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Confessions of the Goliards
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This piece (1992), seven poems by the Medieval Goliards was a commission from the Goliard ensemble. It is here sung by Jim Blanton, tenor, the Goliard organizer, with Janet Axelrod, flute, Serena Canin, Violin, Kathe Jarka, cello
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Joseph Pehrson


Sun Jan 06, 2008
Classical : Contemporary
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» highest in charts:   # 541   (41,857 songs currently listed in Classical)
» highest in sub-genre:   # 115   (9,509 songs currently listed in Classical > Contemporary)
About the song
The text includes some of the poems used by Carl Orff in his Carmina Burana. However, I translate into English, which makes these salacious, bawdy poems even more questionable. Raoul Ronson of Seesaw Music helped a bit with this one -- he loved these Latin translation-type things. Score and parts available through Seesaw Music, c/o Subito Music Corp., 60 Depot St., Verona, NJ 07044, 973-857-3440. www.subitomusic.com.
Lyrics
INTRODUCTION

We are the Goliards
Medieval Students and Clerics
We're a rather wayward lot,
But now it's time to confess,
So, we'd like to sing these songs for you

I. TIME TO PLAY (Tempus Hoc Laetitiae)

Time for pleasure, time today
Holiday we make to play!
Let the singing start away
Sing our old songs again!

Beating hearts combine with voices
And our dancing blood rejoices
Come, you scholars as you please
Who best love festivities!

Pen and copybook and ink,
How funeareal we think,
Ovid's works how dull with age
Even any other page

If it is prohibited
It's a great temptation
We are thinking only now
Of our great vacation!

II. SPRING DROUGHT(Nunc Viridant Segetes)

Now green are the gardens
And bloom is on every tree
The vinyards now start to bud,
The best of the year we see

The air is soft
With the songs of the singing birds
Now land, now sea are smiling,
A beauty beyond all words,

But Ours is a bitter potion,
The saddening truth we find,
We're out of all our beer
In Bacchus's gifts behind!

I am a writer, a servant of the Muse
I plow out so many works,
This does not always amuse

Yes, I'm your knight of learning
Writing with my pen,
Muse ask our good father bishop,
When shall we drink again?

III. IN THE TAVERN (In taberna quando sumus)

When we're in the tavern drinking
Of our work we're never thinking
But we hasten to our betting
Over which we're always sweating

What goes on in many a tavern
Where to reason never we yearn,
Of these details now I speak
I'll give you a little peek.

Some will drink as they get big
Others will live like a pig,
Some will gamble until those
Soon will lose all of their clothes

Some new garments soon will find
Others leave their clothes behind
Death, these people have no fear;
All they want is one more beer.

First they drink to who will pay
No-one wants to any day
ONCE to those in captivity
THRICE to those men living free

FOURTH to Christians all around
FIFTH to those now underground
SIXTH to women they have bedded
SEVENTH to warriors the've beheaded

EIGHTH to monks bent on their knees
NINTH to their perversities
TENTH to those who navigate
ELEVENTH to those who like debate

TWELFTH to those who pray full well
THIRTEENTH to those prefering hell
Now to king and then to pope
All drink through a haze of smoke

DRINK the missus and the mister
DRINK the soldier and the minister
DRINK will all of any gender
DRINK if they have legal tender

DRINK the fast and so the slow
DRINKING women's clothes will go
DRINK the men who've lost their brains
DRINK they fill their cups again!

DRINK the poor and drink the sick
DRINK the young, old with a stick,
DRINK the exile and the idiot
DRINK the father and the bishop

DRINK the sister and the brother
DRINK the elder and the mother
DRINK the many cups untold

A HUNDREDFOLD!
A THOUSANDFOLD!

IV. COME, SWEET FRIEND (Iam, Dulcis Amica)

Please come in and visit me my sweet friend
From my heart this wish to you I now send
Enter now my little cubicle
Ornamented for your dearest soul

I have some chairs, each with a cushion
And lovely veils serving as curtains
Around the house are herbs and flowers
Smelling so sweetly as in bowers

And while we dine, will come so sweet
Sounds from a pipe and drum with a beat
Men also women perform for you now
They're very skillful; they will take a bow

He will now pluck the zither's string,
She'll make the lyre begin to sing
Servants will bring a glass of wine
Colors lilke rainbows make it shine

After the banquet our converse
Will be a joy now unrehearsed:
My greatest love, heart of my heart,
From you I never shall depart!

Don't be timid, please come in;
I am looking forward to our sin!
Come divest yourself of all your clothes,
Some can wait, but I'm not one of those!

V. SPRINGTIME RETURNS (Verna Redit Temperies)

The springtime returns with sweet caress
As flowers in radiant color'd dress
And we shall smile a smile for those
Who see in love a rest from woes
A rest from all the toils of life
A pardon from our ceaseless strife

Others may sing the song of love
And Cupid may grant to some an ease
But when the itch of love returns
To burn in me and wreck my peace
Then bachelorhood I do deplore
I'd sooner go running to find one more.

Irony comes with the first kiss
The truth of the matter is still this:
The more a man with nature goes,
The more his family starts to grow!

I certainly do curse the day,
A day when my trouble did begin
When probing down the path of love,
I got a daughter for my sins.

Yet she may be a grace to me
In future years of pain and woe
When in my later years I fail
And find it hard life's path to go.

VI. SIR MONEY (Manus Ferens Munera)

The hand that holds big money tight
Makes right of wrong, and wrong of right
Sir Money gets right to his task
Black is white where he has passed

Sir Money's great at settling wars
A diplomatic counselor
The law of Money none can budge
Silver coins have power to judge.

When Sir Money airs his voice,
Little is there power of choice
A poor man seldom gets his day
He's entered into Money's way!

In Money's power a wise man grieves
All rights are the the hands of thieves
When Sir Money shows his fist
The poor man is most surely missed

It's said that charity returns
But not if Money's power we yearn!
Bury the homeless out of sight:
Their fault is lacking Money's might!

He who has Money builds his tower,
Places his name to show his power
Yes, he is great, let it be known;
He throws the poor a measly bone!

VII. LOVE AND SLEEP (Dum Diane vitrea)

When Diana's lamp does rise,
Adding brightness to the skys
And her borther's light does grow,
Yielding hues of orange and rose:

Then the West Wind's sweet caress
Moves with every tenderness
Clouds depart, and many a heart
Stirs to soundings of the Lyre,
Love, a spark will build to fire.

Hesperus bright star of night,
Shine on us your delicate light,
Bring quietly a sleep,
Filling us with silence deep.

Oh how welcome is for us
The blissfulness of sleep
Leaving problems all away
And storms of troubles deep

Keeping far behind
Consciousness of mind
Equalling in happiness
The lover's state of perfect bliss.

Morpheus gives the mind
Sweetest oblivion
Sending in a peacefulness,
Mortals to a state of rest:

As the wheel of life
Keeps turning round and round
Day turns into night
To a silence without sound:

Placing us in peace,
Granting our release,
Leaving our imperfect day,
Our hopes and fears
All swept away!