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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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    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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    Me & God

    by | April 9, 2018 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

            I am not done with God, nor God with me. I remain obsessed with the notion of the unmoved mover who set the pattern of creation into its initial motion. I stubbornly try to trace my existence back to some infinite beginning—so much so that I loathe the...
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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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    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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    Let It Snow, Let It Snow…

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

    You can't kill time without wounding eternity. ~Henry David Thoreau       Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow...but don't let it totally define your day. Most of us see a snow day as an unexpected vacation day, though really what it is could be called "a day of...
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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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    Fenn Speaks…

    by | May 11, 2019 | Essays, Journal, Poetry, Teaching | 0 Comments

    I am You, and You are me... Give a damn & figure it out        I feel like one of my students: it’s the night before my big presentation at All-school-meeting, and I still don’t know what I am going to talk about. I just know I am supposed to talk about me......
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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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    China Journal: Part Three

    by | July 30, 2015 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    III My teachers could have ridden with Jesse James For all the time they stole from me... ~Richard Brautigan, Trout Fishing in America      Today it was a temple built into the mountainside west of West Lake. Mr. Toe drove us out there. In most ways I just follow Rob...
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    Doing What Needs To Be Done

    by | February 16, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    The rain falls;The grass grows:Nothing is done.Nothing is left undone~Buddha        Sometimes you just do what you got to do, and that never changes from the first time you take out the trash as a kid until the time in life where you are taking care of little chores...
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    Weekend Custody

    by | August 21, 2014 | Out of the Forge, Songs | 0 Comments

    Jesse calls up this morning—
    “You can come downstairs now;
    You see the grapefruit bowl?
    Well, I fixed it all;
    I fixed everything for you.”

    Everything’s for you…

    “Let me help you make the coffee,
    Momma says you drink it too.
    I can’t reach the stove,
    But I can pour it, though—
    What’s it like living alone?”

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    I have been here before

    by | September 9, 2017 | Crows and Swallows, Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    Trying to pull a final day Back into the night, execute Some stay of time, Some way to wrap The fabric of Summer Around the balky, frame of Fall, sloughing My skin, unable to stop This reptilian ecdysis— This hideous morphing Into respectability. My students, tame As...
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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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    A New Beginning

    by | November 10, 2013 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

     I guess if there is any constant in my life, it is new beginnings.  This blog--and this website--is another new beginning starting here late on a cold night on my back porch. I've been keeping a blog (in fact several blogs) since the first blogs made their way on to...
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    Joshua Sawyer Podcast

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

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    The Silver Apples of the Moon.

    by | January 29, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    Stories are a communal currency of humanity. ― Tahir Shah, In Arabian Nights The most powerful and enduring connection we share as a human race is our desire and need to share stories. We engage in the art of storytelling more than most of us ever realize; whether we...
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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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    Joshua Sawyer

    by | August 11, 2014 | Fires in the Belly, Poetry | 0 Comments

    I doubt I’d ever have taken this road
    had I known how fallen it really was
    to disrepair: driving comically,
    skirting ruts and high boulders, grimacing
    at every bang on the oil pan.
    I tell you it’s the old road to Wendell —
    that they don’t make them like this anymore.

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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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    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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    A Priori

    by | May 24, 2016 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    How do I know what I know? The sharp angles of this simple cottage perfected  in every board sawn, shingle split and beam hewn into place goes together placed, splined, slid together, bound more by intuition than knowing.
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    Practicing What I Preach

    by | April 10, 2014 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    It is not where you go. It is how you go. ~Fitz Is there any value in coming to the page this late at night after three hours of singing in a pub, just because I said I would? I expect you to go to the empty page and pry tired and stubborn thoughts and lay them on the...
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    The End Is the Beginning

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

    For the past twenty years this night has always been a bittersweet moment. I have never been hobbled by boredom or a lack of "things I love to do," so whatever supposed free time I have is rewarding in whatever I choose to do. The flip side is that I am teacher, and I...
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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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    Shane

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

    It’s been too long feeling sorry for myself.
    It’s been too long with my life up on the shelf.
    Sometimes wish that I was Shane—
    shoot Jack Palance, and disappear again;
    don’t have no one
    don’t want no one
    don’t miss no one:
    living lonely with a saddle and a gun.

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    The Farmer, The Weaver & the Space Traveler

    by | June 26, 2020 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

         Words matter. Words carefully crafted and artfully expressed  matter infinitely more. There is something compelling in a turn of phrase well-timed, arresting image juxtaposed on arresting images; broad ideas distilled into clear, lucid singular thought. For the...
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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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    Yesterday did not become a poem

    by | July 9, 2017 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    Nothing became something else; No thoughts filled my head With wonder or wisdom. Listless sky. Jumbled frames. Fleeting images: Chattering squirrels, Distant rumbling Of rush hour traffic. Today I am more determined, But all that is left Is the promise Of...
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    All You Need is Love

    by | November 16, 2013 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

        The day grew warm today, as did my mood. I did a couple of shows at my school’s diversity day. It was good to see girls there and the obvious racial differences. It was comforting to see a sea of color with a smattering of white instead of the other way around. My...
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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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    Searching for an Alibi

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

    Here I am out on the road again
    and it feels longer than it was back then;
    when I was younger, man, it saw me through—
    now it don’t do
    what I want it to—

    Too ra loo ra loo ra lady I—
    I’m just out searching for an alibi
    Too ra loo ra loo ra lady I
    I’m just out searching for an alibi.

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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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    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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    Mum…

    by | May 8, 2016 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    Very jealous today of all the folks I see spending time with their respective moms--and sad for those who can't and for those whose wives were taken from their families too early in life... This is my remmebrance of my "mum" who died several years ago.       I ran...
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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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    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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    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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    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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    Ghetto of Your Eye

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

    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 battleground for way too long.

    We stare together hours the snow whipped Russian plain—
    rolling in the ghetto of your eye.
    We share a quart of vodka
    and some cold meat on the train—
    you know too much to even wonder why;
    I see it in the ghetto of your eye.

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