Sunday Music: Martha - Tom Waits

Oggi voglio farvi due regali.

Il primo è che sarò breve.
Il secondo è questa cosa di Tom Waits.

Sarò breve perché voglio lasciare spazio alle parole di questa canzone, che canta di un amore mai dimenticato.

Tema abusato quant'altri mai, ne convengo.

Ma guardate con quanta semplicità, con poche immagini, Waits riesce a creare una storia e dei personaggi veri, reali.

Non sentite anche voi di voler bene a Tom Frost che cerca dopo più di 40 anni la sua Martha?

Non provate un empito di struggente tenerezza nel pensare a questo signore al telefono, emozionato, sull'orlo delle lacrime per la commozione?

Leggete anche solo l'ultimo verso: quanta poesia in quelle poche parole: And I remember quiet evenings/Trembling close to you...

Non importa quante volte io abbia ascoltato queste parole e questa voce.
Ogni volta finisco per commuovermi.

Ma come si fa a rimanere insensibili quando si sente la voce di Tom Waits, arrochita da milioni di sigarette e sbronze e chissà quante ore di malinconie e solitudine?


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Martha - Tom Waits (da Closing Time, 1973)

Operator, number, please:
It's been so many years
Will she remember my old voice
While I fight the tears?
Hello, hello there, is this Martha?
This is old Tom Frost,
And I am calling long distance,
Don't worry 'bout the cost.
'Cause it's been forty years or more,
Now Martha please recall,
Meet me out for coffee,
Where we'll talk about it all.

And those were the days of roses,
Poetry and prose and Martha
All I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
We'd packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

And I feel so much older now,
And you're much older too,
How's your husband?
And how's the kids?
You know that I got married too?
Lucky that you found someone
To make you feel secure,
'Cause we were all so young and foolish,
Now we are mature.

And those were the days of roses,
Poetry and prose and Martha
All I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
We'd packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

And I was always so impulsive,
I guess that I still am,
And all that really mattered then
Was that I was a man.
I guess that our being together
Was never meant to be.
And Martha, Martha,
I love you can't you see?

And those were the days of roses,
Poetry and prose and Martha
All I had was you and all you had was me.
There was no tomorrows,
We'd packed away our sorrows
And we saved them for a rainy day.

And I remember quiet evenings
Trembling close to you...