The Ancient Ballads

The Unquiet Grave

The American Folk Experience

The Unquiet Grave

by John Fitzsimmons | The American Folk Experience

Child Ballad #78

Cold blows the wind to my true love,
And gently falls the rain.
I’ve never had but one true love,
And in green-wood he lies slain.

I’ll do as much for my true love,
As any young girl may,
I’ll sit and mourn all on his grave,
For twelve months and a day.

And when twelve months and a day was passed,
The ghost did rise and speak,
“why sittest thou all on my grave
And will no let me sleep?”

“Go fetch me water from the desert,
And blood from out the stone,
Go fetch me milk from a fair maid’s breast
That young man never has known.”

“My breast is cold as the clay,
My breath is earthly strong,
And if you kiss my cold clay lips,
Your days they won’t be long.”

“How oft on yonder grave, sweetheart,
Where we were want to walk,
The fairest flower that e’er I saw
Has withered to a stalk.”

“when will we meet again, sweetheart,
When will we meet again?”
“when the autumn leaves that fall from the trees
Are green and spring up again.”

If you have any more information to share about this song or helpful links, please post as a comment.

Thanks for stopping by the site!

~John Fitz

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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

Edit links
For the 1944 literary work by Cyril Connolly, see The Unquiet Grave (book). For the 1964 anthology edited by August Derleth, see The Unquiet Grave (anthology).

"The Unquiet Grave" is an Irish / English folk song in which a young man's grief over the death of his true love is so deep that it disturbs her eternal sleep. It was collected in 1868 by Francis James Child as Child Ballad number 78.[1] One of the more common tunes used for the ballad is the same as that used for the English ballad "Dives and Lazarus" and the Irish pub favorite "Star of the County Down".

Synopsis

A man mourns his true love for "a twelve month and a day". At the end of that time, the dead woman complains that his weeping is keeping her from peaceful rest. He begs a kiss. She tells him it would kill him. When he persists, wanting to join her in death, she explains that once they are both dead their hearts will simply decay, so he should enjoy life while he has it.

Variants

The version noted by Cecil Sharp[2] ends with "When will we meet again? / When the autumn leaves that fall from the trees / Are green and spring up again."

Many verses in this ballad have parallels in other ballads: Bonny Bee Hom, Sweet William's Ghost and some variants of The Twa Brothers.[3]

Return of the dead

The motif that excessive grief can disturb the dead is found also in German and Scandinavian ballads, as well as Greek and Roman traditions.[4]

In 1941 the "Journal of the English Folk Dance and Song Society" Vol 4 no 2 included a long essay by Ruth Harvey. She compares motifs from "The Unquiet Grave" with other European ballads, including "Es ging ein Knab spazieren (Der tote Freier)" from Germany, and "Faestemanden I Graven" from Denmark.[5] She writes: "It is only inevitable that a song which certainly goes back to pre-Christian traditions should have suffered modification during the centuries."[6]

The Danish ballad "Faestemanden I Graven" was made into a short film, "Aage og Else" (1983).[7] Though not recorded till the nineteenth century, “The Unquiet Grave,” as a folk work, may date to the same period as those two seventeenth-century ballads. On the Fresno State University website, Robert B Waltz compares "The Unquiet Grave" with an older carol, "There blows a cold wind today," in the Bodleian Library MS 7683 (dated ca. 1500), but adds: "I must say that I find this a stretch; the similarities are slight indeed."[8]

