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The Ancient Ballads

Edward

The American Folk Experience

Edward

by John Fitzsimmons | The American Folk Experience

Child Ballad #13

What makes that blood on the point of your knife?
My son, now tell to me
It is the blood of my old grey mare
Who plowed the fields for me, me, me
Who plowed the fields for me.

It is too red for your old grey mare
My son, now tell to me
It is the blood of my old coon dog
Who chased the fox for me, me me
Who chased the fox for me.

It is too red for your old coon dog
My son, now tell to me
It is the blood of my brother John
Who hoed the corn for me, me, me
Who hoed the corn for me.

What did you fall out about?
My son, now tell to me
Because he cut yon holly bush
Which might have been a tree, tree, tree
Which might have been a tree.

What will you say when your father comes back
When he comes home from town?
I’ll set my foot in yonder boat
And sail the ocean round, round, round
I’ll sail the ocean round.

When will you come back, my own dear son?
My son, now tell to me
When the sun it sets in yonder sycamore tree
And that will never be, be, be
And that will never be.

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I am indebted to the many friends who share my love of traditional songs and to the many scholars whose works are too many to include here. I am also incredibly grateful to the collector’s curators and collators of Wikipedia, Mudcat.org, MainlyNorfolk.info, and TheContemplator.com for their wise, thorough and informative contributions to the study of folk music. 

I share their research on my site with humility, thanks, and gratitude. Please cite their work accordingly with your own research. If you have any research or sites you would like to share on this site, please post in the comment box.  Thanks!

Source: Wikipedia

"Edward" is a traditional murder ballad existing in several variants, categorised by Francis James Child as Child Ballad number 13[1] and listed as number 200 in the Roud Folk Song Index. The ballad, which is at least 250 years old (a text of its Swedish counterpart has been dated to the mid-17th century[2]), has been documented and recorded numerous times across the English speaking world into the twentieth century.

Synopsis

A mother questions her son about the blood on his "sword" (most likely a hunting knife, given the era when the story is occurring). He avoids her interrogation at first, claiming that it is his hawk or his horse (or some other kind of animal depending on the variation of the song), but finally admits that it is his brother, or his father, whom he has killed. He declares that he is leaving and will never return, and various creatures (wife, children, livestock) will have to fare without him. His mother then asks what she will get from his departure. He answers "a curse from hell" and implicates his mother in the murder.

Traditional recordings

Several Appalachian musicians recorded the ballad; Jean Ritchie sang the Ritchie family version in 1946 with her sister (recorded by Mary Elizabeth Barnacle)[3] and in 1961 on the album Jean Ritchie: Ballads from her Appalachian Family Tradition,[4] whilst Bascom Lamar Lunsford (1935),[5] Horton Barker (1941),[6] and Almeida Riddle (1972)[7] also had their traditional versions recorded. The children's writer Edith Ballinger Price was recorded by Helen Hartness Flanders performing a traditional version in 1945.[8]

The song was recorded a handful of times in England; Mike Yates recorded Frank Hinchliffe of Sheffield, Yorkshire singing his version in 1977[9] and Danny Brazil of Gloucestershire singing a different version the following year.[10] George Dunn of Quarry Bank, Staffordshire was recorded by Roy Parmer singing another version in 1971, which can be heard online via the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library.[11]

In Scotland, the song was generally known as "My Son David". Recordings were made of traditional Scottish traveller Jeannie Robertson (1953),[12][13] her nephew Stanley Robertson (1987)[14] and daughter Lizzie Higgins (1970)[15] singing the ballad; Lizzie Higgins' recording publicly available on the Vaughan Williams Memorial Library website.[15]

Irish traditional singers such as Thomas Moran of Mohill, Co. Leitrim (1954),[16] John "Jacko" Reilly of Boyle, Co. Roscommon (1967),[17] Paddy Tunney of Co. Fermanagh (1976)[18] and Christy Moore of Co. Kildare were also recorded singing versions of the ballad. Versions collected orally in Ireland are usually named "What Put the Blood" or something similar. Tunney's version, for example, (released on his Folk-Legacy CD The Man of Songs) was entitled "What put the Blood on Your Right Shoulder, Son?"[19]

Parallels

This ballad may not be complete in itself. Large portions of the ballad are also found in the longer ballads "The Twa Brothers" (Child 49) and "Lizie Wan" (Child 51).[20]

Parallels in other languages

This ballad type was also found in Northern Europe, where it is often known under "Svend i Rosensgård" or a similar name. Its general Scandinavian classification is TSB D 320, and it is known in Danish (DgF 340), Icelandic (IFkv 76), Norwegian, and Swedish (SMB 153). In Finland, it is popular as "Poikani Poloinen", both as a poem and as a song, first published in the collection Kanteletar.

