Έχει η Παναγιά καραβοκύρη ξέχνα ρε Μπίλυ τη Φανή το πε το πε ο παπαγάλος ξημερώματα δίνεις δικαιώματα

Ας αρχίσω με μια συνοπτική διαφορική διάγνωση του τι θεωρώ ποίηση και τι στίχους, βασιζόμενος βασικά στη διαίσθησή σας.

Ποίηση είναι αυτό. Ακόμα κι έτσι.
Στίχοι είναι αυτό. Ακόμα κι έτσι:

Well I stepped into an avalanche,
it covered up my soul;
when I am not this hunchback that you see,
I sleep beneath the golden hills
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn, learn to serve me well.
You strike my side by accident
as you go down for your gold
The crippled h i that you clothe and feed
is neither starved nor cold
He does not ask for your company,
not at the centre, the centre of the world.
When I am on a pedestal,
you did not raise me there.
Your laws do not compel me
to kneel grotesque and bare
I myself am the piedestal
for this ugly hump at which you stare
You who wish to conquer pain,
you must learn what makes me kind
the crumbs of love that you offer me,
they're the crumbs I've left behind.
Your pain is no credential here,
it's just the shadow, shadow of my wound
I have begun to long for you,
I who have no greed
I have begun to ask for you,
I who have no need
You say you've gone away from me,
but I can feel you when you breathe.
Do not dress in those rags for me,
I know you are not poor
you don't love me quite so fiercely now
when you know that you are not sure,
it is your turn, beloved,
it is your flesh that I wear.

Αν δεν έγινε φουλ κατανοητή η ειδοποιός διαφορά, νομίζω θα ξελαγαριάσει παρακάτω. Λίιιγο υπομονή.

Θα μπορούσα όμως να έχω αρχίσει αλλιώς, από τις αδυναμίες μου. Πχ τους ομορφότεροι ερωτικοί στίχοι έβερ τους έγραψε ο Prince στο ‘If I Was Your Girlfriend’

If I was your girlfriend
Would you remember to tell me all the things you forgot
When I was your man?
Hey, when I was your man
If I was your best friend
Would you let me take care of you and do all the things
That only a best friend can
Only best friends can
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
Would you let me dress you
I mean, help you pick out your clothes
Before we go out
Not that you're helpless
But sometimes, sometimes
Those are the things that bein' in love's about
If I was your one and only friend
Would you run to me if somebody hurt you
Even if that somebody was me?
Sometimes I trip on how happy we could be
Please
If I was your girlfriend
If I was your girlfriend
Would you let me wash your hair
Could I make you breakfast sometime
Or then, could we just hang out, I mean
Could we go to a movie and cry together
'Cause to me baby that would be so fine
If I was your girlfriend
Baby can I dress you
I mean, help you pick out your clothes
Before we go out
(If I was your girlfriend)
Listen girl, I ain't sayin you're helpless
But sometimes, sometimes
Those are the things that bein' in love's about (sugar)
Sugar do you know what I'm saying to you this evening? (sugar)
Maybe you think I'm being
A little self-centered (if I was your girlfriend)
But I, I said I want to be (sugar)
All of the things you are to me (sugar)
Surely, surely you can see (if I was your girlfriend)
Is it really necessary for me to go out of the room
Just because you wanna undress?
I mean, we don't have to make children to make love
And then, we don't have to make love to have an orgasm
Your body's what I'm all about
Can I see you?
I'll show you
Why not?
You can think it's because I'm your friend I'll do it for you
Of course I'll undress in front of you!
And when I'm naked, what shall I do?
How can I make you see that it's cool?
Can't you just trust me?
If I was your girlfriend you could
Oh, yeah, I think so
Listen, for you naked I would dance a ballet
Would that get you off?
Then tell me what will!
If I was your girlfriend, would you tell me?
Would you let me see you naked then?
Would you let me give you a bath?
Would you let me tickle you so hard you'd laugh and laugh
And would you, would you let me kiss you there
You know down there where it counts
I'll do it so good I swear I'll drink every ounce
And then I'll hold you tight and hold you long
And together we'll stare into silence
And we'll try to imagine what it looks like
Yeah, we'll try to imagine what, what silence looks like
Yeah, we'll try to imagine what silence looks like
Yeah, we'll try?

