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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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    Ballad Mongering, Folksinger, Teacher, & Poet…”

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

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    What’s in a Song

    by | May 4, 2014 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Every heart sings a song, incomplete, until another heart whispers back. Those who wish to sing always find a song. At the touch of a lover, everyone becomes a poet. ~Plato         Writing a song is not just an exercise in seeking some kind of future fame. It is...
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    Out of the Forge: April 13, 2017

    by | April 23, 2017 | Journal, Out of the Forge, Songs, The American Folk Experience | 0 Comments

    In my forty years or so of actively singing and playing folk music and writing songs, I have played together with a remarkably narrow list of musical partners: Rogue, Wally and Barry with camp songs and Hatrack and Seth with literally everything. These last few years...
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    No Dad To Come Home To

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

    Rain’s falling outside of Boston—
    Thank God I’m not working tonight.
    I’ve got six of my own,
    And a stepdaughter at home,
    And a momma keeping things right.
    I wonder if they’re at the table
    With their puzzles, their papers and pens?
    When I get off the highway
    And pull in that driveway,
    Will they run to the window again?

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    The Inn

    by | December 17, 2015 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

            I realized that in all my years of writing and journal keeping, I seldom, if ever, write about "The Inn," which is and has been, the biggest and most enduring constant in my life for the past thirty plus years. Every Thursday night I load up my car, truck, bus...
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    Many Miles To Go

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

    I see it in your eyes
    and in the ways you try to smile;
    in the ways you whisper—I don’t know—
    and put it all off for a while;
    then you keep on keeping on
    in the only way you know:
    you’re scared of where you’re going
    and who’ll catch you down below.

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    Dealing with Ether

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

    Trying to only see what is in front of me my eyes are continually drawn away from this page and the work left to be done— my labored words etched and scratched away like fleeting mosaics in dry sand. I need a windowless cell to work the alchemy that shapes the...
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    The Teacher’s Couch

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

    It’s not just a couch; it’s a sofa, too ~Fitz           I remember my first year teaching at Fenn—and it was really my first stint as a true worker with responsibilities outside of what I already had in my wheelhouse—and on this day, some twenty something years ago, I...
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    Wisdom

    by | May 13, 2016 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Wisdom starts in non-action… The doing and non-doing are the equal balance. Without the luxury of contemplation there would not be a prioritizing of need versus want. Wisdom balances physical reality… Wisdom does not shuffle tasks out of view but finds a way to...
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    The English Soldier

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

    There is a soldier dressed in ancient English wool guarding the entrance to the inn. He is lucky for this cool night awaiting the pomp of the out of town wedding party. He is paid to be unmoved by the bride's stunning beauty or her train of lesser escorts. He will not...
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    Thinking of My Sister

    by | September 23, 2014 | Journal | 0 Comments

    When Cool Was Really Cool  Life is not counted by the amount of breaths we take,  but of the moments that leave us breathless. ~Unknown             We were coming home from church one morning and Jimmy Glennon pulled up beside us as we approached the Sudbury road...
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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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    Rainmaker

    by | August 28, 2014 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    I loved the rain last night. Last week, in a bow to reality, I reclaimed my gardens and made them into yard. Four of my kids got poison ivy in the process and I (and more "they") got an extra ten feet of width to add to the soccer field--for really that is about the...
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    Going Google?

    by | July 1, 2014 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    When you find yourself in the majority, it's time to join the minority ~Mark Twain I have to admit, Google is pretty impressive. The whole set of features that are offered to the public and to educators for free is pretty astounding: email, document creation and...
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    Paris: 11/13/15

    by | November 14, 2015 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    It is a sad day for humanity. Another sad day on top of many others happening every day--many in places we hear about only obliquley and sometimes not at all. Paris is that much closer to home for most of us here and in Europe, but freedom and tolerance has to...
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    Joshua Sawyer Podcast

    by | November 11, 2017 | Fitz Podcasts, Journal | 0 Comments

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    The Threshing

    by | July 11, 2014 | Poetry, Raccoon | 0 Comments

    I trace her charging through the cornfield shaking the timbers of the ready crop startling up the blackbirds, and surprisingly, a jay. It’s the jay who startles me—
who with two quick pulls wrests itself from the transient green, screaming back from its familiar scrub...
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    Why Trump Is Not Flipping Me Out