In the Scandinavian versions, and the Finnish one, the stress is more on the gradual divulge of the fact that the son will never return home to his mother.

Percy's "Edward"

The authenticity of one popular version of this ballad (Child 13B) has been called into question.[21] This version originally appeared in print in Bishop Thomas Percy's 1765 edition of Reliques of Ancient English Poetry. Percy reported that he received this Scottish ballad from Sir David Dalrymple, who said he heard it from an unnamed lady. This version appears inauthentic because it seems, in short, too "good": it makes exceptional use of literary devices for maximum impact. Moreover, unlike most other versions, the father is the victim rather than the brother, and the mother receives a curse at the end. There is also little evidence that this version was disseminated orally; it seems to have appeared most often in print form. The name "Edward" appears to have come from Percy's version; versions which seem to have existed independently of Percy's don't use this name for the protagonist.[22]

Adaptations

See also

References

  1. ^ Francis James Child, English and Scottish Popular Ballads, "Edward"
  2. ^ Jonsson, Bengt R., ed. (1983–1996). Sveriges medeltida ballader (in Swedish). Stockholm: Almqvist & Wiksell. p. 160. ISBN 91-22-01733-X. Retrieved 13 November 2022.
  3. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S273288)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  4. ^ "Jean Ritchie: Ballads from her Appalachian Family Tradition". Smithsonian Folkways Recordings. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  5. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S259329)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  6. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S397837)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  7. ^ "The Blood of the Old Rooster (Roud Folksong Index S169512)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  8. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S233995)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  9. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S340552)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  10. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S340575)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  11. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S233987)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  12. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S174287)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  13. ^ "Son David (Roud Folksong Index S161735)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  14. ^ "My Son David (Roud Folksong Index S433934)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  15. ^ a b "Son David (Roud Folksong Index S304847)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  16. ^ "Edward (Roud Folksong Index S233972)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  17. ^ "What Put the Blood (Roud Folksong Index S255692)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  18. ^ "What Brought the Blood (Roud Folksong Index S165011)". The Vaughan Williams Memorial Library. Retrieved 2020-11-20.
  19. ^ "O'er his grave the grass grew green", Tragic Ballads, The Voice of the People vol. 3, Topic TSCD 653 (1975)
  20. ^ Francis James Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, vol. 1, p. 167, Dover Publications, New York 1965
  21. ^ Most notable is Bertrand Bronson in "Edward, Edward. A Scottish Ballad and a Footnote," in The Ballad as Song (Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1969).
  22. ^ "The Yorkshire Garland Group". www.yorkshirefolksong.net. Retrieved 2020-12-31.
  23. ^ John Reilly, Topic 12T 359, 1969 ("The Bonny Green Tree")
  24. ^ Folktrax 175-C60 ("John Reilly"), 1967
  25. ^ "Six Duets (Шесть дуэтов)", Tchaikovsky Research
source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Edward_(ballad)

    Source: Mainly Norfolk

    Edward / My Son David / Henry

    [ Roud 200 ; Child 13 ; TYG 35 ; Ballad Index C013 ; trad.]Jeannie Robertson sang My Son David to Alan Lomax in London in November 1953. This recording was included in 1961 on the Tradition Records LPHeather and Glen and in 1998 on the Rounder CD The Queen Among the Heather. Another recording made by Peter Kennedy was included in 1955 on the HMV LP Folk Song Today.

    Angela Brazil, Weenie Brazil, and Alice Webb’s son sang three versions of Son Come Tell It Unto Me in recordings made in 1954, 1955 and 1968. They were all included in 2007 on the Brazil Family’s Musical Tradition anthology Down By the Old Riverside. The accompanying booklet commented:

    This was also sung by Lemmie, Alice, Danny and Tom [Brazil], so it could be considered the family’s favourite song. One of the most striking things about these recordings of a significant number of singers from one family, is that—given the slight variations of text and melody from one singer to another—it seems fairly clear that all family members got their songs from one source; most likely their parents, or even grandparents.

    Son Come Tell It Unto Me is unusual in that here we have three completely different tunes to the same song from three singers; Weenie’s is essentially the Family one, whilst Angela’s and young Mr Webb’s are not. (…)

    This is a very popular song with 236 Roud entries, of which 59 are sound recordings. The great majority are from the USA (148 entries) and Scotland (46 entries). Only 4 other singers from England are named.

    Danny Brazil sang another version, called The Two Turtle Doves, to Mike Yates in Gloucester in 1979. This was printed in 2006 in Yates EFDSS book of songs of English and Scottish travellers and gypsies, Traveller’s Joy.