Ουάου. Ας μας πουν τα θηλυκά που διαβάζουν, αν δεν μείναν κάγκελο.

Σαν τραγούδι όμως δεν τσουλάει, ούτε από τον ίδιο ούτε αργότερα, διασκευασμένο από τις TLC. Το πρόβλημα είναι η μουσική, παραείναι μπλαζέ για τέτοιο δυνατό στιχούργημα. Αν σας το βάλω βέβαια από τους Eels, εκεί κάτι γίνεται.

Δε θέτε καλύτερα ένα κομμάτι που τα σπάει να μιλάει και με ήχο και με γλώσσα για τη σεξουαλική σας φύση; Οι Ultravox το πέτυχαν στο απόλυτο.

My sex
Waits for me
Like a mongrel waits
Downwind on a tight rope leash
My sex
Is a fragile acrobat
Sometimes I'm a Novocaine shot
Sometimes I'm an automat
My sex
Is often solo
Sometimes it short circuits then
Sometimes it's a golden glow
My sex
Is invested in
Suburban photographs
Skyscraper shadows on a car crash overpass
My sex
Is savage, tender
It wears no future faces
Owns just random gender
My sex
Has a wanting wardrobe
I still explore
Of all the bodies I knew and those I want to know
My sex
Is a spark of electro flesh
Leased from the tick of time
And geared for synchromesh
My sex
Is an image lost in faded films
A neon outline
On a high-rise overspill
My sex
My sex
My sex

Οι στίχοι λοιπόν ορίζονται από το κομμάτι, όπως και οι νότες. Ένα τραγούδι, δεν είναι ποίηση, δεν είναι και μουσική. Για να συνεχίσουμε με στίχους τραγουδιών που το κάνουν, τους δυνατότεροι πολιτικοί στίχοι που μου ‘ρχονται αυτή τη στιγμή τους έγραψε ο Mark των Astronauts στο ‘Protest Song’

I live my own life
Do what I want
Say what I mean
And you’ve got your own hope
Strange ambition
Different dreams
So who are you to say I’m wrong?
And who am I to say I’m right?
Though we live in separate ways
Why do we argue, always fight?
A man who disagreed with a regime was termed a rat
ONE NIGHT SOME MEN CAMEround
“we’ve read your books, we’d like a chat”
And then they kicked him round the cell
With cigarettes they burned his face
Said “remember, we are the law,
Do you love your family, your dwelling place?”
And it seems that fools control world,
The nuclear button, the poison pen
Most of us are in the dark
But then we’re only little men
But little men have mouths to feed
And little men don’t want to kill
So little men are never told
Unless, of course, the earth stands still

Το κομμάτι σταματάει. Ήχοι από άναρχο πιάνο κυκλοφορούν ασκόπως… Και μετά πάμε στο ζουμί:

We have got a chant, ain’t got a chorus, ain’t even got a name
But it helps us through the night to know we don’t share the blame
It’s just another protest song (‘oh what a pretty protest song”)
With words to try and make you think (‘I think I’ll go and have a drink”)
But come the dawn
resume your search for
your ultimate power
Your missing link

Α κι o Steve Lake των Zounds στο ‘Can’t Cheat Karma’. Στίχοι παίξιμο ένα και το αυτό.

One - Two - Three - Go
I've got an ego
It won't let me go
What am I gonna do?
A - B - C - D
Paranoia's killing me
I'm dying on my aching feet
What a way to go
Roll up - Roll up
People always stroll up
Say "Why don't you grow up?"
No thank you!
Big cats, small cats
Some cats are fat cats
Those cats are bad cats
What we gonna do?
There's an awful lot of people in the world today
There's an awful lot of trouble in the streets these days
And it doesn't seem to matter what you do or say
If a change is gonna come you've got to help it on it's way
A change is gonna come before too long I know
Peace has gotta come, well, I could be wrong I know
But I just don't know what I can do
You don't trust me and I don't trust you
I bet you wish you did and I know I do
Why have you got secrets? Cause I know you have
If you've got something to hide then it must be bad
A change is gonna come before too long I know
Peace has gotta come, well, I could be wrong I know
But I just don't know what I can do
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Ο Τζίμης Πανούσης ήταν περίπτωση στο ελληνικό ροκ. Ιδού η ‘Ανακωχή’ από τον δεύτερο δίσκο των Μουσικών Ταξιαρχιών. Οι μουσικοί βάζουν τα μπετά, τα τούβλα, τα δοκάρια και τα χρώματα. Ο Τζιμάκος μέσα τραγουδάει:

