Nueva Cancion

Soy Pan, Soy Paz, Soy Más

Mercedes Sosa

Composición: Piero José

Yo so-o-oy, yo so-o-oy, yo so-o-oy

soy agua, playa, cielo, casa, planta,

soy mar, Atlántico, viento y América,

soy un montón de cosas santas

mezcladas con cosas humanas

como te explico . . . cosas mundanas.

Fui niño, cuna , teta, techo, manta,

más miedo, cuco, grito, llanto, raza,

después mezclaron las palabras

o se escapaban las miradas

algo pasó . . . no entendí nada.

Vamos, decime, contame

todo lo que a vos te está pasando ahora,

porque sino cuando está el alma sóla llora

hay que sacarlo todo afuera, como la primavera

nadie quiere que adentro algo se muera

hablar mirándose a los ojos

sacar lo que se puede afuera

para que adentro nazcan cosas nuevas.

Soy, pan, soy paz, sos más, soy el que está por acá

no quiero más de lo que me puedas dar, uuuuuuh

hoy se te da, hoy se te quita,

igual que con la margarita . . . igual al mar,

igual la vida, la vida, la vida, la vida . . .

Vamos, decime, contame

todo lo que a vos te está pasando ahora,

porque sino cuando está el alma sóla llora

hay que sacarlo todo afuera, como la primavera

nadie quiere que adentro algo se muera

hablar mirándose a los ojos

sacar lo que se puede afuera

para que adentro nazcan cosas nuevas. (BIS)

cosas nuevas, nuevas, nuevas . . . nuevas

A mountain of a woman, Mercedes Sosa has a voice from the bowels of the earth. I came across her music when travelling through South America for a year. Argentina was probably my favourite country, and despite the fact that it was soon after the Falklands conflict, I was made to feel very welcome.
The first time I crossed over the border, between Chile and Argentina, a whole day journey by boat, foot, landrover, crossing rivers and mountains, I was anxious because I did not have the visa neccessary. To get the visa would have entailed a 2 day trip to Santiago, Chile's capital. No problem, I was waved through. On the other side, a truck driver with a gourd of maté (a bitter herbal tea) and a silver straw to suck it through, gave us a lift to a tiny town in Patagonia. From there I visited Cueva de las manos, a pre-historic cave in the middle of nowhere, with some of the earliest cave paintings, a series of ghostly almost sprayed-on hand prints in ochre. Bruce Chatwin writes about this place in his book 'In Patagonia'.

The second time I crossed the border into Argentina was less successful. This time it was from the poor North, the location where originated the majority of the mortalities in the war, 18 year olds most of them, forced there by the junta. This time I had the right papers, but the border police would not let me in. No reason. Except perhaps the poster on the wall saying 'Las malvinas son nuestras'. I turned back, another 2 day journey hitching in trucks, and entered at another border point.

What were you doing when...

A few other blogs have done this so I'm going to join in:

Attack on the Twin Towers - 11 September 2001
I was outside up a ladder painting window frames around my flat. I was listening to Terry Wogan on Radio 2, soothing listening when you have a mindless task, when the first news came in. I continued to paint and listen to the updates on the radio. One thing I remember was that the presenter said that there was another plane (not the ones we've heard about) gone missing. We never heard any more about that plane.
At 4 p.m the school bus dropped off my daughter and the lady driver said "Have you heard what's happening?".

"Yes" I said "It's the beginning of World War 3".
A French guy, a trained engineer, was staying with me at the time. When we turned on the TV that evening and watched the footage for the first time he instantly said: "The building wouldn't collapse like that from a plane. That's dynamite. That's a demolition."
I was naive then and thought he was talking rubbish.

Princess Diana’s death - 31st August 1997
I'd just come out of Eurodisney outside of Paris. Around 6 a.m. I pulled into a petrol station and the assistant said to me, excitably pointing to the TV behind him: Vous avez vu? Lady Di s'est tuée!
For a minute I thought he meant that she'd killed herself. Then I thought it was a sick joke because he knew I was British. But he didn't as my car had French number plates. I said something, clearly shocked and he heard my accent. He immediately apologized.
I drove into Paris, to the Pont d'Alma where she was killed. I entered the tunnel with my, then, 3 year old in her buggy. The Mercedes car had gone but the black skid marks were still evident. An elderly black lady came and put down flowers at the post where Princess Diana's car had crashed. She was the first one.

I walked out of the tunnel and an English woman was artfully crying. She had full makeup on (it was now about 6.30 a.m.) and was wearing a flattering black dress. She had a child on each hip and an enormous bunch of white lillies. News camera crews rushed towards her and started to interview her about her feelings. She was milking it for all she was worth.
I stood back stunned.

On my return to London I went with my mother to visit Kensington Palace. As soon as we exited the tube station at Knightsbridge you could smell the flowers. At Kensington Palace we placed our own flowers. There still weren't that many yet. Wandering around the park was an experience. Each tree had a little shrine...candles, teddy bears, photographs of Diana sometimes with Dodi, poems, incense, balloons, angry letters to the Royal family.

We went again the night before the funeral. Now the flowers extended a good 500 yards before the gates to Kensington Palace. The stench was overpowering. The candles were lit and the whole park looked like fairy land. People were in sleeping bags waiting behind barriers along the funeral route. I was choked up.

The next day I prepared to cycle to Regents Park, a royal park where a giant TV screen was set up to show the funeral. At the newspaper shop opposite me (at the time I lived in Kentish Town) I saw Diana's hairdresser Nicky Clarke get out of his 4 wheel drive to buy a newspaper. (I recognised him partly because he did my hair a few times when I was a young successful photographer).

It was a sunny day. In front of the screen was a large crowd, many on deckchairs. When Earl Spencer gave his historic speech the entire crowd burst into applause. As the hearse set off I cycled to Baker Street to bid goodbye to Diana. With my daughter on the back of the bike, we watched the hearse go by. People were throwing flowers, the windscreen was covered. The driver, from a funeral parlour in Kentish Town, could barely see so he stopped, as he did on numerous occasions on the route to Avalon where Diana would be buried, and respectfully placed the flowers on the ground.

Margaret Thatcher’s Resignation - 22nd November 1990
I was living in Paris but had returned to Britain to get stuff done. I was wandering around Hampstead Heath looking for a printers to print up my photographic calling card. I saw the Evening Standard newspaper booth at Hampstead Heath station. The seller was shouting out the headline "Thatcher resigned". 

My sister called and laughingly said:"Ding dong the witch is dead."

England’s World Cup Semi-Final against Germany - 4 July 1990
I was travelling in South America for a year. I arrived in Argentina for the World Cup. It was quite difficult to find bars that were willing to switch on the TV to watch England play. Nobody cared when England lost. A Bolivian man started up a conversation while I was watching; "Everybody criticizes Hitler but I think he had alot of good ideas. You in England have la dama de hierra, the iron lady. You are very lucky."

This wasn't long after the Falklands war.

The other semi-final was Argentina versus Italy. I was in Mendoza when Argentina won it's semi-final, and the town exploded with joy. When Argentina lost the final a few days later, the mood was sombre and the streets were empty as I walked towards the train station to leave.

President Kennedy’s Assassination - 22 November 1963
I expect I was in my cot. But I clearly remember his brother's assassination. I was in Ireland on a horse-drawn gypsy caravan holiday with my parents. We were in a pub and the news came through. The adults were very upset. More Guinness was required. A flickering black and white television broadcast the news.