    Ewan MacColl sang My Son David in 1956 on his and A.L. Lloyd’s Riverside anthology The English and Scottish Popular Ballads (The Child Ballads) Volume II. This song and 28 other from this series were reissued in 2009 on his Topic double CD set Ballads: Murder·Intrigue·Love·Discord. Kenneth S. Goldstein commented in the album’s booklet:

    The high esteem in which Child held this ballad is indicated by the statement in his introductory notes: “Edward … has ever been regarded as one of the noblest and most sterling specimens of the popular ballad.” Such praise is entirely deserved, for the ballad, employing throughout a simple dialogue device, builds to a climatic emotional peak unsurpassed in any other Child ballad.

    The ballad is known in the Northern countries of Europe, the dialogue form being maintained in every instance. Since Child’s time, most reported texts do not implicate the mother in the crime, which in almost every case is fratricide (rather than patricide as in the Child “B” text). Archer Taylor, in his full-length study of the ballad, feels the fratricide factor relates recent findings to the earliest Scandinavian forms of the ballad, whence the English versions stem.

    The ballad has been collected rather frequently in America; until recently it had been unreported in Britain for many years.

    MacColl’s version was learned from Jeannie Robertson, housewife and former tinker from Aberdeen.

    The anthology The Child Ballads 1: The English and Scottish Popular Ballads Numbers 2-95 (The Folk Songs of Britain Volume 4; Caedmon 1961; Topic 1968) has a track of Edward / My Son David that is patched up of verses from Jeannie Robertson, Paddy Tunney, and Angela Brazil.

    Norman Kennedy sang My Son David in 1965 on the Topic LP New Voices from Scotland.

    John Reilly sang What Put the Blood? to Tom Munnelly in his own home in Dublin in Winter 1967. This recording was released ten years later on his Topic album The Bonny Green Tree: Songs of an Irish Traveller.

    Lizzie Higgins sang My Son David in a 1970 recording in Aberdeen made by Allie Munro. This was published on the 2006 Musical Traditions anthology In Memory of Lizzie Higgins. Rod Stradling commented in the album’s booklet:

    This old ballad is almost universally called Edward (or something similar), and the Son David title appears only in Scotland. (…) When Hamish Henderson ‘discovered’ Jeannie Robertson in 1953 and demonstrated her repertoire to the world, this particular ballad caused a sensation amongst scholars, as it had been thought to have been completely lost from the oral traditions for well over a hundred years, and caused the rest of her repertoire to be examined with the greatest of interest. (…) Considering this very much her mother’s song, requiring Jeannie’s “big classical ballad” style, Lizzie nevertheless went on to perform it after her death.

    Nic Jones, accompanying himself on fiddle, sang the grisly dialogue Edward in 1971 on his eponymous second album, Nic Jones. He commented in the album notes:

    This is more or less a version of a large group of songs under the various titles of Edward, Lizzie Wan, Lucy Wan, What Blood is This?, etc. In this version the whole incident turns on the seemingly irrelevant statement:

    It’s all about a little holly bush
    That might have made a tree.

    The lines are possibly explained by a glance at some of the other versions, where the son has made love to his sister and subsequently killed her when she turns out to be pregnant. The holly bush could reasonably represent some kind of guarded reference to this incident; the incident itself having been excluded from the song.

    John Wesley Harding also sang this song on his Nic Jones tribute album, Trad Arr Jones.

    George Dunn sang Edward in a recording made by Bill Leader in December 1971 on his eponymous 1973 Leader album, George Dunn. Another fragment of this song, recorded by Roy Palmer on December 3, 1971 was included in 2002 on Dunn’s Musical Tradition anthology Chainmaker.

    Isabel Sutherland sang Son Davie on her eponymous 1974 EFDSS album, Isabel Sutherland.

    Paddy Tunney sang What Brought the Blood? with quite a different story-line on his 1976 Topic album, The Flowery Vale. This track was also included in 1998 on the Topic anthology O’er His Grave the Grass Grew Green (The Voice of the People Volume 3). Another version of What Put the Blood?, sung by Mary Delaney, is on volume 17 of this series, It Fell on a Day, a Bonny Summer Day. Cathal Ó Baoill commented in Tunney’s album’s sleeve notes:

    In this old English ballad we are given a slight clue as to a possible background of the story when Paddy sings, “all through mother’s treachery”.

    In the version I heard from Frank Quinn on the Lough Neagh Shore the involvement of the mother was never mentioned in the text, so that the whole tale of her guile and her hidden desire for the inheritance of both her sons had to be told as a preliminary to the singing. Different versions suggest different motives, but in any case the story of how the boy is driven away from home to avoid his father’s anger is clear enough in every version. The Lough Neagh version also included a localising verse which said,

    What will you do in the winter of your life,
    Like a saggin on the Lough I’ll bow with the wind.

