LOVELY PEOPLE
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(Contents)
MAN GOIN' ROUN' (Music arr. by Hazel Felman)
ALL NIGHT LONG (Music arr. by Hazel Felman)
ZEK'L WEEP (Music arr. by Hazel Felman)
I KNOW MOONLIGHT (Music arr. by Hazel Felman)
BLIND MAN LAY BESIDE THE WAY (Music arr. by Alfred 0. Wathall
BY'M BY (Music arr. by Marion Lychenheim
GO TO SLEEPY (Music arr. by Maybelle Stith
JUNGLE MAMMY SONG
TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM HOME (Music arr. by Ruth Crawford
MY OLD HAMMAH (Music arr. by Henry Francis Parks
CHARCOAL MAN (Music arr. by Tltorvold Otierstrdm
THE WEAVER (Music arr. by Alfred G. Wathall
THE COLORADO TRAIL (Music arr. by Alfred G. Waiholl
I MET HER IN THE GARDEN WHERE THE PRATIES GROW (Music arr. by Alfred G. Wathall
SOMEBODY (Music arr. by Elizabeth Marshall
I DON'T WANT TO BE A GAMBLER
WHEN POOR MARY CAME WANDERING HOME (Music arr. by Leo Soercrby
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Things in a picture must not have the appearance of being brought together by chance or for a purpose, but must have a necessary and inevitable connection.
I desire that the creations which I depict should have the air of being dedicated to their situation, so that one could not imagine that they would dream of being anything else than what they are. A work of art ought to be all one piece, and the men and things in it should always be there for a reason.
It were tetter that the things weakly said should not be said at all, because in the former case they are only, as it were, deflowered and spoiled.
Beauty does not consist so much in the things represented, as in the need one has of expressing them; and this need it is which creates the degree of force with which one acquits oneself of the work. One may say that everything is beautiful provided the thing turns up in its own proper time and in its own place; and contrariwise, that nothing can be beautiful arriving inappropriately
Let Apollo be Apollo, and Socrates Socrates.
Which is more beautiful, a straight tree or a crooked tree?
Whichever is most in place.
This then is my conclusion: The beautiful is that which is in place.
JEAN FRANCOIS MILLET
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MAN GOIN' ROUN'
At first glance this may seem a whimsical reference to the census taker going from door to door and taking the names of all people without regard to sex, color, race, or previous condition of servitude. Then we come to the line, "an' he leave my heart in pain," and we know it is a more august and austere Enumerator than any employed in the transient and temporal governments of man. Each verse deals with a relative, mother, father, sister, brother, or other dear one, checked off from the list of the living. A true instance of the poetry "to be overheard ratlier than heard," it keeps for those of long acquaintance with it, an overtone of a reverie on the riddles of death and the frail permits by which any one generation walks before the mirrors of life. I heard it in Columbia, South Carolina, sung for a group including Julia Peterkin, Danny and Isadora Bennett Read, and Prof, and Mrs. Taylor in whose family Rebecca, the singer, was a servant since a child. Rebecca was far in years but had a young singing heart and a clear singing voice. She was bashful, hesitant, at times, about going on with the songs, giving a silvery chuckle with a sidewise turn of her head as she took up the lines of a new song. There were moments when I felt about this homely, rather slightly built, black woman, the strength of earth and the patience of large, slow-changing landscapes. Arr. II. F.
1 There's a man goin' roun' takin' names,
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names.
An' he took my mother's name,
An' he leave my heart in pain,
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names.
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names,
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names,
An' he took my father's name.
An' he leave my heart in pain,
There's a man goin' roun' takin' names.
3, 4, etc. Sister, brother, etc.
ALL NIGHT LONG
This is the second of a trilogy from Rebecca Taylor. It comes speaking in parables joined to an air that is stately even though simple. Arr. H. F.
ALL NIGHT LONG
Straight up to heaven, straight right back,
Nebah seen de like since I ben born,
All night long. All night long.
Tain' but de one train on dis track,
People keep comin' an' de train done gone,
All night long. All night long.
Tain' but de one train on dis track.
People keep comin' an' de train done gone,
All night long. All night long.
Do, Lawd, delibbah po' me!
Do, Lawd, delibbah po' me!
ZEK'L WEEP
This is the third number of the majestic trilogy from Rebecca Taylor.
1. Zek'l weep, Zek'l mo'n,
Flesh come a-creepin' off o' Zek'l bones;
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
When I'm gone, gone, gone,
When I'm gone to come no mo',
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
Star in the east, star in the west,
Wish that star was in my breast,
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
When I'm gone, gone, gone,
When I'm gone to come no mo',
Church, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
3. Hush, little baby, don' you cry,
Know that yo' mother done born to die,
Chillun, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
When I'm gone, gone, gone,
When Im gone to come no mo',
Chillun, I know you go'n to miss me
When I'm gone.
