Category Archives: Blog
Irlandnews.com gewonnen: In einer beliebten Quizshow haben es ein irischer Schafzüchter aus Kerry und ein katholischer Priester bis in die Endrunde geschafft. Es geht um die alles entscheidende finale Schlussaufgabe, einen Vierzeiler mit dem Wort Timbuktu zu erfinden. Derjenige mit dem besseren Reim gewinnt den Jackpot. Der Priester ist als erster dran. Er räuspert sich und beginnt: “I read the Bible all my life, had no children, had no wife, I read the Bible through and through, on my way to…Timbuktu.” Großartig. Eigentlich nicht mehr zu toppen. Überschwenglicher Applaus. Dann ist der irsche Farmer dran. Er kratzt sich an der Backe und blickt sich im Publikum um. “Tim, a friend and me we went to a place where women you can rent, we loved them women all night trough, I booked one, and Tim booked two.”
The Foggy Dew'Twas down the glen one Easter morn To a city fair rode I. When Ireland's line of marching men In squadrons passed me by. No pipe did hum, no battle drum Did sound its dread tattoo But the Angelus bell o'er the Liffey's swell Rang out in the foggy dew. Right proudly high over Dublin town They hung out a flag of war. 'Twas better to die 'neath an Irish sky Than at Suvla or Sud el Bar. And from the plains of Royal Meath Strong men came hurrying through; While Brittania's sons with their long-range guns Sailed in from the foggy dew. 'Twas England bade our wild geese go That small nations might be free. Their lonely graves are by Suvla's waves On the fringe of the grey North Sea. But had they died by Pearse's side Or fought with Valera true, Their graves we'd keep where the Fenians sleep 'Neath the hills of the foggy dew. The bravest fell, and the solemn bell Rang mournfully and clear For those who died that Eastertide In the springing of the year. And the world did gaze in deep amaze At those fearless men and true Who bore the fight that freedom's light Might shine through the foggy dew.
Roddy McCorleyO see the fleet-foot host of men, who march with faces drawn, From farmstead and from fishers' cot, along the banks of Ban; They come with vengeance in their eyes. Too late! Too late are they, For young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today. Oh Ireland, Mother Ireland, you love them still the best The fearless brave who fighting fall upon your hapless breast, But never a one of all your dead more bravely fell in fray, Than he who marches to his fate on the bridge of Toome today. Up the narrow street he stepped, so smiling, proud and young. About the hemp-rope on his neck, the golden ringlets clung; There's ne'er a tear in his blue eyes, fearless and brave are they, As young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today. When last this narrow street he trod, his shining pike in hand Behind him marched, in grim array, a earnest stalwart band. To Antrim town! To Antrim town, he led them to the fray, But young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today. The grey coat and its sash of green were brave and stainless then, A banner flashed beneath the sun over the marching men; The coat hath many a rent this noon, the sash is torn away, And Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today. Oh, how his pike flashed in the sun! Then found a foeman's heart, Through furious fight, and heavy odds he bore a true man's part And many a red-coat bit the dust before his keen pike-play, But Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today. There's never a one of all your dead more bravely died in fray Than he who marches to his fate in Toomebridge town today; True to the last! True to the last, he treads the upwards way, And young Roddy McCorley goes to die on the bridge of Toome today.
Johnny I hardly knew yehWhile goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo While goin' the road to sweet Athy, hurroo, hurroo While goin' the road to sweet Athy A stick in me hand and a drop in me eye A doleful damsel I heard cry, Johnny I hardly knew ye. With your drums and guns and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo With your drums and guns and drums and guns, hurroo, hurroo With your drums and guns and drums and guns The enemy nearly slew ye Oh my darling dear, Ye look so queer Johnny I hardly knew ye. Where are your eyes that were so mild, hurroo, hurroo Where are your eyes that were so mild, hurroo, hurroo Where are your eyes that were so mild When my heart you so beguiled Why did ye run from me and the child Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye. Where are your legs that used to run, hurroo, hurroo Where are your legs that used to run, hurroo, hurroo Where are your legs that used to run When you went for to carry a gun Indeed your dancing days are done Oh Johnny, I hardly knew ye. I'm happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo I'm happy for to see ye home, hurroo, hurroo I'm happy for to see ye home All from the island of Sulloon So low in flesh, so high in bone Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye. Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg, hurroo, hurroo Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg, hurroo, hurroo Ye haven't an arm, ye haven't a leg Ye're an armless, boneless, chickenless egg Ye'll have to put with a bowl out to beg Oh Johnny I hardly knew ye. They're rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo They're rolling out the guns again, hurroo, hurroo They're rolling out the guns again But they never will take our sons again No they never will take our sons again Johnny I'm swearing to ye.
The Valley of KnockanureYou may sing and speak of old Easter week And the heroes of ninety-eight Of the Fenian men who roamed the glen In victory or defeat Their names on history's page are told Their memory will endure But this song was sung of our darling sons In the Valley of Knockanure There was Lyons and Walsh and the Dalton boy They were young and in their prime They rambled to a lonely spot Where the Black and Tans did hide The Republic bold they did uphold Tho' outlawed on the moor And side by side they fought and died In the Valley of Knockanure It was on a neighbouring hillside We listened in hushed dismay In every house, in every town A young girl knelt to pray They're closing in around them now With rifle fire so sure And Lyons is dead and young Dalton's down In the Valley of Knockanure But e'er the guns could seal his fate Young Walsh had broken thro' With a prayer to God he spurned the sod As against the hill he flew The bullets tore his flesh in two Yet he cried with voice so sure "Revenge I'll get for my comrade's death In the Valley of Knockanure" The summer sun is sinking low Behind the field and lea The pale moonlight is shining bright Far off beyond Tralee The dismal stars and the clouds afar Are darkening o'er the moor And the banshee cried when young Dalton died In the Valley of Knockanure
The Men behind the WireArmoured cars and tanks and guns Came to take away our sons But every man must stand behind The men behind the wire In the little streets of Belfast In the dark of early morn British soldiers came marouding Breaking little homes with scorn Hear the sobs of crying children Dragging fathers from their beds Watch the scene as helpless mothers Watch the blood fall from their heads chorus Not for them a judge or jury Or indeed a crime at all Being Irish means they're guilty So they're guilty one and all 'Round the world the truth will echo Cromwell's men are here again England's name again is sullied In the eyes of honest men chorus Proudly march behind our banner Proudly march behind our men We will have them free to help us Build a nation once again On the people, step together Proudly marching on our way Never fear or never falter Till the boys come home to stay chorus
VideoDas Sandmännchen [youtube Qku1oJ8Nj7U]
Noten und TABs
VideoWindy and Warm [youtube MTjVcUFCZI4] 01 | Windy and warm Windy and warm - Noten
Acoustic Music Books das Gitarreneinsteigerbuch LUCKIES LIGHT & EASY. Eine Sammlung von leichten mehrstimmigen Stücken. Auf dem Stand von Acoustic Music Books gab es ein kleines Gitarrenkonzert zur Ankündigung des neuen Buches.. Hat alles viel Spaß gemacht....Danke allen Freunden und Kollegen...have a nice weekend!
www.irlandnews.com und laden alle an irischer Musik und irischer Kultur interessierten Menschen ein, ab und zu einmal vorbeizuschauen. Der erste Künstler, den wir hier vorstellen, ist der Gitarrist, Singer und Songwriter Luka Bloom. Patricks Music Corner