Recordings

  • The composer Ralph Vaughan Williams wrote several arrangements for "How Cold the Wind doth Blow (or The Unquiet Grave)". The best known, from 1912, is for piano, violin and voice. It was recorded in 1976 by Sir Philip Ledger, Hugh Bean and Robert Tear. Catalogue It also appears on the 1989 recording Songs of Britten and Vaughan Williams by Canadian baritone Kevin McMillan.
  • Kate Rusby, Rebsie Fairholm, Carol Noonan, Joan Baez, the Dubliners, Solas, Barbara Dickson, Shirley Collins, Circulus, David Pajo, Fire + Ice and Sarah Calderwood have recorded versions of this song.
  • A single-movement viola concerto by Australian composer Andrew Ford used the melody of the ballad as its foundation. Written in 1997, the concerto is pieced together from melodic fragments of the ballad and it is only in the final few minutes that the full theme emerges.
  • The Pennsylvania-based alternative rock band Ween recorded a version of the song (retitled "Cold Blows the Wind") on their 1997 album, The Mollusk. The liner notes jokingly describe the song as a traditional Chinese spiritual.
  • The gothic/darkwave band Faith and the Muse recorded a version on their debut Elyria in 1994.
  • It was recorded and released as a duet between Ian Read and Ysanne Spevack in 2000, distributed by Tesco in Germany, and pressed up on blue vinyl with a letterpress gatefold cover under the band name Fire + Ice.[9]
  • The folk-rock group Steeleye Span recorded a version on their 2009 album Cogs, Wheels and Lovers.
  • Electro noir artist Alien Skin, formerly with Real Life (of '80s "Send Me An Angel" fame), recorded a version on his 2010 album The Unquiet Grave.
  • Orcadian singer Kris Drever recorded a version of this song to music of his own on Lau's album Lightweights and Gentlemen in 2009.
  • The eleven-piece folk band Bellowhead recorded a cover of Ween's version ("Cold Blows the Wind") for their 2010 album Hedonism.
  • An electronic arrangement by Vladislav Korolev was sung by Lori Joachim Fredrics and premiered on April 13, 2013.
  • The German electronica/darkwave band Helium Vola included a rendition on their 2013 album, Wohin?.
  • British folk singer/songwriter Elliott Morris included an arrangement of "Unquiet Grave" on his 2013 EP, Shadows and Whispers.
  • British medieval folk-rock band Gryphon recorded their interpretation of the ballad using the Dives and Lazarus melody on their 1973 debut album, Gryphon.
  • English progressive rock musician Steven Wilson recorded an arrangement of the song. It was the B-Side to "Cover version IV", one of a series of six singles, each consisting of a cover of a song written by another artist as the A-side, with the B-sides consisting of original songs (with the exception of "The Unquiet Grave"). The six cover versions and corresponding B-sides were released together on a compilation album, Cover Version, in 2014.
  • Part of the song was performed by Helen McCrory in the Penny Dreadful episode "Fresh Hell", and again by Sarah Greene in "And They Were Enemies".
  • The Ghosts of Johnson City recorded a version of the song for their 2015 album Am I Born To Die?
  • Daoirí Farrell recorded a version of the song on his 2016 album "True Born Irishman"
  • Joan Baez sings it on three albums:
  • House and Land interpret the song as their final track on their self-titled 2017 album.
  • The English folk duo The Askew Sisters recorded the ballad on their 2014 album In the Air or the Earth.
  • The Spanish dark pagan folk band Trobar de Morte recorded a version of the song on their eighth studio album The Book of Shadows in 2020.
  • Irish singers Pauline Scanlon and Damien Dempsey performed a six and a half minute duet on Scanlon's 2022 album, The Unquiet.
  • American Pine Barrens folk band Jackson Pines recorded their interpretation for their album Pine Barrens Vol. 1 in 2023. The ballad was connected to a lost town called Colliers Mills in their hometown of Jackson, NJ by song-catcher Herbert Halpert in 1936. Allen Clevenger of Wrightstown sang it to him and said his mother-in-law Mrs. Grover nee Cotter sang it in Colliers Mills as a girl.
  • Canadian Celtic/Polka Punk Band The Dreadnoughts released a version of the song on March 14, 2023.

References

  1. ^ Francis James Child, Scottish and English Popular Ballads, "The Unquiet Grave"
  2. ^ Cecil J. Sharp (Ed) (1975) One Hundred English Folksongs (For Medium Voice), Dover, ISBN 0-486-23192-5
  3. ^ Francis James Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, v 2, p 234, Dover Publications, New York 1965
  4. ^ Francis James Child, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads, v 2, p 234-6, Dover Publications, New York 1965
  5. ^ Zachcial, Michael (13 February 1856). "Herr". Deutsche Volkslieder. Müller-Lüdenscheidt-Verlag. Retrieved 31 October 2022.
  6. ^ Matteson, Richard. "Mr". Bluegrassmessengers. Blugreass Messengers. Retrieved 31 October 2022.
  7. ^ Thomsen, Knud Leif. "Aage og Else". IMDB. ImdbPro. Retrieved 31 October 2022.
  8. ^ Waltz, Robert. "Unquiet Grave, The [Child 78]". Traditional Ballad Index. Fresno State University. Retrieved 31 October 2022.
  9. ^ "Death in June / Fire + Ice - We Said Destroy". Discogs.
source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Unquiet_Grave

    Source: Mainly Norfolk

    The Unquiet Grave / Cold Blows the Wind

    [ Roud 51 ; Child 78 ; Ballad Index C078 ; Bodleian Roud 51 ; Wiltshire Roud 51 ; trad.]A.L. Lloyd sang The Unquiet Grave in 1956 on his and Ewan MacColl’s Riverside album of Child ballads, The English and Scottish Popular Ballads Volume I. Editor Kenneth G. Goldstein wrote in the album’s booklet:

    Aside from its exquisite poety and music, this ballad is notable for its exhibition of the universal popular belief that excessive grief on the part of mourners disturbes the peace of the dead.

