Fast! Fast! One year has passed! Dead! Dead! You will never be reborn! Who said There will be a resurrection? Why didn't we see any of those gentlemen Who were willing to take your places? The real rneaning of "death" -- You knew it. Still you paid with your life for your class! Sacrifice! That was real sacrifice! Look at your enemies. They are fishing, Smiling, Murdering, As ever. Shameful! It is an eternal disgrace to us all. Before your death Did not millions promise -- To do "this" or "that" lf you should die? Now One year has passed. What about "this" and what about "that"? Petitions? Protests? Telegrams? Demonstrations? Strikes? Oh! They may refire the cold ashes of our two martyrs. But they can never soften the murderer's heart! Tears? Sighs? Complaints? And the like? Oh! They may expect the embraces of your dear mothers, They can never get pardon from the blood-thirsty masters. Have you ever seen sheep end pigs Being dragged to slaughter? How pitifully they shriek! How terribly they tremblel Yet men enjoy their delicious flesh Just the same! Sheep! Pigs! Foreigners! Workers! Your sweat is fertile, Your blood is sweet, Your meat is fresh! Oh, Vanzetti! You did say: "I wish to forgive some people for what they are now doing to me". Certainly, you can forgive them as you like, But you are the Wop, the fish peddler, the worker, And haven't anything in the bank. lsn't it a great insult To say "forgive" to your honorable master? Oh, Sacco! You did say: "Long live anarchy", But you should not forget, That when you climb up to heaven You must use the ladder! Oh Martyrs! Dead! Dead! You are dead, Never, never To live again. Fast! Fast! One year has passed! But years and years, Years are piling up immortal bricks Of your lofty monument. Oh martyrs! Look at the autumn flowers: They are dying! Dying! Dying! But The trees, the roots from which The flowers are [coming]1 Never, never die! When the spring comes We shall again see the pretty flowers Blooming, Perfuming, Saluting the warm sun, Wrestling with the mild wind and kissing the charming butterflies. Oh martyrs! Dead, dead! You are dead! But Your human tree and your human root Are budding, Blooming, Growing! Listen to the war cries of your living brothers! This is the incense We are burning To you.
2 Ricercare
Song Cycle by Ruth Crawford-Seeger (1901 - 1953)
1. Sacco, Vanzetti  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
Authorship:
- by H. T. Tsiang , "Sacco, Vanzetti", from the Daily Worker, Aug. 20th, first published 1928
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View original text (without footnotes)Note: written in memory of the first anniversary of the martyr's death.
1 Crawford-Seeger: "blooming"
Researcher for this page: John Versmoren
2. Chinaman, Laundryman  [sung text checked 1 time]
Language: English
"Chinaman"! "Laundryman"! Don't call me "man"! I am worse than a slave. Wash! Wash! Why can I wash away The dirt of others' clothes But not the hatred of my heart? My skin is yellow, Does my yelow skin color the clothes? Why do you pay me less For the same work? Clever boss! You know How to scatter the seeds of hatred Among your ignorant slaves. Iron! Iron! Why can I smooth away The wrinkle Of others' dresses But not the miseries of my heart? Why should I come to Arnerica To wash clothes? Do you think "Chinamen" in China Wear no dresses? I came to America Three days after my marriage. When can I see her again? Only the almighty "Dollar" knows! Dry! Dry! Why do clothes dry, But not my tears? I work Twelve hours a day, He pays Fifteen dollars a week. My boss says, "Chinaman, Go back to China, If you don't feel satisfied! There, Unlimited hours of toil: Two silver dollars a week, If You can find a job." Thank you, Boss, For you remind me. I know Bosses are robbers everywhere! Chinese boss says: "You Chinaman, Me Chinaman, Come work for me -- Work for your fellow countryman! By the way, You 'Wong', me 'Wong' -- Do we not belong to same family? Ha! ha! We are cousins! O yes! You 'Hai Shan', me 'Hai Shan', Do we not come from same district? O come work for me; I will treat you better!" GET away from here! What is the difference, When you comea to exploit me? "Chinaman"! "Laundryman"! Don't call me "Chinaman"! Yes, I am a "Laundryman"! The workingman! Don't call me "Chinaman"! I am the Worldman! ["The International Soviet Shall be his human race!"]1 "Chinaman"! "Laundryman"! All you workingmen! Here is the brush Made of [Marxism]2 Here is the soap Made of [Leninism]3. Let us all wash with the [blood]4! Let us all Press with the iron! Wash! Brush! Dry! Iron! Then we shall have A clean world!
Authorship:
- by H. T. Tsiang , "Chinaman, Laundryman", from the Daily Worker, Aug. 15th, first published 1928
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View original text (without footnotes)1: not set by Crawford-Seeger.
2: Crawford-Seeger: "study"
3: Crawford-Seeger: "action"
4: Crawford-Seeger: "brush"
Researcher for this page: John Versmoren
Total word count: 735