    Frank Hinchliffe sang Edward on his 1977 Topic album of traditional songs from South Yorkshire, In Sheffield Park.

    Steeleye Span recorded Edward with somewhat changed lyrics courtesy of Bob Johnson in 1986 for their album Back in Line. A live recording from The Forum, London on September 2, 1995 was released on the CD The Journey.

    Chris Coe sang Edward in 2001 on her Backshift CD A Wiser Fool.

    Kieron Means sang Edward in 2003 on his Tradition Bearers CD of North American songs and ballads, Run Mountain. His mother Sara Grey commented in the album’s notes:

    From the singing of Donal McGuire, a great singer from Ireland who has lived for several years in East Lancashire, England. It is the biblical parable of Cain and Abel. It has never been regarded as one of the best examples of popular ballads, it’s more like a detached part of a ballad rather than a complete one. It is known to have Finnish and Swedish counterparts. These Scandinavian versions are closer to the American ones but the ‘Edward’ story was too strong for Americans. The mother had no part in the crime, as she did in Scottish versions. There’s no more powerful ending in a ballad than the final realisation that the mother helped in or committed the murder of her son. Being ‘put to sea’ was a medieval punishment for fratricide.

    The Demon Barbers learned Edward from Nic Jones’ Trailer album and sang it in 2005 on their CD Waxed.

    Jeana Leslie and Siobhan Miller sang Edward in 2008 on their Greentrax CD In a Bleeze.

    Al O’Donnell sang What Put the Blood? in 2008 on his CD Ramble Away.

    Rubus sang My Son David in 2008 on their CD Nine Witch Knots. Emily Portman commented in their liner notes:

    Perhaps the sequel to Rolling of the Stones, here a mother gradually uncovers the truth about the origin of the blood on her son’s sword. I imagine that this mother already knows what has happened, as mothers often do. The incomparable Louis Killen gave me this song, whose own source is Jeannie Robertson.

    Nick Wyke & Becki Driscoll sang Edward on their 2009 CD Beneath the Black Tree.

    Alasdair Roberts sang What Put the Blood on Your Right Shoulder, Son? in 2010 on his CD Too Long in This Condition.

    June Tabor and Jon Jones sang My Son David in 2011 on her and the Oysterband’s second collaboration, Ragged Kingdom. Their sleeve notes commented:

    From the singing of Margaret Stewart of Aberdeen. Long thought to be preserved only in Scandinavian and American traditions, this ancient ballad of mindless violence, fratricide ad exile was found to be treasured still by Travellers.

    This video shows them on Later with Jools Holland on May 18, 2012:

    Fay Hield sang this ballad as Henry in 2012 on her CD with the Hurricane Party, Orfeo. She commented in her liner notes:

    More commonly known as Edward, or in Scotland My Son David, this song is pretty unusual for being entirely developed through dialogue. It’s not a song I’ve been attracted to before, perhaps because of the lack of direct action. However, I wrote this version to fit a tune I’ve been humming which I felt needed a repetitive lyric to complement it. The tune is Mandad ei Comigo, from the Codax manuscripts of 13th century Spain. The longer I spent with the song, the deeper it began to affect me and what I could once switch off as tediously repetitive I now struggle to reach the end of without a catch in my throat. It’s intensely powerful to take the role of the mother and discover, during the course of a conversation, that you have lost your daughter, your unborn grandchild, and that there is no other choice than for your son to leave for an unknown destiny. Then, consider the twisted feelings of anguish she must be feeling towards all of these people as a result of their activities. An incredible song, essentially delivered through just one line of text: “It’s the blood of my sister dear, she would have my baby.”

    Jeff Davis sang Edward in 2013 on his and Brian Peters’ CD of songs collected by Cecil Sharp in the Appalachian Mountains, Sharp’s Appalachian Harvest. Sharp collected this version from Jane Gentry of Hot Springs, North Carolina, on August 24, 1916.