    It is possible that this is only a fragment of a once popular longer ballad. In the form we have it today, no text has been reported earlier than the 19thcentury. The ballad is little known in Scotland and is quite rare in America. It is still current in England, however.

    The text and tune sung by A.L. Lloyd were collected by Cecil Sharp from William Spearing of Ile Bruers, Somerset, excepting the last two stanzas, which were from Mrs. William Ree of Hambridge, Somerset.

    See Child (78), Volume II, p. 78ff; Coffin, p.82; Dean-Smith, p.113.

    Shirley Collins recorded this ballad in 1959 for her second LP, False True Lovers, a second time for her Collector EP English Songs Vol. 1, and a third time in 1967 for her album The Power of the True Love Knot. She commented in the first album’s notes:

    From Cecil Sharp’s English Folk Songs. This is one of the classic pieces of English folk song literature. From one point of view it is a feminine fantasy or a wish, perhaps for the death of a lover, perhaps for a way of arranging a night visit by the lover, perhaps for a way of showing how strong her love is, perhaps of a feeling of guilt. Certainly, it is a ghost story designed to delight the imagination of young women. Finally, it shows the survival of ancient and widely distributed primitive beliefs about the treatment of the dead.

    The rowdy Irish wake is the only one example of the common folk custom of a gathering in which ceremonial banqueting and games were indulged in to show honour to the dead person. The shade was given a great send-off to the other world. Sometimes guns were fired to send him skittering away in fear. Sometimes a special door was cut in the side of the wall so that the coffin could be taken out by that route; and then this hole was walled up so that the ghost could not find his way back into the house again.

    In Scotland and Ireland it was believed that excessive grief prevented the dead from resting; that the tears shed by the mourners pierced holes in the corpse. In Persia they held that the tears shed by humanity for their dead flowed into a river in which the souls floated and drowned. Similar beliefs were held by the Greeks and Romans, and from mediaeval times throughout Germany and Scandinavia.

    Sharp says that in England a belief was current that if a girl was betrothed to a man, she was pledged to him if he died, and was bound to follow him to the spirit world unless she solved certain riddles, or performed certain tasks, such as fetching water from a desert, blood from a stone, milk from the breast of a virgin…

    and in the The Power of the True Love Knot album notes:

    This song is a tender and magical expression of an ancient community belief: a very proper belief that when the mourning of a lover’s death started to drain life from the living, love was being misused. Tears flowed into the Styx, and the river swelled and became impassable, so the dead come back and warn the quick. On this track and elsewhere I play an instrument made for me by John Bailey, which is a dulcimer with a five-string banjo neck.

    The Ian Campbell Folk Group with Dave Swarbrick sang The Unquiet Grave in 1963 on their album This Is the Ian Campbell Folk Group. This track was included in 2005 on their anthology The Times They Are A-Changin’.

    Alex Campbell sang The Unquiet Grave in 1966 on his album Yours Aye, Alex; this track was included in 1966 on his compilation CD Been on the Road So Long.

    Hedy West sang an American version The Unquiet Grave in 1967 on her Topic album Ballads. Her (or A.L. Lloyd’s) sleeve notes commented:

    There’s widespread and ancient belief that excessive grieving over the dead disturbs their rest. The Greeks and Romans thought so, and the idea is as common in the Far East as in Western Europe. In Ireland as in Rumania it was thought that inordinate tears would burn a hole in the corpse, and in several ballads the dead complain that they cannot sleep because the tears of the living have wet their winding sheet. This ballad, of a restless ghost who confronts and reproaches the mourner, is probably a fragment broken off some longer, more complicated narrative. Though it’s been relatively common in England till recent times, it seems very rare in America, and has turned up only in a scattered handful of versions from Newfoundland, Virginia and North Carolina (which is where the present version comes from, collected by the indefatigable Frank C. Brown).

