい。コンサートでも、レコードでも、今時の聴き方でもなんでも。

青いとこと赤いとこを訳してみた。
密かに、on the stageとon a pageで韻を踏んでいるのがニクイね
ということで、ディランが言うとります。
「ライブを観に来んさい」と
皆さん、6月16日(金)にワンマンライブがありますよ!
是非、聴きにいらしてください

waits2 at 01:05コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年05月26日

IMG_9849英国マンチェスターで起こったテロ事件。
罪のない音楽好きの多くの若者たちが犠牲となった。
可哀想過ぎる。
本当に可哀想過ぎる。
アリアナ・グランデは、6月までの公演を中止するという。
テロリストよ、お前たちだって好きな曲があるだろう。
大好きなアーティストがいるだろう。
音楽を作る人間は、いつか聴いてもらえるかもしれない、いつか必要としてくれるかもしれない誰かのために曲を作り、演奏し、歌ってるんだ。
その誰かは、テロリストよ、お前たちなのかもしれないのにだ

waits2 at 00:02コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年05月08日

IMG_9831多くの方がホッとしていると思います。
とりあえず、良かったと。

waits2 at 20:17コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年03月04日

それにしても、石原前都知事って、最低だな。
都知事としても、人としても。
偉そうな奴は、所詮、偉そうなだけで、実際はちっとも偉くないということだな。
覚えておこう。
あんな人間を都知事にしてしまったのは、都民。
なので、尻ぬぐいに都税が使われるのも自業自得なのだろう。


waits2 at 23:44コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年02月03日

starbucks_logo1992正直、僕はスタバはあまり好きではなかった。

しかし、3日くらい前、僕の中で、スタバ株が急上昇した

というのも、トランプ米大統領がシリア難民の受け入れ停止などを命じたことを批判しただけでなく、世界75カ国の店舗で今後5年間に1万人の難民を雇用する、と発表したからだ。

種類が多すぎて、オーダーするのも億劫なスタバだったけど、今度好きなメニューでも見つけたろうて

waits2 at 01:26コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年02月01日

IMG_8813カナダのトルドー首相の言葉。

「迫害、恐怖、戦争から逃れようとしている人たちへ。信仰にかかわらず、カナダ人はあなたたちを歓迎します。多様性は私たちの力です」

To those fleeing persecution, terror & war, Canadians will welcome you, regardless of your faith. Diversity is our strength.


waits2 at 00:40コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年01月31日

トランプ米大統領は、21世紀のヒットラーになりよります。
「景気を良くしてくれるのなら、人権なんか要らない」
そういう選択をした米国民よ、恥を知りなさい!
アメリカファースト?
いやいや、あなたたちは、ただのマネーファースト。
不満の原因を、他国、異人種、異宗教のせいにするのは、狂政治家の常套手段。
壁を作れば自分らの生活が良くなると、本気で信じてるのか?
ユダヤ人弾圧と同じじゃないか
IMG_8815トランプと対局の価値観を見せてくれた黒田博樹投手。
米国人には黒田の行為は到底理解できない。
何故なら、お金以上の価値あるものを知らないから。
お金より遙かに大切なもの、遙かに価値あるもの、黒田はそれを知っていたから、帰って来てくれたのだ。

トランプ派じゃない米国人よ、頑張って、早いこと彼を辞めさせてくれ。
頼む。
彼は間違いなく、途中で辞める。
何故なら、彼に理想はないから。

トヨタよ、メキシコに工場を作りんさい。
ヒットラーの言うことなんて、聞いちゃいけん!
大丈夫!絶対、彼は辞めるから!

世界各国の首脳の方々、人類の大切なものを守ってくだされ。
何しろこのヒットラー、核のボタンを持っとりますから...

waits2 at 00:42コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年01月24日

IMG_8760初場所で優勝した稀勢の里の横綱昇進が満場一致で決まったようだ。

日本出身の横綱は19年ぶり。

新入幕から73場所での横綱昇進は、昭和以降最遅。

えかったねぇ。


waits2 at 00:02コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年01月23日

IMG_8757トランプ氏の大統領就任から一夜明けた米東部時間21日、全米各地で、いや、世界60カ国で反トランプデモが行われた。
トランプ氏の人種差別的、女性蔑視的発言への抗議だ。
この60カ国に日本が含まれているかどうかを明記した記事を見つけることはできなかったが、2016年の男女平等度ランキングにおいて、日本は111位....なるほど、やはり日本はかなり遅れた国なんじゃね。
最大の原因は何なんだろう...
写真は、国連プラザ近くのデモに参加しているダイアン・バーチ


waits2 at 00:12コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年01月13日

IMG_8679トランプ次期大統領が初の記者会見を行った。
ニュースでチラリとしか見ていないが、前日のオバマ大統領との差が酷すぎる。
ま、分かっていたことだけど...
ただ、米国も日本のマスコミも、信用ならんからなぁ。

話変わって
今場所は、御嶽海が面白い。
金星2つだけでも凄いのに、稀勢の里もあわやの雰囲気だった。
海なし県の長野出身の力士なのに、四股名に"海"がある。
きっと地元は盛り上がっとんじゃろうねぇ。

waits2 at 00:18コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2017年01月12日

IMG_8677オバマ大統領が地元シカゴにて、大統領としての最後の演説を行った。
ニュースでしか見ていないが、やはりこの方は抜群に演説が上手い。
もちろん内容があるからだろうが、間の取り方とか絶妙で、思わず引き込まれる。
次期大統領批判が出るか!?との注目もあったようだが、話は終始、民主主義の大切さを訴えるものだったらしい。
流石だ。
オバマ大統領の最大の功績は、やはり広島を訪れたことだろう。
誰よりも高く掲げた理想に、全力で取り組んできたんだと思う。
米国大統領でさえ、世界を良い方向に進ませるのは、難しいのだ。
世界をガッカリさせることは、誰でも、簡単にできるのに...

waits2 at 00:07コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2016年12月28日

IMG_8556午後9時40分近くに地震があった。
お風呂の入ろうとしてた時、つまり立った状態で緩やかに揺れ始めたので、一瞬、何が起こっているのか分からなかった。
クラクラして、ちょっと気分が悪くなった。
最も揺れたのは茨城県で震度6弱だったようだ。
エリアは違うけど、南海トラフ地震とか来そうで嫌だなぁ。

waits2 at 22:09コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 

2016年11月25日

夜中に降るかと思いきや、降り始めたのは朝方だった。
IMG_823911月の降雪は1962年以来54年ぶり。
午前11時には積雪も観測され11月の積雪は1875年の統計開始以来初らしい。
気温も午前9時すぎに最低気温0・9度を記録。
強い寒気とやら、恐るべし。

waits2 at 00:02コメント(0)トラックバック(0) 
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