    by | March 18, 2016 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    I wonder why Trump is not flipping me out? I wonder if there is some bigoted, ignorant and right-wing element that lurks inside this folk-singing, poem writing, neo-socialist shell of mine. Maybe it is not that hard for me to make the empathetic reach to feel at least...
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    Moby Dick: Chapters 42-51

    by | March 1, 2015 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    A literary reflection to my students... The lowering for whales, the appearance of Fedallah's crew, the vivid descriptions of the first chase in a sudden and unrelenting gale, the fatalistic joy of resigning oneself to fate, the awesome poetic intensity of Melville's...
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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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    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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    A Late Night Metacognition

    by | April 13, 2014 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after ~Henry David Thoreau           When you need something done, find a busy person to help you get it done. My mother loved repeating that to me all the way to her dying day,...
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    A New Paradigm

    by | November 17, 2013 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

         Sometimes, like right now, I long for a pile of papers on my lap that I could speed through, grade with a series of checks and circles, a few scribbled lines of praise or condemnation, and drop into a shoebox on my desk and say, "Here are your essays!" But I...
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    Calvary

    by | August 23, 2014 | Out of the Forge, Songs | 0 Comments

    It seems like it ain’t been a long time,
    But I’m damn pleased your coming by again.
    It’s been a while since we sat down and rambled
    About this and that and why and who and then
    You said that you had to get a move on,
    Move on and leave a space behind.
    So I spent a while hitting all those old roads:
    Old friends and kicking down the wine.

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    Goathouse

    by | May 23, 2014 | Poetry, Raccoon | 0 Comments

    Goat house 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...
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    The Philanthropy of Maynard

    by | December 13, 2015 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

     I woke up today with chores on my mind. My buddy Josh LoPresti lent me his woodsplitter, and I had dreams of a mindless day splitting wood and heaving it into a pile for my kids to stack along the fence. But the dryer was broken, and it needed to be fixed. Margret's...
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    Nurture Passion

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

    How about we all take the bull by the horns and make this blog thing work! Your job this week is to do something with your blog that is powered by the passion that is in you. Passion is the one thing you have some control over. There are plenty of smarter, more...
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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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    Thanksgiving

    by | July 30, 2014 | Poetry | 0 Comments

    I am surprised sometimesby the suddenness of November:beauty abruptly shedto a common nakedness--grasses deadenedby hoarfrost,persistent memoriesof people I’ve lost.It is left to those of us dressed in the hard barky skin of experienceto insist on a decorumthat rises...
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    Writing Iambic Dimeter Poetry

    by | February 19, 2018 | Journal, Poetry, Teaching | 0 Comments

    I am sitting here realizing how hard it is to ask you--a bunch of fifteen-year-old boys--to write iambic dimeter poetry, a form of poetry that is more or less ignored nowadays. I (literally) played around for a couple of hours penning these poems, which are at least...
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    Presenting…

    by | February 3, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    "Anything worth succeeding in, is worth failing in."~by Edison?      A contractor friend showed up at my house a few weeks ago just after I finished making the hearth and installing my new wood/coal stove. He complimented me on how "awesome" it looked. I then lamented...
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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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    Ghetto of Your Eye

    by | November 11, 2015 | Fires in the Belly, Journal, Songs | 0 Comments

    A Veteran's Day Remembrance I wrote this song back in the winter of 1989 in the dining car of a steam driven train, somewhere along the Trans-Siberian railway, after meeting a group of Russian soldiers fresh from battle in Afghanistan—that poor country that has been a...
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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 Enigma

    by | August 11, 2014 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    Black Pond is not as deepas it is dark, dammedsome century agobetween ledges of granite and an outcropping of leaning fir, huckleberry, and white pine. For years I have paddled and trolled;swam, fished, sailed and sometimessimply tread water in the night trying to...
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    To a teacher

    by | November 14, 2019 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    This shift from fall to winterIs the cruelest month:Long days and nightsIn a blather of responsibility’s I hoist from a murky holeAnd sort and siftOn a messy desk. I pity my students who trembleMy red pen of vengeance;Who wait with fetid thoughtsFreighted by what they...
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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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    Denise

    by | August 14, 2014 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    There is something about coming hometo this empty house, yesterday'sheavy downpours scouringclean the alreadyweathered deckwhere I sitwishing for,wanting,you.
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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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    Redemption

    by | October 3, 2014 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Finally, the tall green pines standing sentinel around this cold and black New Hampshire pond are framed in a sky of blue. After a month of steady rains, foggy nights, and misty days, I am reborn into a newly created world—a world that finally answered my prayers: no...
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