    Jon Raven sang The Unquiet Grave in 1968 on the Broadside album The Halliard : Jon Raven.

    Dave & Toni Arthur sang this ballad as Cold Blows the Winter’s Wind in 1969 on their Topic album The Lark in the Morning. The sleeve notes commented:

    The ballad, usually called The Unquiet Grave, concerns a person who feels bound to sit and mourn by his (sometimes, her) lover’s grave for a period of time. In nearly all versions, the corpse complains of being disturbed, illustrating the ancient belief that excessive grief interferes with the peace of the dead. In archaic folklore, a constant concern, when faced with a death, is to try to ensure that the corpse makes a pleasant and reassured transit from the land of the living to the world of the dead. Otherwise the dead may return, uneasy and vengeful, to plague the living. Hence for instance the jollification at Irish wakes, intended to cheer and embolden the dead. Singers have ended our ballad in various ways, sometimes heartbroken and disconsolate, sometimes more or less lightheartedly as: “But since I have lost my own true love, I must get another in time.” Our tune is from Fred Hamer’s collection Garners Gay. The words are from Alfred Williams’s Folk-Songs of the Upper Thames.

    Frankie Armstrong sang The Unquiet Grave in 1971 on her Topic album Lovely on the Water. A.L. Lloyd commented in the sleeve notes:

    A woman laments long over the grave of her sweetheart, till he speaks from the grave and reproaches her for disturbing his rest. Usually in the ballads the setting and the characters are named, but here we know neither the who nor the where, and the supernatural climate is further charged with mystery on that account. The tale is old, like the belief that too much grief disturbs the dead, though to this day, in Eastern Europe, some peasants believe that mourner’s tears make an unhealing burn if they chance to light on a corpse. In some versions the dead person threatens to tear the living one to pieces (the favourite revenge of ghosts!) unless absolute fidelity can be sworn to. But Frankie’s version is milder, more consolatory, as fits her gentle character. By and large, the tune she uses is one recorded by Vaughan Williams at Dilwyn, Herefordshire.

    John Kirkpatrick and Sue Harris sang this ballad as Cold Blows the Wind in 1976 on their Topic LP Among the Many Attractions at the Show Will Be a Really High Class Band and John Kirkpatrick did it again in 2007 on his Fledg’ling CD Make No Bones. He commented in the latter album’s sleeve notes:

    When I moved to Shropshire in 1973 and started looking at the local folk music, the singing of May Bradley was a glorious revelation. I never saw her in the flesh, but Fred Hamer’s recordings of her in Ludlow during the 1960s proved to be a real treasure chest of wonderful songs wonderfully sung. She was the daughter of Ester Smith, a gypsy singer that Vaughan Williams had collected from in Herefordshire at the beginning of the century, and had some of her mother’s songs as well as plenty of others. This is her tune for what is sometimes known as The Unquiet Grave—Child Ballad no. 78. I’ve sung this before in a past life, but in revisiting the song I have added a few lines from other versions to fill out the sense of the words.

    Two books of the songs Fred Hamer collected were published by EFDS Publications Ltd., and you can see this in the first one from 1967, Garners Gay. Or a much better option is to hear [May Bradley] singing it herself on the EFDSS LP Garners Gay issued in 1971, EFDSS LP 1006.

    May Bradley’s version can also be found on her Musical Traditions anthology Sweet Swansea (2010).

    Jo Freya sang The Unquiet Grave in 1992 on her CD Traditional Songs of England.

    Sandra Kerr sang The Unquiet Grave in 1970 on the Argo Voices anthology series, Second Book, Record One (Argo DA96). Her daughter Nancy sang it in 1993 on the CD Eliza Carthy & Nancy Kerr. She referred in her sleeve notes to Evelin Wells’ The Ballad Tree, and to her mother singing this version onVoices.

    Louis Killen learnt The Unquiet Grave from Brian Ballinger and sang in on his 1993 CD A Bonny Bunch.

    Steeleye Span sang One True Love in 1998 on their CD Horkstow Grange, and they recorded The Unquiet Grave in 2009 for their CD Cogs Wheels and Lovers. Tim Harries commented in the former album’s notes:

    The sources for [One True Love] are The Unquiet Grave, (spooky old English song), Lovely Joan, and a small fragment of Lowlands of Holland. The inspiration came largely from Borrowed Time by Paul Monette, a book you may be familiar with.

