That old dust storm killed my baby,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
That old dust storm killed my family,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
That old landlord got my homestead,
But he can't get me, Lord,
And he can't get me.
That old dry spell killed my crop, boys,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
That old tractor got my home, boys,
But it can't get me, Lord
And it can't get me.
That old tractor run my house down,
But it can't get me down,
And it can't get me.
That old pawn shop got my furniture,
But it can't get me, Lord,
And it can't get me.
That old highway's got my relatives,
But it can't get me, Lord,
And it can't get me.
That old dust might kill my wheat, boys,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
I have weathered a-many a dust storm,
But it can't get me, boys,
And it can't kill me.
That old dust storm, well, it blowed my barn down,
But it can't blow me down,
And it can't blow me down.
That old wind might blow this world down,
But it can't blow me down,
It can't kill me.
That old dust storm's killed my baby,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
That old dust storm killed my family,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
That old landlord got my homestead,
But he can't get me, Lord,
And he can't get me.
That old dry spell killed my crop, boys,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
That old tractor got my home, boys,
But it can't get me, Lord
And it can't get me.
That old tractor run my house down,
But it can't get me down,
And it can't get me.
That old pawn shop got my furniture,
But it can't get me, Lord,
And it can't get me.
That old highway's got my relatives,
But it can't get me, Lord,
And it can't get me.
That old dust might kill my wheat, boys,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
I have weathered a-many a dust storm,
But it can't get me, boys,
And it can't kill me.
That old dust storm, well, it blowed my barn down,
But it can't blow me down,
And it can't blow me down.
That old wind might blow this world down,
But it can't blow me down,
It can't kill me.
That old dust storm's killed my baby,
But it can't kill me, Lord
And it can't kill me.
Contributed by Dead End - 2012/8/20 - 13:45
×
Note for non-Italian users: Sorry, though the interface of this website is translated into English, most commentaries and biographies are in Italian and/or in other languages like French, German, Spanish, Russian etc.
Album “Dust Bowl Ballads”
Durante i primi decenni del XX secolo le grandi e fertili pianure al centro degli USA furono coltivate intensivamente e dissennatamente, senza badare alla rotazione delle colture e senza mai dare respiro alla terra. Durante e dopo la prima guerra mondiale la produzione agricola fu spinta ben oltre la resistenza del suolo, che si inaridì e desertificò velocemente sotto i colpi degli aratri. All’inizio degli anni 30 il dissesto geologico era compiuto e i venti cominciarono a strappare via, letteralmente, la superficie della terra, alzando spaventose tempeste di sabbia. Nella “Dust Bowl”, la “conca della polvere”, compresa tra Texas, Kansas, Oklahoma, Colorado e Nuovo Messico, mezzo milione di americani restarono senza nulla e cominciarono un esodo biblico verso ovest, verso la California. Lì, nel “paese del latte e del miele”, i migranti finivano invece a lavorare come schiavi nelle grandi tenute agricole: è la storia di "The Grapes of Wrath" di John Steinbeck/John Ford, di tante canzoni del “menestrello dell’Oklahoma” (per esempio Tom Joad, Dust Bowl Refugee, Talking Dust Bowl Blues e I Ain't Got No Home (In This World Anymore)) e, più recentemente, di The Ghost Of Tom Joad del suo erede Bruce Springsteen…
La solita tempesta di sabbia ha ucciso la mia famiglia…
La solita siccità ha ucciso il mio raccolto, il mio frumento…
Il solito proprietario si è preso la mia casa…
Col solito trattore l’ha rasa al suolo…
Il solito banco dei pegni si è preso i miei mobili…
La solita strada si è ingoiata i miei familiari…
La solita tempesta di sabbia ha distrutto il mio mondo, ma non avrà me, Signore, e non riuscirà ad uccidermi. Io sopravviverò.
(Ho tradotto forse impropriamente “old” con “solito”… credo che Guthrie volesse semplicemente evidenziare come la sabbia, la sete, la carestia, la morte, il padrone, il banco dei pegni, l’emigrazione ecc. fossero tutti elementi tristemente noti e ricorrenti, quasi familiari, nell’America rurale degli anni 30…)