Πλεκω στιχακια με καποιο χιουμορ μ αρχη και τελος σαν τον αισωπο
Νιωθω σαν κατι γκομενουλες του σαραντα που πλεκαν καλτσες για το μετωπο
Εχουμε πολεμο μην το γελας μωρο μου, για δες πως με κοιτάει η σπιτονοικοκυρα
Κοιτα ποιοι παιρνουν τα τραγουδια μου μωρο μου και τα πουλανε σαν απορρυπαντικα
Γιατι θαρρεις ότι δεν κοβω τα μαλλια μου, γιατι φοραω σκουλαρικια, χαϊμαλια
Ειμαστε αιχμαλωτοι στο σπιτι μας μωρο μου και πρεπει να χουμε σαφη διακριτικα
Μα οσο υπαρχουν απλωμενα στα μπαλκονια των πολυκατοικιων ασπρα σεντονια δε φοβαμαι
Αραγε μεχρι ποτε αληθεια θα κρατησει αυτή η ανακωχη μεταξυ των ενοικων
Πλεκω στιχακια κι εχω ένα φοβο να μη χτυπησει το τηλεφωνο
Είναι ο τυπος απ το κρατος που ελεγχει αν υπακουει το φερεφωνο
Εχουμε πολεμο μην το γελας μωρο μου, να μην αφηνεις το παραθυρο ανοιχτο
Κοιτα πως κρεμονται οι αυτοχειρες φανταροι με τις θηλιες απ της σημαιας τον ιστο
Οι παλιοι μας φιλοι για παντα φυγαν κουνωντας μαντηλακι καλαματιανο
Παιζουμε μονοι μας στο θεατρο μωρο μου κι οι θεατες θα βλεπουν καποιο τελικο
Μα οσο υπαρχουν απλωμενα στα μπαλκονια των πολυκατοικιων ασπρα σεντονια δε φοβαμαι
Αραγε μεχρι ποτε αληθεια θα κρατησει αυτή η ανακωχη μεταξυ των ενοικων

Ο Johnny Rotten δεν είχε εμφανώς σκοπό να γράψει μπούρδες πάνω στο αρχέτυπο πανκ ροκ των υπόλοιπων Sex Pistols. Όταν του ‘ρθε ένα ψυχικά διαταραγμένο κορίτσι στην πόρτα του σπιτιού του με το νεκρό της έμβρυο σε μια σακούλα, έγραψε το ‘Bodies’, ένα απ’ τα πιο φορτισμένα του τραγούδια, όπου καθιστά σαφές ότι η έκτρωση μπορεί να γίνεται για καλό ή για κακό, πάντα όμως παραμένει μια εντελώς μαλακισμένη και τραυματική ιστορία που μας υπερβαίνει.

She was a girl from Birmingham
She just had an abortion
She was a case of insanity
Her name was Pauline she lived in a tree
She was a no-one who killed her baby
She sent her letters from the country
She was an animal
She was a bloody disgrace
Body I'm not an animal
Body I'm not an animal
Dragged on a table in a factory
Illegitimate place to be
In a packet in a lavatory
Die little baby screaming
Body screaming fucking bloody mess
Not an animal it's an abortion
Body I'm not an animal
Mummy I'm an abortion
Throbbing squirm, gurgling bloody mess
I'm not a discharge
I'm not a loss in protein
I'm not a throbbing squirm
Ah! Fuck this and fuck that
Fuck it all tha fuck out of the fucking brat
She don't wanna a baby that looks like that
I don't wanna a baby that looks like that.
Body I'm not an animal
Body, an abortion
Body I'm not an animal
Body I'm not an animal
An animal
I'm not an animal
I'm not an animal, an animal, an-an-an animal
I'm not a body
I'm not an animal, an animal, an-an-an animal
I'm not an animal
Mummy! Ugh!