    Kate Rusby couldn’t let the dead sleep on her 1999 CD Sleepless.

    Like John Kirkpatrick, Jon Boden learned Cold Blows the Wind from the singing of May Bradley. He sang it with Bellowhead in 2010 on their CD Hedonism, and he sang it unaccompanied as the December 29, 2010 entry of his project A Folk Song a Day.

    Rachel Newton sang The Unquiet Grave on The Furrow Collective’s 2015 EP Blow Out the Moon. She commented in the album’s notes:

    I took the words for the well known ballad The Unquiet Grave from Child no. 78a; and the melody I use is based on a version I learned from the singing of Shirley Collins.

    Siobhan Miller sang The Unquiet Grave on her 2017 album Strata.

    Lyrics

    A.L. Lloyd sings The Unquiet Grave
    “Cold blows the wind to my true love,
    And gentle drops the rain,
    I never had but one true love
    And in Greenwood she is lain.
    “I’ll do as much for my true love
    As any young man may,
    I’ll sit and weep all on her grave
    For a twelve month and a day.”
    When the twelve month and one day was o’er,
    Her ghost begun for to speak,
    “Why sit you here all on my grave
    And will not let me sleep?”
    “There’s one thing more I want, sweetheart,
    And one thing more I crave,
    And that’s a kiss from your lily-white lips
    And then I’ll go from your grave.”
    “My lips are cold as clay, sweetheart,
    My breath smells heavy and strong,
    And if you kiss my lily-white lips,
    Your time would not be long.”
    Shirley Collins sings The Unquiet Grave Nancy Kerr sings The Unquiet Grave
    “Cold blows the wind tonight, true love,
    Cold are the drops of rain,
    I only had but one true love
    And in Greenwood he lies slain.    		 “The wind doth blow today, my love,
    And a few small drops of rain;
    I never had but one true love
    And in Greenwood he is lain.
    “I’ll do as much for my true love
    As any young girl may,
    I’ll sit and mourn all by his grave
    For a twelve-month and a day.”    		 “I’ll do as much for my true love
    As any young girl may,
    I’ll sit and mourn all on his grave
    For twelve months and a day.”
    Now the twelve-month and a day being gone,
    The ghost began to greet:
    “Your salten tears they trickle down
    They wet my winding sheet.”    		 The twelve months and a day being done,
    The dead began to speak:
    “Oh, who sits weeping on my grave
    And will not let me sleep?”
    “It’s I, my love, sits by your grave
    And will not let you sleep.
    For I crave one kiss from your clay-cold lips
    And that is all I seek.”    		 “’Tis I, your love sits on your grave
    And will not let you sleep.
    For I crave one kiss of your clay-cold lips
    And that is all I seek.”
    “But lily, lily are my lips,
    My breath comes earthy strong.
    If you have one kiss from my clay-cold lips,
    Your time will not be long.”    		 “Your breath is as the roses sweet,
    Mine as the sulphur strong.
    And if you get one kiss from my lips,
    Your time will not be long.“
    “’Twas down in yonder garden green,
    Love, where we used to walk.
    And the fairest flower that e’er was seen
    Has withered to the stalk.”    		 “’Tis down in yonder garden green,
    Love, where we used to walk.
    The finest flower that e’er was seen
    Is withered to a stalk.”
    “The stalk is withered dry, true love,
    So must our hearts decay.
    Then rest yourself content, my dear,
    Till God calls you away,
    Till God calls you away.”    		 “The stalk is withered and dry, sweetheart,
    And the flower will never return.
    And since I lost my own true love
    What can I do but mourn?”“Mourn not for me, my own true love,
    Mourn not for me I pray.
    For I must leave you and all the world
    And go into my grave.”
    Bellowhead sings Cold Blows the Wind Steeleye Span sing One True Love
    “Cold blows the wind over my true love,
    Cold blows the drops of rain,
    I never had but one true love
    And in Greenwood he lies slain.“I’ll do as much for my true love
    As any young girl may,
    I’ll sit and weep down by his grave
    For twelve months and a day.”But when twelve months they were up and gone
    This young man he arose:
    “What makes you sit by my grave and weep?
    I can’t take my repose!”“One kiss, one kiss from you lily-white lips,
    One kiss is all I crave.
    One kiss, one kiss from you lily-white lips,
    Then return back to your grave.”“These lips they are as cold as clay,
    My breath is heavy and strong.
    if you were to kiss these lily-white lips
    Your life would not be long.“Oh, don’t you remember the garden grove,
    Where once we used to walk?
    Go pick the finest flower of them all,
    It will wither to a stalk.“Go fetch me a flower from the dungeon deep,
    Bring water from a stone.
    Bring white milk from a virgin’s breast
    That baby never bore none.”“Go dig me a grave both wide and deep,
    Dig it as quick as you may.
    That I may lay down and take a long sleep
    For twelve months and a day.”    		 Cold blows the wind o’er my true love,
    Cold blows the drops of rain,
    I never had but one true love
    And never will again.I’ll do as much for my true love
    As any lover may,
    I’ll sit and weep down by his grave
    A twelve-month in one day.One kiss, one kiss from your sweet lips,
    One kiss is all I grave.
    One kiss, one kiss from your sweet lips,
    And sink down in your grave.And your lips, they are not sweet my love
    Your kiss is cold as clay,
    My time be long, my time be short,
    Tomorrow or today.And down beyond the garden wall,
    Where we both used to walk,
    Are finest flowers that ever grew
    All withered to a stalk.(repeat first verse)