    Lyrics

    Jeannie Robertson sings My Son David Nic Jones sings Edward
    “O what’s the blood that’s on your sword,
    My son David, O son David?
    What’s the blood it’s on your sword?
    Come promise, tell me true.”“O that’s the blood of my grey mair,
    Hey lady mother, ho lady mother;
    That’s the blood of my grey mair,
    Because it widnae rule my me.”    		 “What’s that blood all on your shirt?
    Son, come tell to me.”
    “Oh, that’s the blood of my own grey hound,
    He wouldn’t run with me, with me,
    He wouldn’t run with me.”
    “O that blood it is owre clear,
    My son David, O son David;
    That blood it is owre clear,
    Come promise, tell me true.”“O that’s the blood of my grey hound,
    Hey lady mother, ho lady mother;
    That’s the blood of my grey hound,
    Because it widnae rule my me.”“O that blood it is owre clear,
    My son David, O son David;
    That blood it is owre clear,
    Come promise, tell me true.”“O that’s the blood of my huntin’ haak,
    Hey lady mother, ho lady mother;
    That’s the blood of my huntin’ haak,
    Because it widnae rule my me.”    		 “Oh it’s too pale for your greyhound’s blood,
    Son, come tell to me.”
    “It is the blood of my own grey mare,
    He wouldn’t hunt with me, with me,
    He wouldn’t hunt with me.”
    “O that blood it is owre clear,
    My son David, O son David;
    That blood it is owre clear,
    Come promise, tell me true.”“O that’s the blood of my brother John,
    Hey lady mother, ho lady mother;
    That’s the blood of my brother John,
    Because he drew his sword tae me.    		 “Oh it’s too red for your grey mare’s blood,
    Son, come tell to me.”
    “Well, it’s the blood of me own dear brother,
    He wouldn’t ride with me, with me,
    He wouldn’t ride with me.”
    “And what were you all quarrelling about?
    Son, come tell to me.”
    “Oh it’s all about a little holly bush
    And it might have made a tree, a tree,
    It might have made a tree.”
    “I’m gaun awa’ in a bottomless boat,
    In a bottomless boat, in a bottomless boat,
    But I’m gaun awa’ in a bottomless boat,
    And I’ll ne’er return again.”    		 “And what will you do when your father comes to know?
    Son, come tell to me.”
    “Oh, I’ll set sail in a little sailing boat,
    I’ll sail across the sea, the sea,
    I’ll sail across the sea.”
    “And what will you do with your pretty little wife?
    Son, come tell to me.”
    “Oh she’ll sail along in my little sailing boat,
    She’ll sail along with me, with me,
    She’ll sail along with me.”
    “And what will you do with your eldest son?
    Son, come tell to me.”
    Oh I’ll leave him here for you to raise,
    Rock all-upon your knee, your knee,
    To rock all-upon your knee.”
    “O whan will you come back again
    My son David, O son David?
    Whan will you come back again?
    Come promise, tell me true.”“When the sun and the moon meets in yon glen,
    Hey lady mother, ho lady mother;
    When the sun and the moon meets in yon glen,
    For I’ll return again.”    		 “And when will you come back again?
    Son, come tell to me.”
    When the sun and the moon there on yonder hill,
    I know that will never never be, never be,
    Know that will never never be.”
    Steeleye Span sing Edward Fay Hield sings Henry
    “What’s that blood upon your sword, Edward?”
    “’Tis the blood of my grey mare.”
    “Your grey mare’s blood was never that red, Edward,
    You’re telling lies, telling lies.”“What’s that blood upon your sword, Edward?”
    “’Tis the blood of my greyhound.”
    “Greyhound’s blood was never that red, Edward,
    You’re telling lies, telling lies.”“What’s that blood upon your sword, Edward?”
    “’Tis the blood of my great hawk.”
    “Great hawk’s blood was never that red, Edward,
    You’re telling lies.”

    Chorus
    And the sun will never shine, Edward,
    And the moon has lost his light.
    And the sun will never shine, Edward,
    You’re telling lies, telling lies.

    “What’s that blood upon your sword, Edward?”
    “It is the blood of my brother.”
    “Why did you kill your own brother, Edward?
    You’re telling lies, telling lies.”

    Chorus

    What will you do, where will you go, Edward?
    What will you do, how will you live?”
    “I’ll sail away, I’ll sail away, Mother,
    And you’ll never see more of me.”

    “What of your wife, what of your son, Edward?
    And what will you leave to your mother dear?”
    “The curse of Hell to burn her with, Mother
    But telling lies, telling lies.”

