1. |
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1. “Terra po Approdare” (Kristina Jacobsen & Franzisca Manca)
~Place written: Santu Lussurgiu, Sardinia~
Sardinian (Logudorese):
M’intenno unu pische fora de s’abba
Crico s’ària po bìvere
Iseto chi su dolore lasset su logu a sa cuntentesa
In custa ‘omo non m’intenno sola
Ogna preda contat istòria de su passadu
Abàido su ‘olu de sas rùnnines
Deu puru m’intenno una migrante coment’issas
In crica de una terra po aprodare
In custa ‘omo non m’intenno sola
Ogna preda contat istòria de su passadu
Una ‘omo po esser cuntenta
Fintzas si su coro ispetat semper
Ogna die mi regalat iscopertas noas
in terra anzena.
In custa ‘omo non m’intenno sola
Ogna preda contat istòria de su passadu (2x)
English Translation:
I feel like a fish out of water
Gasping for air to breathe
I wait for pain to give way to joy
But In this home, I don’t feel alone
Every stone tells a story of the past
I observe the swallows
I, too, feel like a migrant
In search of a place to land
But In this home, I don’t feel alone
Every stone tells a story of the past
Searching for a home, even if my heart is always in waiting
Every day brings me new discoveries
In a strange land
And in this home, I don’t feel alone
Every stone tells a story of the past
And in this home, I don’t feel alone
Every stone tells a story of the past
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2. |
These Cobblestone Steets
04:49
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2.“These Cobblestone Streets”
Kristina Jacobsen, copyright 2019
~Place written: Santu Lussurgiu, Sardinia~
These cobblestone streets
Confound me
And I lose myself each time
I walk from A to B
Shins aching
Back slick with sweat
And learning to open my own door
With this medieval key
Triumphant victory
‘buongiorno’
e ‘dove vai’?
When you’re a full grown woman
With the language of a child
And the bureaucracy here
Drives me crazy
“non saprei” and go away
The boss is on another coffee break
cycle of appeasement with no end in sight
Buonasera
Ma lei, é Americana?
Fresca, fresca
Come mai sei venuta in Sardegna?
But there’s a map on my heart
That slowly etching
And it’ll wear its way
Into the grooves
And many years from now
I’ll look back
With the patina of nostalgia
And home is where my dog is
And that’s here
Buonasera
Ma lei, é Americana?
Fresca, fresca
Ma lei é sicura che vuole fare la residenza qua a Santu Lussurgiu?
And these cobblestone streets
Still confound me
But now I can slowly navigate from A to B
And the bureaucracy here
Still drives me crazy
But if my vicino di casa
Can navigate with grace this Bureaucratese
Then then I’ll just have to learn that language, too
Gratzias mera, Santu Lussurgiu
Gratzias mera, sa Sardigna
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3. |
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2.“Tiria” (feat. Matthew Papperi)
Kristina Jacobsen & Matthew “il Baro” Papperi), copyright 2017
Place written: Settimo San Pietro, Sardinia
Campidanese:
s’arruga chi mi portat a sa faci tua
Po ascurtai unu fueddu de Tiria
In su silèntziu de mangianu Su sonu cumpanzosu
Boxi chi callentat su coru
“Nabodi miu ti fatzu bi’ una cosa
Sa pudda at fatu is fillus giojosa”
ses s’arreina de custu logu chentza ’e tempus
Tempus ha la s anche al singolare (eccezione)
Chent’annos parint unu momentu
Take me back to those fields
Take me back to that mesa
Back to that wildness inside me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
Pensendi a tui no nc’est mai tristura
pensamentu est bellu in sa memòria
Su pani fatu in domu, su fragu de s’obia
Sa vida bella currit in Tiria
Take me back to those fields
Take me back to that mesa/sagebrush
Back to that wildness inside me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
A story as old as the west
Tiria to Albuquerque
Mancai asfaltant s’arruga chi arribat a crèsia
Nudda parit essi cambiau
