Daddy Tell Me Once Again...
There is a song written in Spanish by a man named Ismael Serrano that talks about times passed, the 50's, the 60's and the 70's. It basically tells the story of a little boy who asks his father to tell him that story agin, the story of military men, fascits and students with bangs. Of urban guerilla with bell-bottom jeans, and songs of the Rolling, and girls in Miniskirts. He then goes on to ask him to tell him the story of how much fun he had ruining the old age to rusty dictators, and how he occupied the Sorbonne, in tht French May, in the days of wine and roses.
Finally the little boy asks his father to tell him one nicer story, the one about the "crazy guerrillero" who got killed in Bolivia and how nobody dared use his gun angain, and how sindce that day everything seems uglier.
From tht point on the son becomes his father's critic, pointing out that, after all those barricades, after all those raised fists and all the bloodshed, at the end of the game he couldn't do anything. And that the defeat was harsh, and everything everyone dreamed of rotted on the corners, there are no more crazy people, no more parias, but it's all still dirty.
He goes on to regret, stating that the French May is far away, as well as Saint Denis, Jean Paul Sartre and that old Paris and nevertheless he sometimes thiniks that it was all the same. Punishments keeps falling on those people who talk too much. And the same dead people rotten with cruelty remain, but now the ones that died in Vietnam die in Bosnia.
I first heard this song four years ago, I think, and I didn't underwstrand half of it. It seemed impossible fore the world to be like that in the song only decades ago, and for my parents to have been born, and have killed, one of the most idealistic generation there has ever been. I couldn't help but ask what happened. What happened to them??? And to US? How come the children of the French May gave birth to the Generation of No Ideals? How come they lost it? Was it us, was it them? Was it both? Is it tht they failed to pass the torch or that we didn't know what to do with it so we put it out?
Was it all in vain, as he says?
Finally the little boy asks his father to tell him one nicer story, the one about the "crazy guerrillero" who got killed in Bolivia and how nobody dared use his gun angain, and how sindce that day everything seems uglier.
From tht point on the son becomes his father's critic, pointing out that, after all those barricades, after all those raised fists and all the bloodshed, at the end of the game he couldn't do anything. And that the defeat was harsh, and everything everyone dreamed of rotted on the corners, there are no more crazy people, no more parias, but it's all still dirty.
He goes on to regret, stating that the French May is far away, as well as Saint Denis, Jean Paul Sartre and that old Paris and nevertheless he sometimes thiniks that it was all the same. Punishments keeps falling on those people who talk too much. And the same dead people rotten with cruelty remain, but now the ones that died in Vietnam die in Bosnia.
I first heard this song four years ago, I think, and I didn't underwstrand half of it. It seemed impossible fore the world to be like that in the song only decades ago, and for my parents to have been born, and have killed, one of the most idealistic generation there has ever been. I couldn't help but ask what happened. What happened to them??? And to US? How come the children of the French May gave birth to the Generation of No Ideals? How come they lost it? Was it us, was it them? Was it both? Is it tht they failed to pass the torch or that we didn't know what to do with it so we put it out?
Was it all in vain, as he says?
posted by Augustine at 1:28 PM
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