Jostedalsrypa

Februar er yndlingsmånaden. Då er det litt trist at Joan Baez/Dar Williams let fine February rime på triste solitary. Og scary.

Litt trist i det store og heile, men we’ll gather all our arms can carry!

I threw your keys in the water, I looked back
They’d frozen halfway down in the ice
They froze up so quickly, the keys and their owners
Even after the anger, it all turned silent
And the everyday turned solitary, so we came to February

First we forgot where we’d planted those bulbs last year
And then we forgot that we’d planted it all
Then we forgot what plants are altogether
And I blamed you for my freezing and forgetting
And the nights were long and cold and scary, can we live through February?

You know I think Christmas was a long red glare
Shot up like a warning, we gave presents without cards
And then the snow, and then the snow came
We were always out shoveling and we dropped to sleep exhausted
Then we wake up, and it’s snowing

And February was so long that it lasted into March
And found us walking a path alone together
You stopped and pointed and you said, «That’s a crocus»
And I said, «What’s a crocus?»,
And you said, «It’s a flower», I tried to remember, but I said, «What’s a flower?»
You said, «I still love you»

The leaves were turning as we drove to the hardware store
My new lover made me keys to the house
And when we got home, well we just started chopping wood
Because you never know how next year will be
And we’ll gather all our arms can carry,
I have lost to February

(Gone from danger, 1997)

Dave Goulder sin januarmann. Kan til dømes høyrast i versjonen til Christy Moore. Koko video, fin song!

Oh the January man,
He walks the road in woollen coat
And boots of leather;
The February man still shakes the snow from off his hair
And blows his hands;
Oh the man of March, he sees the spring
And wonders what the year will bring,
And hopes for better weather.

Through April rain the man
Goes down to watch the birds come in
To share the summer;
The man of May stands very still
Watching the children dance away the day;
In June the man inside the man
Is young and wants to lend a hand,
And grins at each new colour.

And in July the man,
In cotton shirt, he sits and thinks
Of being idle;
The August man in thousands takes the road
To watch the sea and find the sun;
September man is standing near
To saddle up and leave the year,
And autumn is his bridle.

And the man of new October
Takes the reins, and early frost
Is on his shoulders;
The poor November man sees fire and rain and snow and mist
And a winter gale;
December man looks through the snow
To let eleven brothers know
They’re all a little older.

And the January man
Comes round again in woollen clothes,
And boots of leather,
To take another turn and walk along the icy road
He knows so well;
Oh the January man is here
For starting each and every year
Along the road forever.