Mancai asfaltint, tempo verbale sbagliato
chi arribat a crèsia, senza articolo
Po mei nudda est su pròpiu de candu apu connotu
Ca no fiast in su sartu a mi abetai
Take me back to those fields
Take me back to that mesa/sagebrush
Back to the wildness inside me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
English Translation:
There’s a street that takes me to your face
It tells a story of a place called Tiria
And in the silence of the morning
I can still feel the warm sound of your voice
“Grandson,” she would say, “come with me, let’s look at this hen with her brand new chicks”
You are indeed the queen of this timeless place
Where a hundred years with you would never be enough
Take me back to those fields
Take me back to that mesa
Back to that wildness inside me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
I think about you with joy
And a full heart
Homemade bread, the smell of olives
The beautiful life you made in Tiria
Take me back to those fields
Take me back to that mesa/sagebrush
Back to that wildness inside me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
A story as old as the west
Tiria to Albuquerque
They've paved the road now that runs to the church
Nothing else much looks like it’s changed
But everything is different since I learned that you would no longer be there
waiting for me at the end of that road with open arms
Take me back to those fields
Take me back to that mesa
Back to that wildness inside me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
In the stillness of the morning
You open the door
To a place that was lost in me
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4. |
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Sebastiano Dessanay & Kristina Jacobsen 2020
~place written: Selargius~
Morning voices sound
heart of the village
Sun baked hearth stones
labrynth alleys
A man at the altar
Raises up the saint
Weathered face, hard life
cheeks soft with tears
(in) a world so tightly woven
Where warp nor weft leave space to breathe
what does it mean to belong, where are the lines drawn
and if I leave, will I still be welcome home?
Noon time church bells
dry his pious tears
Shared feast, appetites
Honored guest, sacred role
Convivialita’
Cannonau to wash it down
myrtle leaves, sizzling meat
Mirto to top it off
In a world so tightly woven
Where warp nor weft leave space to breathe
what does it mean to believe/when are the lines drawn
and if I leave will I be still welcome in?
what does it mean to be a man/where are the lines drawn
And when I leave what piece of me will I leave behind?
And there was dusk
And there was night
Colored costumes
Canto in Re
Organetto,
launeddas
Round dance, then
dance some more
In a world so tightly woven
Where warp nor weft leave space to breathe
what does it mean to belong, when are the lines drawn
and if I leave will I be still welcome home?
what does it mean to be a man, where are the lines drawn
And when I leave what piece of me will I leave behind?
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5. |
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6. |
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Giuseppe Bulla & Kristina Jacobsen, copyright 2019
~Place written: Sassari, Sardinia~
In my white stone city
It’s hot as hell
Out of breath
Climb up to the stairwell
Work follows me everywhere
But can it find me here?
On my rooftop
weightless and free
Why am I singing
What am I doing up here?
Why this need to see from afar?
Like a migrant bird passing by chance
On a rooftop, a rooftop
In my white stone city
It’s hot as hell
Mediterranean
middle of nowhere
Invite all my friends
Send them away again
There is life on this roof
And life on the moon
Reminds me there is something greater
Something shines from far away
She observes me, above the roof, above it all
Why am I singing
What am I doing up here?
Why this need to see from afar?