    Acknowledgements

    Transcribed from the singing of Nancy Kerr by Kira White.

    Source: Traditional Songfacts

    • “The Unquiet Grave” is both a poem and a song. Intensely sad, and written in the first person singular, the mourner laments the love of his life sitting weeping at her graveside for a year and a day, at which point her ghost rises up and asks who will not allow her to sleep. He identifies himself and asks for “one kiss of your clay-cold lips”. She disavows him of that notion, and tells him to put his grief behind him and enjoy the rest of his life “Till God calls you away”.

    • Like most traditional songs there are many variations, of the title as well as the lyrics in this case. Extensive research on its origin and development can be found in Volume II of The Traditional Tunes Of The Child Ballads With Their Texts, according to the Extant Records of Great Britain and America, by Bertrand Harris Bronson, which was published by Princeton University Press in 1962.
      According to this book, none of the extant texts of the ballad is older than the early 19th Century but it probably dates from about the end of the 15th. A version was recorded by [ie sung to] musicologist Cecil Sharp on January 23, 1907 by Mrs Ware of Eley Over Stowey. The same day, Sharp recorded “Cold Blows The Wind” by James Chedgey of Bincombe Over Stowey.
      Sabine Baring-Gould (who is best known for writing the lyrics to “Onward Christian Soldiers”) collected a version, from J. Woodrich, a blacksmith of Wollacot Moor, Thrushleton, in 1889.
      Probably the earliest recorded version is “Cold Blows The Wind” which was sung by Elizabeth Doidge, a nurse of Brentnor, and collected by Mrs Gibbons, the daughter of W.L.Trelawney, Bart, c1830. This version had the tune usually associated with “Childe The Hunter”.There is also “How Cold The Winds Do Blow”, sung by Mrs Rugman of Dunsfold, Surrey, 1896; “Cold Blows The Wind To-night, Sweetheart”, sung by Mrs Bowker, of Sunderland Point, Lancashire, in September 1909, and further afield, “The Auld Song From Cow Head” sung by the Reverend Mr Gibbs Bull of Newfoundland in 1929.

    • Another musicologist who researched “The Unquiet Grave” in some depth was the aforementioned Cecil Sharp. Volume I of the 1994 Oxford University Press edition of his …Collection Of English Folk Songs, Edited by Maud Karpeles records no less than seventeen different versions, the oldest of which was sung to him by Mrs Ree at Hambridge, Somerset, on April 4, 1904.

    • “The Unquiet Grave” has been recorded by many artists, including Joan Baez and Karen Mall (suitably amended for gender) and by Luke Kelly. >>

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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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    What Christmas Is

    by | December 25, 2015 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

      I am not sure what Christmas really is anymore. I am almost afraid to think of what Christians are going through in the lands of the original Christian faith. By dint of place and time, I grew up in the Catholic faith, and try as I might, I can’t ever escape the...
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    Another Day…

    by | July 7, 2016 | Journal | 0 Comments

    I've been somewhat lax about posting in here of late, but I have been giving myself a bit of a break from writing. In fact, I spent the last month or so just living--and that has been just fine with me. I set a simple goal for myself this summer to get in shape. PJ...
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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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    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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    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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    The Old Tote Road

    by | July 25, 2019 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    I clabber down the old tote road towards the red pine forest, leaning on my staff, skirting boulder-strewn ruts and small gullies carved out by two days of heavy rain. It is only a mile or so from our cabin, still, my wife makes me wear a pouch with an iPhone and an...
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    Raccoon