    Chorus

    		 “Oh what is the blood on your shirt sleeve?
    Oh my son Henry, come tell unto me.”
    “It’s the blood of my grey hound;
    He would not run for me.”“Oh that’s not the blood of your greyhound,
    Oh my son Henry, don’t lie unto me.
    It would be a far redder blood,
    This can never be.“Oh what is the blood on your shirt sleeve?
    Oh my son Henry, come tell unto me.”
    “It’s the blood of my grey mare;
    She would not ride for me.”“Oh that’s not the blood of your grey mare,
    Oh my son Henry, don’t lie unto me.
    It’d be a far darker red,
    This can never be.“Oh what is the blood on your shirt sleeve?
    Oh my son Henry, come tell unto me.”
    “It’s the blood of my goshawk;
    He would not hunt for me.”“Oh that’s not the blood of your goshawk,
    Oh my son Henry, don’t lie unto me.
    It’d be a far thicker blood,
    This can never be.“Oh what is the blood on your shirt sleeve?
    Oh my son Henry, come tell unto me.”
    “It’s the blood of my sister dear;
    She would have my baby.“Oh set me a boat on the ocean,
    Set it to sail over all the seven seas.
    I must die for the love of
    My sister and me.”
    Paddy Tunney sings What Put the Blood?
    “Where have you been the whole day long?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “I was fishing and fowling the whole day long
    All through mother’s treachery, all through mother’s treachery.”“What put the blood on your right shoulder?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “’Twas the killing of a hare, that I killed today,
    That I killed right manfully, that I killed right manfully.”“The blood of the old hare it could never be so red.
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “’Twas the killing of a boy, that I killed today,
    That I killed most manfully, that I killed most manfully.”“What came between yourself and the boy?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “It was mostly the cutting of a rod
    That would never come a tree, that would never come a tree.”“What are you going to do when your daddy finds out?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “I will put my foot on board a ship
    And sail to a foreign country, and sail to a foreign country.”“What are you going to do with your lovely young wife?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “She can put her foot on board of a ship
    And sail e’er after me, and sail e’er after me.”“What are you going to do with your two fine young babes?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “I’ll give one to my father and the other to my mother
    For to bear them company, for to bear them company.”“What are you going to do with your two fine racehorses?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “I will take the bridles off their necks
    For they’ll run for more for me, they’ll run for more for me.”“What are you going to do with your two fine greyhounds?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “I will take the leads all off their necks
    For they’ll run for more for me, they’ll run for more for me.”“What are you going to do with your houses and your lands?
    Son, come tell it unto me.”
    “I will lay them bare to the birds on the air
    For there is no more welcome there for me, there’s no more welcome there for me.”

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    “A Song Singing, Word Slinging, Story Swapping,
    Ballad Mongering, Folksinger, Teacher, & Poet…”

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    Fitz’s Recordings

    & Writings

    Songs, poems, essays, reflections and ramblings of a folksinger, traveler, teacher, poet and thinker…

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    “A Master of Folk…”

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    Fitz’s now classic recording of original songs and poetry…

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    “A Masterful weaver of song whose deep, resonant voice rivals the best of his genre…”

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    This new spring begs attention

    by | March 22, 2019 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    And shivers its literal timbers. Cold, wet and pleading, Scarred by winter winds And pasty snows, My small field and patch of woods Is now a monument To aging neglect. Shorn limbs and branches Hang high and tangled in the Sugar maples (Widow makers we called them Back...
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    A New Hearth

    by | December 7, 2013 | Journal | 0 Comments

    It has been a long time since I wrote a simple old "this is what I am going to do today" post. So this is what I am going to do today: [and trust me, it will have nothing--absolutely nothing--to do with school work:)] Before the true winter settles in, I am going to...
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    Zenmo Yang Ni

    by | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments

    I lost the time I hardly knew you,
    half-assed calling:
    “How you doing?
    Laughing at my hanging hay field;
    I never knew the time
    that tomorrow’d bring,
    until it brung to me.

    Yuan lai jui shuo: “Zenmoyang ni?”
    Xianzai chang shu: “Dou hai keyi”;
    Xiexie nimen, dou hen shang ni.
    Xiwang wo men dou hen leyi
    Dou hen leyi

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    Superman

    by | August 12, 2014 | Dawghouse, Songs | 0 Comments

    There’s a little blonde boy in a superman cape
    Racing around the back yard;
    Sayin’, “Daddy don’t you know I can fly to the moon;
    I’m gonna bring you back some stars.
    And after that I’m gonna save the world”
    Cause I’m superman today.”
    I scoop that boy right into my arms,
    And this is what I say:

    You don’t need a cape to be a hero
    You’ve got all the special powers that you need
    Your smile’s enough to save the world from evil
    And you’ll always be superman to me

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    How To Be Human

    by | July 24, 2015 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Mark Twain once wrote that it is good to be a good person, but it is better to tell people how to be good--"and a damn sight easier!" So much of my life is lived in response to the moment and not in a practiced and cultivated wisdom. I sat here this morning looking...
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    Finally…

    by | December 10, 2013 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    Just closed the lid, so to speak, on what seems to be weeks of school-related paperwork. I am excited to go to my classes tomorrow with only those classes on my mind--not the letters home to parents, the secondary school recs, the grades and comments to homeroom...
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    The Shapes of Stories

    by | July 9, 2016 | Journal | 0 Comments

    While I have always been a storyteller of sorts, I am not much of a writer of stories--but I have always been intrigued by the relative simplicity at the core design level of most books and movies. A lot of it is tied to my love for Joseph Campbell's work on the...
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    The Late and Lazy Teacher