Like a migrant bird passing by chance
On a rooftop, on a rooftop, on a rooftop
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7. |
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Kristina Jacobsen, transl. Franzisca Manca
Sardinian (Logudorese)
Santu Predu
Beneighe custa ‘idda
E custu mare
Beneighe cust’òmine
Chi cricat in issu su tribàgliu
Tene cura de custu piscadore
De sa famìglia e de su corazu suu
Santu Predu
Santa Bàrbara
Beneighe sa miniera perigolosa
E sa zente chi calat aintro ‘e issa
Da serenidade a sas famìglias
Chi ogna die isetan
Cun su coro in buca
Santa Bàrbara
Santa Rita
Beneighe custa fèmina
chi s’òmine traitore
at iscutu
daddi sa paghe chi est cricanne
Daddi una manu
Po chi non perdat s’isperàntzia
Santa Rita
Santa Maria de Bonària
Beneighe custa terra de Sardigna
E sos Sardos che torran a s’ìsula nadia
E sas prantas arestes chi dda muntan
E sa limba chi faeddan
Santa Maria de Bonària
Caritá e dolcezza
Da essere angelo di pace
Ovunque vedesse discordia
Vi chiedo scusa
Caritá e dolcezza
Da essere angelo di pace
Ovunque vedesse discordia
Vi chiedo scusa
San Pietro, Santa Barbara, Santa Rita and Santa Maria de Bonaria
English Translation:
Saint Peter
Bless this village and bless this beach
Bless this man as he goes out to sea
Protect and hold him in your mercy
San Pietro
Saint Barbara
Bless this mine and bless this work
Keep them safe as they enter the earth
Protect their bodies, their families and their courage
Santa Barbara
Saint Rita
Bless this woman as she breaks free
From her abuse and searches for peace
Protect her body, her heart and sense of possibility
Santa Rita
Saint Maria di Bonaria
Bless this island and bless this place
Bless this language as she finds her way back
Protegge il suo popolo e la sua grazia selvatica
Santa Maria di Bonaria
Charity and grace
To be an angel of peace
Wherever you see discord
Sow peace
San Pietro, Santa Barbara, Santa Rita and Santa Maria di Bonaria
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8. |
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Kristina Jacobsen, transl. Anjulu Conju
~places written: Albuquerque, New Mexico and Cagliari, Sardinia
Sardinian (Campidanese):
Fustis* postus a filera
Po sa petza chi fiant coendi
Totu pigada
De pensamentus furia* deu
E unu bèciu nd’est bessiu
Fiat stantàrgiu apalas mia
At nau:
“E arrii pagu pagu, ajò! La’ chi ses bia!”
Ma ita càuli bolit custu?
E chini dd’at biu mai?
E chini dd’at donau su permissu de mi nai
Coment’e bivi o incingiai sa faci mia?
E forsis…
Deu no bollu arrii
Nimancu essi amodada o setiosa
E ita chi deu gana no ndi tengu
De abarrai a innoi chistionendi
E ita chi imoi deu no bollu arrii?
Ascu’, nara-mì una cosa:
seu una femina
Ia a depi essi donosa po fortza
Acanta de un’òmini e in totu sighiri su connotu?
E ita chi custa dii scrabionada m’as a biri
Mancai amaciocada e impurpia
Poni-mì in sa pesa de sa sociedadi
Cali est su pesu cosa mia?
E ita chi no bollu arrii?
Chi no bollu essi bellixedda o bistia beni
E ita chi deu gana no ndi tengu
De abarrai a innoi chistionendi cun tui?
Seu forsis imbusticada
bessendi-ndi gaddinosa
Seu forsis frida, siddada
O mancai s’ègua de is seti pratzas?
Giai chi seus paris, a su mancu custa borta
Podit essi puru chi pighi custa gherra
chi parit una ciaciarrada
e fatza totu su chi potzu
E insandus…
deu no depu arrii
No depu essi bellixedda o bistia beni
E insandus deu gana no ndi tengu
De abarrai a innoi chistionendi
Ca imoi deu no depu arrii
Ca imoi deu no depu arrii
English Translation:
I was standing in line
At a Carolina barbecue joint
Lost in thought
Some heavy things on my mind
When an older man
Standing behind me says
“Smile sweetheart,
it can’t be that bad”
But how can he be so sure?
He wouldn’t know me from Adam
And what gives him the right
To tell me how to live my life or wear my face?
(and maybe…)
I don’t wanna smile
don’t wanna make nice and sit pretty
And if I feel no sense of obligation
To offer you an explanation?
Or if right now, i don’t wanna smile
What is my worth,
as a woman?
Is it to look pretty first,
And ‘stand by my man’ as Tammy said
in her famous anthem?
But what if I’ve had a bad hair day
what if I’ve gained a few pounds
Does the weight of my societal value
go accordingly down?
And what if I don’t wanna smile
What if i don’t wanna make nice and sit pretty
And if i feel no sense of obligation
To offer you an explanation?