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

    I’ve stopped the chinks with newspaper and rags wedged tightly against the wind blowing cold three days now. I feed the fire and curse its hissing and steaming mixing green oak with sticks of dried pine calling myself Raccoon grown fat in the suburbs sleeping in...
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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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    Quit Your Whining

    by | January 31, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    Anything worth succeeding in is worth failing in~Ben Franklin     "Quit your whining and complaining" is probably a clause that can easily be translated into every language in every culture on earth, for, from what I know and have seen in the world, bitching about...
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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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    You Are All a Bunch of Punks

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

    Poetry without form is like tennis without a net. ~Robert Frost       Free verse poetry is not, as many assume, poetry without rules. It is a measured and thoughtful crafting of an idea into lines, spaces, and breaks intentionally and willfully crafted to heighten and...
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    The Nagging Thing

    by | November 19, 2015 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    Not many more nights like this, warm enough to sit outside on the back porch. The kids and Denise long asleep. Usually, during the school year, this is my "time" to catch up on schoolwork--grading, posting the assignments for the week and playing the general catchup...
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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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    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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    In Reply To Einstein

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

    *God casts the die, not the dice. ~Alfred Einstein I am cold down the neck, turtling my head to showers of ice that fall dancing and skidding on skins of crusted snow. I hold my breath when I step, inflating hopes of a weightlessness, and so be undetected
to the play...
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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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    Grandma’s Words

    by | April 24, 2018 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    In the beginning was the word... ~Genesis       We do not live in Grandma’s world of words, and neither did grandma live in her grandma’s world of words and on and on and so on in a downwards devolution through untold millennia. From primal grunts, whistles and...
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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 Street I Never Go Down

    by | November 18, 2017 | Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    As is often the case, I sit here with good intent to write my end-of-term comments--a dry litany of repeated phrases dulled by. obligation--and find myself instead writing poetry, the stuff I would rather share with my students who already know that I care dearly...
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    Raccoon Welcome

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

    Welcome
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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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    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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    There is in an easiness

    by | June 8, 2018 | Journal | 0 Comments

    When I begin to think of myself. My girded shell squeezing Oysters in a jar; My oily viscera Jammed and joggled Into impossible places. My pancreas Is never where it should be; My esophagus cut cleanly Swirls in a diaspora. My tongue is a trapped In a tangle of...
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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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    Marriage & Magnanimity

    by | September 6, 2015 | Essays, Journal | 0 Comments

    If we want to have the freedom to marry whom we want to marry, why is it so important that the state (government) recognise that marriage? Is it simply the expediency of dispensing the entitlements of a marriage certificate: tax benefits, employment benefits, or the...
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    China Journal: Part Two

    by | July 27, 2015 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    II The grass grows. The rain falls Nothing is done. Nothing is left undone ~Buddha   A day can be perfect. I have to believe this. Today was. Is. Is was a day in china. The sun breaking through today after yesterday’s typhoon. Lazy walk to the coffee shop....
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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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    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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    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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    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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    When the same thing happens again

    by | October 7, 2017 | Crows and Swallows, Journal, Poetry | 0 Comments

    I wonder if God is testing me, giving Me some affable warning Or, perhaps, a more Stern rebuke, replaying A foolish mistake, Rehashing and reminding me Of a harsher possibility. It is only a small 10 mm wrench tightening A loose bolt on the throttle body, slipping...
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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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    The Blathering of Teachers

    by | March 4, 2014 | Essays, Journal, Teaching | 0 Comments

    To succeed, jump as quickly at opportunities  as you do at conclusions. ~Benjamin Franklin             Maybe we are born more to ignore than to listen. I understand too well how easy it is to ignore the blatherings of teachers. I was a master of it once myself, so why...
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    Metamorphoses

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

    It’s something I‘ve hardly ever thought of:
    this simple and rattling old diesel
    has always gotten me there and then some;
    and so at first I think this sputtering
    is just some clog, and easily explained:
    some bad fuel maybe, from the new Exxon,
    or just shortsightedness on maintenance.
    I’ve always driven in the red before,
    and these have all been straight highway miles —

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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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    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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    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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    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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