No final dos anos 70, Tom Waits caça em Los Angeles um bando de
músicos de estúdio, veteranos esquecidos, todos oriundos de New Orleans. Uma
das canções que ele grava com eles, “Whistlin’ Past the Graveyard”, é uma
pérola. Conheci primeiro uma versão alternativa, mais lenta, numa fitinha K7
[Heartattack and Vine, coletânea de 1980] que eu toquei 395.000 vezes numa
época em que era difícil escutar qualquer coisa do primeiro Tom Waits no Brasil.
A versão do disco de 1978, Blues
Valentine, mais rápida, é bem melhor. É como um Chico Buarque meio
vaudeville das rimas nonsense, naqueles momentos mais inspirados, tipo “Bye Bye
Brasil” ou a Ópera do Malandro. Em “Whistlin’
Past the Graveyard” Tom Waits chega perto de um certo poeta judeu-americano
conhecido pela alcunha Groucho Marx que, por exemplo, fez essa coplazinha em
versos alexandrinos românticos:
“One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas.
How he got into my pajamas, I don’t know.”
A expressão idiomática “whistling past the
graveyard” é apropriadamente antiquada – Tom Waits sempre gostou de brincar com
coisas completamente, ostensivamente fora de moda. Significa mais ou menos tentar passar por um
situação muito difícil sem se afetar muito por ela, seja por estoicismo, seja
por ignorância. É o que eu desejo aos meus amigos, o que eu mais preciso aprender a fazer para passar por esses
dias nebulosos.
Whistlin’ Past the Graveyard
Tom Waits, 1978
Well, I come in on a night
train
with an arm full of box cars
on the wings of a magpie [um corvo bicolor]
’cross a hooligan night
and I busted up a chifferobe [tipo de armário com gavetas e espaço para cabides]
way out by the Kokomo [ilha caribenha, na minha opinião, de formato um tanto sugestivo],
cooked up a mess a mulligan [sopa que os mendigos andarilhos - hobos - cozinhavam juntando o que encontravam por aí],
and got into a fight.
[Chorus]
Whistlin’ past the graveyard
Steppin' on a crack ["Step on a crack, you'll break your mother's back",é o chamado para brincar de andar sem pisar em nenhuma linha na calcada]
I'm a mean Mother Hubbard[1]
Papa one eyed jack
You probably seen me sleepin'
out by the railroad tracks.
Go on and ask the prince of darkness
what about all that smoke come from the stack.
Sometimes I kill myself a jackal
’n’ suck out all the blood.
Steal myself a station wagon
drivin' through the mud.
[Chorus]
I know you seen my headlights
and the honkin' of my horn.
I'm callin' out my bloodhounds
chase the devil through the corn.
Last night I chugged the Mississippi
now that sucker’s dry as a bone.
I [was] born in a taxi cab
I'm never comin' home.
[Chorus]
My eyes have seen the glory
of the draining of the ditch.
I only come to Baton Rouge
to find myself a witch.
I'm-onna snatch me up a couple of ’em
every time it rains.
You see a locomotive
probably thinkin' it’s a train.
[Chorus]
What you think is the sunshine
is just a twinkle in my eye.
That ring around my fingers,
call the fourth of July.
with an arm full of box cars
on the wings of a magpie [um corvo bicolor]
’cross a hooligan night
and I busted up a chifferobe [tipo de armário com gavetas e espaço para cabides]
way out by the Kokomo [ilha caribenha, na minha opinião, de formato um tanto sugestivo],
cooked up a mess a mulligan [sopa que os mendigos andarilhos - hobos - cozinhavam juntando o que encontravam por aí],
and got into a fight.
[Chorus]
Whistlin’ past the graveyard
Steppin' on a crack ["Step on a crack, you'll break your mother's back",é o chamado para brincar de andar sem pisar em nenhuma linha na calcada]
I'm a mean Mother Hubbard[1]
Papa one eyed jack
You probably seen me sleepin'
out by the railroad tracks.
Go on and ask the prince of darkness
what about all that smoke come from the stack.
Sometimes I kill myself a jackal
’n’ suck out all the blood.
Steal myself a station wagon
drivin' through the mud.
[Chorus]
I know you seen my headlights
and the honkin' of my horn.
I'm callin' out my bloodhounds
chase the devil through the corn.
Last night I chugged the Mississippi
now that sucker’s dry as a bone.
I [was] born in a taxi cab
I'm never comin' home.
[Chorus]
My eyes have seen the glory
of the draining of the ditch.
I only come to Baton Rouge
to find myself a witch.
I'm-onna snatch me up a couple of ’em
every time it rains.
You see a locomotive
probably thinkin' it’s a train.
[Chorus]
What you think is the sunshine
is just a twinkle in my eye.
That ring around my fingers,
call the fourth of July.
When I get a little lonesome
and a tear falls from my cheek,
there's gonna be an ocean in
the middle of the week.
[Chorus]
I rode into town on a night train
with an arm full of box cars
on the wings of a magpie
cross a hooligan night.
I'm-onna tear me off a rainbow
and wear it for a tie.
I never told the truth
so I can never tell a lie.
and a tear falls from my cheek,
there's gonna be an ocean in
the middle of the week.
[Chorus]
I rode into town on a night train
with an arm full of box cars
on the wings of a magpie
cross a hooligan night.
I'm-onna tear me off a rainbow
and wear it for a tie.
I never told the truth
so I can never tell a lie.
[1] “Old Mother Hubbard” é uma canção de ninar [nursery
rhyme] do século XIX cheia de rimas nonsense.
Comments