#443: Bad Dream by Keane and An Irish Airman Foresees His Death by W. B. Yeats

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Strangeland-4

Seada-adanya aja dah, fotonya. Males nyari. *pemalas*

Tadi pagi, saya buka iTunes trus nyetel lagu acak aja dan keputerlah A Bad Dream by Keane. Trus saya keingetan kalo lagu ini dibuat berdasarkan puisinya W. B. Yeats; An Irish Airman Foresees His Death. Jadilah sambil nunggu cucian, saya nyari puisinya dan ketemu juga wawancara sama Tim Rice Oxley–si pencipta lagu–tentang lagu ini. Buat dokumentasi sendiri–yah, buat apaaa … gitu nanti, saya juga belom tahu–saya bikin post-nya biar gampang nyarinya.

Ini lirik lagunya:

A Bad Dream

Why do I have to fly
over every town up and down the line?
I’ll die in the clouds above
and you that I defend, I do not love.

I wake up, it’s a bad dream,
No one on my side,
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired
to be fighting,
guess I’m not the fighting kind.

Where will I meet my fate?
Baby I’m a man, I was born to hate.
And when will I meet my end?
In a better time you could be my friend.

I wake up, it’s a bad dream,
No one on my side,
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired
to be fighting,
guess I’m not the fighting kind.
Wouldn’t mind it
if you were by my side
But you’re long gone,
yeah you’re long gone now.

Where do we go?
I don’t even know,
My strange old face,
And I’m thinking about those days,
And I’m thinking about those days.

I wake up, it’s a bad dream,
No one on my side,
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired
to be fighting,
guess I’m not the fighting kind.
Wouldn’t mind it
if you were by my side
But you’re long gone,
yeah you’re long gone now.

Ini wawancara dengan Troxley:

A Bad Dream is the most emotional song on the record. It was based on a poem by W.B.Yeats, called “An Irish Airman Foresees His Death”, and I think it also came from visiting lots of battlefields and graveyards and so in France, which sounds very morbid, but that’s the kind of thing I like to do on holiday! I’ve just always been really affected by… I guess still being a relatively young man, I still have a lot of empathy of people of my age and even younger, who are going off to war; and I guess the idea of going off to war has been in the air for the last couple of years, with Afghanistan and Iraq particular. Those seem like very distant things, but I think in Europe in particular the Second World War is still something that still looms quite largely in a lot of people’s minds, and it certainly should do. I’d also been reading a book called “The New Confessions” by William Boyd, in where the protagonist of the book goes up in a hot air balloon to film the front line, and he gets shot down and captured. It just made me think a lot of people when they go off as young men, and when they come back – even if it’s a couple of years later it’s like they’ve become old, and all the things they left behind have changed. And it’s something that you can never ever go back to being young again. And I guess it’s just a very sad song.

We wanted to get a balance between a kinda dream sequence – it starts very quietly, and I love the idea of being in a plane, like a Spitfire or something, being so high up in the sky that you can’t hear the guns below you and so on. And it’s almost got a serene silence which is what this Yeats poem seemed to really express. The song starts very quietly, but it gets huge and angry as it goes on – the big distorted washy piano sound in the middle is a pretty vast sound and it’s I guess an attempt to express all that anger bursting out.–Keaneshaped.co.uk

wbyeats

W. B. Yeats, 1865 – 1939

Dan ini puisinya:

An Irish Airman Foresees His Death

I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public man, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.

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