I KNOW MOONLIGHT
An arrangement of lines from a slave day spiritual. Arr. H. F.
1 I know moonlight,
I know starlight,
I lay this body down.
I walk in the moonlight,
I walk in the starlight,
I lay this body down.
3 I go to judgment
In the evenin' of the day,
When I lay this body down.
BLIND MAN LAY BESIDE THE WAY
A brief story . . . compact in diction . . . useless to add or subtract words. Arr. A. G. W.
BUND MAN LAY BESIDE THE WAY
2 A man he died, was crucified,
They hung a thief on either side;
One lifted up his voice and cried:
"O Lord, won't you help-a me!
O Lord, won't you help-a me!"
3 A blind man lay by the way and cried,
"O Lord, won't you help-a me."
And the thief cried out before he died,
"O Lord, won't you help-a me!
O Lord, won't you help-a me!"
BY'M BY
The stealth and mystery of the coming out of the stars one by one on the night sky ... a fragment of a spiritual heard in Texas in the early 1880's by Charley Thorpe of Santa Fe. Arr. M. L.
By'm by, by'm by,
Stahs shinin',
Numbah, numbah one,
Numbah two, numbah three,
Good Lawd, by'm by, by'm by,
Good Lawd, by'm by.
GO TO SLEEPY
A traditional lullaby in the City of Athens, State of Georgia, as written, words, air, and harmonization by Maybelle Stith of that city and state. She commented, "In the left hand I tried to get the effect of a cradle rocking. It was rather difficult to indicate the time as it varies with the mood of the singer."
GO TO SLEEPY
Go to sleepy, little baby,
To' de booger man ketch you.
When you wake you'll have a piece of cake
And a whole lot of little horses.
Go to sleepy, little baby,
To' de booger man ketch you.
When you wake you shall have a cake,
Coach and four little ponies,
A black and a bay, and a dapple and a gray.
Go to sleepy, little baby.
JUNGLE MAMMY SONG
Margaret Johnson of Augusta, Georgia, heard her mother sing this, year on year, as the mother had learned it from the singing, year on year, of a negro woman who comforted children with it. The source of its language may be French, Creole, Cherokee, or mixed. The syllables are easy for singing; so is the tune. It may be, as provisionally titled, a Jungle Mammy Song, in the sense that all mothers are primitive and earthy even though civilized and celestial.
yah, tair um bam, boo wah,
Kee lay zee day,
Nic o lav. mah lun dee.
TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM HOME
This may be one of the many Po' Boy songs, carrying its own peculiar load of grief. Verse sometimes goes
I went down to the railroad
Where the big six- wheelers ran;
I saw my woman sitting there
In the arms of another man.
And occasionally, for the sake of plot, these two verses are interspersed
I stood on the street corner;
It was shortly after dark;
Along came a man with the woman I love,
And I stabbed him through the heart.
"Well, it's please, Mr. Judge, now please, Mr. Judge,
It's what are you goin' to do with me? "
He says, " If I find you guilty, dear boy,
I'm goin' to send you to the penitentiary."
TEN THOUSAND MILES AWAY FROM HOME
2 I went down to the old depot,
The trains were a-passin' by;
Looked through the bars, saw the woman I love,
And I hung my head and cried.
3 Standing on the street corner,
And the girl I loved passed by;
She shrugged her shoulder and passed me by,
And I tucked my head and cried.
MY OLD HAMMAH
The power and restraint of art and genius lurk in the lines and melody of this song from the negro hard rock gangs of Georgia and Alabama. The air is to be freely rendered. It is strictly one with variations, glides, blue notes, as you choose at moments. It relates directly to an older piece known in the mountains as Swannanoa Town. Sharp and Campbell present a fine air and ten verses of the latter in "English Folk Songs from the Southern Appalachians" of which there are four specimen verses:
When you hear my bull-dog barking,
Somebody round, baby, somebody round.
When you hear my pistol firing,
Another man dead, baby, another man dead.
Look for me till your eye runs water,
I'll be at home, baby, I'll be at home.
Don't you remember last December,
The wind blowed cold, baby, the wind bio wed cold.
MY OLD HAMMAH
In accompaniment Henry Francis Parks indicates, "The hammer stroke motive should quite predominate."
1. My old hammah
Shinn like silvah,
Shina like gol',
Yes, shina like gol'
2 Dere ain' no hammah
Ina this old mountain,
Shina like mine,
Yes, shina like mine!