Does that make me difficult? Am i being hysterical? Or does it make me frigid, or stuck-up, or a female dog of some colorful variation?
Well (sigh), all things being equal (which they’re not),
Maybe I’ll take this catch-22 that poses as a conversation
and do everything i can
just so…
I don’t have to smile
I don’t have to make nice and sit pretty
And so i feel no sense of obligation
To offer you an explanation
why right now I don’t wanna smile
yeah right now, i don’t wanna smile (“cheese” :)
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9. |
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Kristina Jacobsen & Maria Blom, transl. Ignazio Cadeddu
Places written: Ben Lomond, California and Assolo, Sardinia
Sardinian (Campidanese):
Sa genti narat fai a bona
Fai is cosas cumenti si spetat
Circa ’e arri’ pagu pagu
Tira is bratzus de sa mesa
Mama mi narat
Abarra innui ses
Seidì dareta e arriba a s’ora
No nerist su chi pentzas
Puru chi ti praxat
E su domìnigu
Depis andai
Ses picioca e ddu depis fai
O mama, ma po prexeri
Seu giai cunfessada
‘cus I’m a bull ridin’
Tanya Tucker lovin’
Rodeo Queen
I grab the bull by horns
And I stand my ground
Girls you know what I mean
And when the crowd’s howlin’
And the show’s rollin’
I don’t need no rodeo clown
I take it six seconds, six seconds
Six seconds at a time
Bisti gunneddas, nudda cratzonis
s’omini sempiri cumandat su ballu
No siasta meda
conca ligera
No siasta nozenti
cua su tzugu
Pinniga ’s cambas cumenti t’ant imparau
No arriasta meda, ca no srebidi
‘cus I’m a bull ridin’
Tanya Tucker lovin’
Rodeo Queen
I grab the bull by horns
And I stand my ground
Girls you know what I mean
And when the crowd’s howlin’
And the show’s rollin’
I don’t need no rodeo clown
I take it six seconds, six seconds
Unu, dus, tresi, cutaru cincu sesi
Bull ridin’
Tanya Tucker lovin’
Rodeo Queen
I grab the bull by horns
And I stand my ground
Girls you know what I mean
And when the crowd’s howlin’
And the show’s rollin’
I don’t need no rodeo clown
I take it six seconds, six seconds
Six seconds at a time
English translation:
People say you’ve gotta behave
Do things in a suitable way
Stick a smile on your face
Don’t put your elbows on the table
Mama used to say
Don’t get out of line
Sit up straight and always be on time
Don’t look men in the eye
Even if you’re able
Come Sunday morning
you’d better be there
a girl’s got her reputation
but Mama, please understand
I’ve got my own salvation
‘Cus I’m a bull ridin’
Tanya Tucker lovin’
Rodeo Queen
I grab the bull by horns
And I stand my ground
Girls you know what I mean
And when the crowd’s howlin’
And the show’s rollin’
I don’t need no rodeo clown
I take it six seconds, six seconds
Six seconds at a time
Always wear dresses
never wear pants
Women never take the lead when they dance
And don’t wear your heart
on your pretty little sleeve
Don’t be naiive
cover your mouth
Cross your legs and make your family proud
And don’t laugh too loud
It’s unseemly
come Sunday morning
you’d better be there
a girl’s got her reputation
but Mama, please understand
I’ve got my own salvation
‘cus I’m a bull ridin’
Tanya Tucker lovin’
Rodeo Queen
I grab the bull by horns
And I stand my ground
Girls you know what I mean
And when the crowd’s howlin’
And the show’s rollin’
I don’t need no rodeo clown
I take it six seconds, six seconds
1-2-3-4-5-6
Bull ridin’
Tanya Tucker lovin’
Rodeo Queen
I grab the bull by horns
And I stand my ground
Girls you know what I mean
And when the crowd’s howlin’
And the show’s rollin’
I don’t need no rodeo clown
I take it six seconds, six seconds at a time
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10. |
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Kristina Jacobsen & Sonya Heller; transl. Franzisca Manca
Place written: Ben Lomond, California
Down there on the Bayou
Parish Terrebonne
Crawfish Kate’s by daylight
Maison Dancer by night
Kate the waitress sweeps the floors
and gets the place just right
Come 8 o’clock puts up her hair
turns on the dancefloor light
Nois tenimos
Sas istòrias nostras
Lassade sos pistighinzos
Fora ‘e sa ‘ianna
Ca custu sero
Nuddàteru nos importat
Fintzas chi sa manu tua
Istringhet sa mia, ce soir!