    by | May 1, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    I guess this is a good thing. I showed up five minutes late for class, and my classroom was empty. I walked the hallways of the school and could not find any of them. I sheepishly asked the assistant headmaster if he "happened to see a class of wandering boys?"No, he...
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    A Perfect Mirror

    by | February 11, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    Do not mistake the finger pointing at the moon for the moon itself~BuddhaLast night you were so lucky. You didn't have to worry about your grumpy, tired teacher going through hours of journals ands doling out poor grades for what I am sure qualifies for good efforts...
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    If you don’t stand, you cower…

    by | July 19, 2019 | Journal | 0 Comments

         Maybe it is time to be less forgiving. I have rarely agreed with our president, but I held on to the shreds of truth that shore up his arguments: we can’t welcome every immigrant who makes it to our border; we cannot bow to the audacity of corrupt governments in...
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    China Journal: Part One

    by | July 23, 2015 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    I           The dull staccato throb in light rain on a dark night. Unseen barges make their way up the QianTian River—concrete shores marked by the arch of the bridge, the spans of beam stretched on beam, the impeccable symmetry of the street-lights broken by a stream...
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    Trawler

    by | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments

    Leave the fog stillness
    of a cold harbor town;
    cup our hands
    in the warm diesel sound—
    leave while the children
    are calmed in their dreams
    by light buoys calling:
    “Don’t play around me.”

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    The Inn

    by | November 21, 2013 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Every Thursday, for some thirty years, I have been spending this same time each week wrapping up the loose ends of the day before heading down to the inn to play to whomever and whatever shows up. Tonight looks like a fun night: Maroghini will be with me for his last...
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    On Writing with Rubrics

    by | May 2, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    The only way out is through... Damn! Another long post... For better and worse--and through thick and thin--I keep piling on rubric after rubric to help guide the content, flow, and direction of my students' writing pieces.  The greater irony is that I never set out...
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    Make Something out of Something

    by | February 26, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    It's hard to make chicken salad out of chicken manure      Dirty hands are a good sign, so hopefully, you got some mental mud on your hands and created some content to work with today.  To a starving man, any food is good food--unless it...
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    What Are We Afraid Of?

    by | March 28, 2022 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Good intentions are easily hobbled by inaction. There has always been a murky and muddied No Mans Land in every war where the evil and the righteous trade the moral high ground. This is not the case in Ukraine. Putin’s actions are evil--pure, unmitigated, unprovoked...
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    Raccoon Welcome

    by | July 12, 2014 | Poetry, Raccoon | 0 Comments

    Welcome
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    The Snow

    by | July 13, 2014 | Poetry, Raccoon | 0 Comments

    has dropped a seamlessness before the plows and children can patch it back to a jagged and arbitrary quilting putting borders to design and impulse. I imagine myself falling everywhere softly, whispering, I am here, and I am here.
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    What a Picture Tells

    by | May 6, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    "Zou Ma Guan Hua" You can't ride a horse and smell the flowers ~Chinese Proverb Sometimes I love just browsing through old folders of pictures of my kids when they were just kids in every sense of the word. Just seeing the pictures is a visceral experience for me as I...
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    Know Thyself…

    by | September 29, 2017 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Writing a Metacognition Know Thyself… Explore, Assess, Reflect & Rethink If we don’t learn from what we do, we learn little of real value. If we don’t make the time to explore, reflect and rethink our ways of doing things we will never grow, evolve and reach our...
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    Thanksgiving

    by | November 28, 2013 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    I am surprised sometimes by the suddenness of November: beauty abruptly shed to a common nakedness— grasses deadened by hoarfrost, persistent memories of people I’ve lost. It is left to those of us dressed in the hard barky skin of experience to insist on a decorum...
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    The Mystery Within

    by | August 15, 2014 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    EJ wanted a banana tree for Christmas so that early morning brought a plastic bag, a few meager roots and no directions. I bought some potting soil and a square cedar box EJ placed deliberately by a westward window. He gently splayed the roots, pressed the soil, and...
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    Eighteen Years

    by | August 24, 2014 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    At midnight I hear the cuckoo clock chiming from it’s perch in a cluttered kitchen locked in cadence with the tower bell gonging this old mill town at midnight to a deeper sleep, like a call to prayer reminding me that this new day, starting in the dark of a hallowed...
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    Ready. Set. Go.

    by | April 7, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    Who forgets to rinse his hair? Me, I guess, for that was the start of my day. I smelled something like coconut oil on my way to school, and then I realized, dang, my hair is still pretty wet. Wet with hair conditioner. And then I get sot school all coconutty smelling...
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    Garden Woman

    by | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments

    I woke today and had my tea
    and at the window spent the morning:
    the same scene I’ve seen so many times
    is each day freshly born;
    from the ground I turn each spring and fall
    come the flowers sweetly blooming;
    you disappear among the weeds—
    you are the garden woman.