3 This old haminah
Kill my pahtnah,
But it can't kill me,
No, it can't kill me!
4. I ben a-workin',
Ona this hyer railroad,
Fo' long year, boys,
Yes, fo' long year!
5. Next winter
Be so col',
Be so col',
Yes, be so col'!
CHAHCOAL MAN
Once the comment was heard on this, "It is a delicate imprint on a field of silence." ... An old man selling charcoal used to proclaim himself to the residents of Springfield, Missouri, with this morning cry. ... I notated it, hazardously, from the singing of a faculty member of the state teachers' college at Greeley, Colorado. She came from Missouri. Arr. Th. O.
O-o-o-oh, lil' man,
Go get yo' pan;
Tell -a yo' mam
Hyeh come de chahcoal man-n-n-n.
Chahcoal!
THE WEAVER
A variant of Foggy Foggy Dew, or I Am A Bachelor, a song that stands against time and weather tells a short-spoken story and ends with no more to say. Arr. A. G. W.
THE WEAVER
1. I was a bachelor, I lived by myself,
I worked at the weaver's trade;
The only thing I did that was wrong
Was to woo a pretty maid.
I wooed her in the summer-time
And in the winter, too;
And all night long I held her in my arms,
Just to shield her from the foggy, foggy dew.
I am a bachelor, I live with my son;
We work at the weaver's trade;
And ev'ry single time I look into his eyes
He reminds me of the fair young maid.
He reminds me of the winter-time
And of the summer, too;
And the many, many times that I held her in my arms,,
Just to shield her from the foggy, foggy dew.
THE COLORADO TRAIL
A boss wrangler brought a car of ponies to Duluth, Minnesota. The next day, after brave stunt riding, he was laid in a hospital bed with "ruptures on both sides." He told the surgeon Dr. T. L. Chapman, in a soft, forgiving voice, "That was a terribly bad hoss not only throwed me, but he trompled me." Out of past years this rider had, Dr. Chapman's examination disclosed, "bones of both upper and lower legs broken, fractures of collar bone on both sides, numerous fractures of both arms and wrists, and many scars from lacerations and tramplings, the bones knit any way that God and Nature let them heal." As his strength came back he sang across the hospital ward in a mellowed tenor voice. And they always called for more. One song was The Colorado Trail remembered by Dr. Chapman as here set down. Arr. A. G. W.
1 Eyes like the morning star,
Cheek like a rose,
Laura was a pretty girl,
God Almighty knows.
Weep, all ye little rains,
Wail, winds, wail,
All along, along, along
The Colorado trail.
I MET HER IN THE GARDEN WHERE THE PRATIES GROW
A quizzical, round-the-corner laughter at trouble that started where the potato blossoms grow. C. W. Loutzenhiser, the old railroad man of Chicago, who as a boy traveled with his father's circus, said he often sang this with an Irish girl, and the both of them used to wonder as the years went by, why they met only this one verse. Arr. A. G. W.
O, have ye been in love, me boys,
And have ye felt the pain?
I'd rather be hi jail, me boys,
Than be in love again;
O, I met her in the mornin'
And I'll have yez all to know
That I met her in the garden
Where the praties grow.
SOMEBODY
A fugitive little lyric heard by Edwin Ford Piper from the singing of his pioneer mother in the 1880's on a farm near Auburn, Nebraska. ... At the University of Virginia, a lad from near Lynchburg, Virginia, said he had heard it from old people and it had been sung roundabout that neighborhood a long time. Arr. E. M.
1 Somebody's tall and handsome,
Somebody's brave and true.
Somebody's hair is very fair,
Somebody's eyes are blue.
2 Somebody comes to see me,
Somebody came last night.
Somebody asked me to marry him,
'Course I said, "All right."
I DON'T WANT TO BE A GAMBLE
1. Oh, I don't want to be a gambler,
An' I'll tell you the reason why:
me,
God got his eyes on me,
My Lord sit-tin' in his Kingdom,
Got his eyes on me.
2 Oh, I don't want to be a liar,
An' I'll tell you the reason why: Chorus.
3. Oh, I don't want to be a drunkard,
An' I'll tell you the reason why: Chorus.
WHEN POOR MARY CAME WANDERING HOME
This too was heard from Scnour at Indiana University on the evening told of in the note to "Who Will Shoe Your Pretty Little Foot?" It is a fragment, a little make-over, from the mawkish popular song, "Mary of the Wild Moor." The mother of Senour sang it often. A wisp of melody, it is, five brief lines as implicative as a Chinese poem.
It was on a cold winter's night
When poor Mary came wandering home.
And the watch-dog did howl,
And the village bell did toll,
And the wind blew across the wild moor.