Όταν με ρωτάγανε οι παλιοροκάδες τι το καινούργιο δηλαδή έφερε το πανκ τους έβαζα αυτό. Στο δεύτερο μέρος θυμάμαι καταλάβαιναν όλοι.

Άλλες πάλι φορές είναι τόσο δυνατός ο στίχος που η μουσική μπορεί και να υπάρχει ή να μην.

You will not be able to stay home, brother.
You will not be able to plug in, turn on and cop out.
You will not be able to lose yourself on skag and
skip out for beer during commercials,
Because the revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by Xerox
In 4 parts without commercial interruptions.
The revolution will not show you pictures of Nixon
blowing a bugle and leading a charge by John
Mitchell, General Abrams and Spiro Agnew to eat
hog maws confiscated from a Harlem sanctuary.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be brought to you by the
Schaefer Award Theatre and will not star Natalie
Woods and Steve McQueen or Bullwinkle and Julia.
The revolution will not give your mouth sex appeal.
The revolution will not get rid of the nubs.
The revolution will not make you look five pounds
thinner, because the revolution will not be televised, Brother.
There will be no pictures of you and Willie May
pushing that shopping cart down the block on the dead run,
or trying to slide that color television into a stolen ambulance.
NBC will not be able predict the winner at 8: 32
or report from 29 districts.
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of pigs shooting down
brothers in the instant replay.
There will be no pictures of Whitney Young being
run out of Harlem on a rail with a brand new process.
There will be no slow motion or still life of Roy
Wilkens strolling through Watts in a Red, Black and
Green liberation jumpsuit that he had been saving
For just the proper occasion.
Green Acres, The Beverly Hillbillies, and Hooterville
Junction will no longer be so damned relevant, and
women will not care if Dick finally gets down with
Jane on Search for Tomorrow because Black people
will be in the street looking for a brighter day.
The revolution will not be televised.
There will be no highlights on the eleven o'clock
news and no pictures of hairy armed women
liberationists and Jackie Onassis blowing her nose.
The theme song will not be written by Jim Webb,
Francis Scott Key, nor sung by Glen Campbell, Tom
Jones, Johnny Cash, Englebert Humperdink, or the Rare Earth.
The revolution will not be televised.
The revolution will not be right back
after a message about a white tornado, white lightning, or white people.
You will not have to worry about a dove in your
bedroom, a tiger in your tank, or the giant in your toilet bowl.
The revolution will not go better with Coke.
The revolution will not fight the germs that may cause bad breath.
The revolution will put you in the driver's seat.
The revolution will not be televised, will not be televised,
will not be televised, will not be televised.
The revolution will be no re-run brothers;
The revolution will be live.

Αυτός ήταν ο Gil Scott-Heron σ ένα από τα καλύτερα τραγούδια που μου ‘ρθαν κατά νου. Η μουσική έτυχε, σχεδόν.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Κι ας τελειώσουμε με δράμα. Ο Mark Eitzel μεταμορφώνεται σε μια ερωτική σχέση που έληξε, πέθανε, πάει. Αρχίζει πολιτισμένα, όσο προχωράει φορτώνει, ε και μετά θολώνει και το χάνει τελείως. Οι υπόλοιποι American Music Club τον περιγράφουν τόσο πιστά βήμα βήμα προς τον εξευτελιστικό ολοφυρμό του, που ξεχνιέσαι, οι λέξεις φταίνε ή οι νότες;

As the silence between us begins to grow,
Here's the harvest that we have sewn
Planted in ground where nothing good can grow
I look at you and have no answer
There's no language that I understand
I only know how to lead with a losing hand
Just like it is above so it is down below
I guess I didn't know, I guess I didn't know
Nothing you say should ever matter to me
Cause I can see through your misery
And last night after your robbery
Well you took everything when you got away
Yeah, you got away
Idiot son's always trying to fall
Someone better nail that sucker to the wall
Idiot son and his boat of cheers
He's sailing on down to sea
And it's a sea of misery
The princess, she's eaten all of her own hair
A little bitch in a cycle of despair
And none of her good friends can ever die
None of them can say goodbye
But still she cries and she cries,
'I will lose you, I will forget you,
I will lose you, I will forget you,
I will lose you, I will forget you,
Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye!'