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    New Ways

    by | February 21, 2017 | Journal | 0 Comments

    Time for a change. Feeling it in a lot of ways. After months of steady workouts, I’ve been finding too many convenient ways to let the day slip by. Still feel better than I have in years, but the days seem to have got the best of me. Excuses, procrastination and...
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    Busy…

    by | September 17, 2014 | Journal | 0 Comments

    The start of the school year, and I have literally spent every free moment working on what is ostensibly pretty cool stuff, methinks...but it is work in every sense of the word, so I do miss those long summer mornings when  could literally write to my heart and heads...
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    Out of the Forge: March 30, 2017

    by | March 31, 2017 | Journal, Out of the Forge | 0 Comments

    Every Thursday Night at The Colonial Inn On the Green, in Concord, Massachusetts This is my first attempt at trying to record a night at the inn, so please forgive my engineering errors as a producer. I simply used the Bose Tonematch into Garageband and called it good...
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    Waiting for a Poem

    by | August 8, 2014 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

      It’s not like a poem to come curl by my feet on this morning too beautiful to describe, though I am looking and listening and waiting: A rooster crows above the low hum of morning traffic; the trash truck spills air from brakes and rattles empties into bins; my...
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    Somewhere North of Bangor

    by | August 12, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Songs | 0 Comments

    Somewhere north of Bangor
    on the run from Tennessee.
    Lost in back scrub paper land
    in section TR-3.
    It’s hit him he’s an outlaw
    a Georgia cracker’s son,
    who killed a man in Nashville
    with his daddies favorite gun.
    It’s hit him with the loneliness
    of wondering where you are
    on a long ago railway
    stretched between two stars.

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    Another Wednesday

    by | April 20, 2016 | Journal | 0 Comments

            It is a good night for meatballs. The same meal we have cooked every Wednesday night for thirteen years and counting. Tonight is a beautiful and warm night of vacation week, so more than likely we will have a big crowd joining us—but we never know who. The...
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    Pruning

    by | July 14, 2014 | Poetry, Raccoon | 0 Comments

    These trees have driven so many friends batty, wedged in unstable crotches, embracing hollow, heart-rotted limbs, reaching tentatively, maddened with indecision. From a distance your gestures are very lobsterlike— waving a last embattled claw, as if dueling some...
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    Goathouse

    by | July 12, 2014 | Poetry, Raccoon | 0 Comments

    In reaching for the scythe I’m reminded of the whetstone and the few quick strokes by which it was tested— the hardness of hot August; the burning of ticks off dog backs. It’s winter now in this garage made barn, and the animals seem only curious that I’d be here so...
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    Supermoon

    by | August 10, 2014 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    Last night the August supermoon reminded me of the fickleness of time and how substance becomes shadow and memories begin to etch themselves immutably into the hardness of what is already lost.
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    The Storm of Fallibility

    by | October 29, 2017 | Journal | 0 Comments

           One good cigar is better than two bad cigars, or so it seems right now. It is a beautiful and stormy night--pouring rain and howling wind, and I thought a good smoke would be a fitting end to a busy and over-booked week. As it goes, I bought a couple of cheap...
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    The Value of a Classic

    by | November 24, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    “Classic' - a book which people praise and don't read.” ~Mark Twain A note to my 8th grade class:      All of you are supposedly reading a classic book, but what Twain says is true: few of us go thirsty to the well and willingly read the greatest works of literature...
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    The Queer Folk

    by | April 18, 2016 | Journal, Songs | 0 Comments

    True to my words of earlier this week, I finished this song last night, and at the time, I liked it--but in the clear light of day, too much of it seems forced, especially the rhymes. But that is part of the process. I think I am almost there. Let me get my saw and...
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    Welcome

    by | August 12, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    I, on my side, require of every writer, first or last, a simple and sincere account of his own life, and not merely what he has heard of other men's lives; some such account as he would send to his kindred from a distant land... ~Henry David Thoreau, Walden I’ve...
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    Guns, Me, and Rural America

    by | February 27, 2018 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

         Sometimes I start writing without knowing where I stand—unsure of even where I stand. I have to trust some innate wisdom or audacity will cull through the bullshit we are all heir to in what Hamlet laments is “this earthly coil” we are forced to face when we wake...
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    Molting

    by | July 10, 2014 | Poetry, Raccoon | 0 Comments

    I am always molting; leaving my hollowed skin in awkward places, scaring people and making them jump. They touch me and think I’m real; then laugh and say things like “What a riot.” I’m tired of this changing of skins. I’d rather stumble on myself and be fooled; and...
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