[English translation to chorus:
We all have our stories
Leave your troubles at the door
Because tonight nothing else matters
Long as my hand is in yours,
ce soir!]
In walks Charlie Deverouxe
Lookin’ mighty fine
Girls lined up to dance with him
Nineteen to ninety-nine
You’d never know the world outside
Is heartless and gray
‘Cus the dancefloor lights are always on
inside Maison Dancer!
Nois tenimos
Sas istòrias nostras
Lassade sos pistighinzos
Fora ‘e sa ‘ianna
Ca custu sero
Nuddàteru nos importat
Fintzas chi sa manu tua
Istringhet sa mia, ce soir!
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11. |
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Enrico Spanu & Kristina Jacobsen, in collaboration w/ Associazione Badde Salighes
A diciotto anni, sei andato via
per laurearti
la pioggia a Londra ti rassicura
“non sei più qui”
Torni a casa una volta all'anno
nulla è cambiato
Non chiat nudda, mancu nostalgia
non sei piu li
Nato in Sardegna
dentro un recinto
Circondato dal mare, sole e silenzio
Giorni infiniti
Giusto scappare
You’re going back
To a place of rain and snow
a home you’ve made
on your own
a life you can count on
You’re going back to the scent of the English sea
Golden samphire, sea holly
Skyscrapers, people on the street
Da un po’ di tempo
nel cuore della notte
Vedi tuo nonno
Chino nel campo
E vorresti solo dirgli
“sto tornando”
Poi qualche giorno dopo
Di punto in bianco,
I tuoi occhi brillano
per quel progetto abbandonato
Perché non farlo?
E poi hai deciso
e stai tornando davvero
Nella tua isola
Che ora hai scelto
E forse è vero
che ti ha scelto lei
You’re going back
To a place of sun and sea
a home you’ll make
on your own
a life you so much want to count on
Ses torrande a intenner
su nuscu de su mare,
carignos de luna e de entu
‘e su calore de sa domo chi aisa lassadu
E lei sarà la tua sardegna
scalza sopra questa terra
vuoi assecondare il tempo
passare dall'autunno all'inverno
semus torrande
la comunità cambia
ma è sempre un po' più bella
il centro del mondo
Nel centro di me stesso
English Translation:
You left at eighteen
To earn your degree
The rain in London reassures you
You’re no longer here
You come home once a year
Nothing’s changed
There’s nothing here, not even nostalgia
You’re no longer living there
Born in Sardinia
Like being inside a fishbowl
Surrounded by the sea, sun and silence
Endless days
It’s right to leave
And then a while ago
In the heart of the night
You see you’re grandfather
Kneeling in the field
And you want to tell him
“I’m coming home”
And a few days later
Out of the blue
You recall you’re abandoned project
Why not try it?
And now you’ve decided
And you’re returning home for real
In your island
That now you’ve chosen
Or maybe it’s true
That she’s chosen you
You’re going back to smell the scent of the sea
The caress of the moon and the wind
And the warmth of the home you left so long ago
And she will be your Sardinia
Barefoot on this earth
You’ll savor each second
Passing from autumn to winter
We’re returning (to)
The community that changes
But is always a bit more beautiful
I find the center of the world
In the center of myself…
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12. |
Kristina Jacobsen Albuquerque, New Mexico
Kristina Jacobsen’s first album, Three Roses, proves that she is a certified country singer/songwriter who couldn’t be more authentic if she had been born backstage at the Louisiana Hayride in Shreveport, aprogram that she celebrates in a song of the same name. She sings in a yodeling alto that can warm your heart, bite off a searing denunciation, or celebrate good times with equal fervor. ... more
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