Coffee, besides being drunk, loved, sought after and desired ... is also sung about. In this column we will try in the next period to identify songs that mention or hymn coffee, the end to find out how various singers/songwriters from all over the world see the black drink through their eyes and thoughts.
Let's start with Francesco Guccini who, in1976, wrote the song "Via Paolo Fabbri 43."
Between "krapfen" and "boiate" the strange hours have flown,
fat the bus chases me down the avenue
and the 'dawn is a punch in the face toward which I stretch my arms,
burst the world outside Porta San Vitale
and in Via Petroni they wake up,
prepare books and coffee
and I dance with Snoopy and with Linus
an Argentine tango with the casché!If I were more of a cat, if I were a little more of a vagabond,
I would see into this sun, I would see into the sunrise and into the world,
but there's dirt on the dress and there's creasing on the vest:
that mom finds me clean here at dawn on Via Fabbri 43!The musical geniuses heralded by the newspapers
have officiated and sacred verses sung,
the electrics go crazy, dreams and diseases heal,
they are poets, saints, thaumaturges and vati:
with joy and trembling I follow them
from the bottom of my city,
then closed the threshold I give vent
to my turpitude desire.... I listen to Bach!If only I'd face my life like death,
I'd have clowns, janissaries, dwarves to astonish your court,
but imperious voices call me and I must return because
I have an old jester's place here at 43 Paolo Fabbri Street!The witty intellectuals shear pieces and manuals,
then exhausted do cures of cynicism,
they are pale in the faces and have weak smiles
only if you talk about structuralism.
After all, I like them
ever since I met Descartes:
but think if the ditties
would review them for me Roland Barthes!If I were an academic, were a teacher or a doctor,
I would award you in toga fifteen honorary degrees,
but in school I was poor in Latin and "pop" is not for me:
I will graduate you in song and wine here at 43 Via Paolo Fabbri!Jorge Luis Borges promised me the other night
to speak personally with the "Persian,"
but poet heaven is a bit crowded these days,
maybe I'll have an usher or scribe position:
I'll have to polish his mirrors,
transcribe quatrains to Kayyam,
but a minor genius laurel
for me, on his honor, will not be lacking...If I had courage, if I opened the doors altogether,
I'd make Greek fires and pinwheels for your forehead,
but you know what I think of the weather and he thinks of me:
be wise as I am happy here in Paolo Fabbri Street 43!The unhappy little one met with Alice
at a summit for folk singing,
Marinella was not there, she lives the life at the balera
and has other things on her mind to think about:
but my drunks don't change,
only now drink more
and "the friar" certainly won't quit
to be a speaker on TV.If I were a poet, if I were better and more handsome,
I'd have ribbons and French gale for your hat,
but even my heroes are poor, they wonder too many why:
already drunk in the morning they wake me up screaming in Fabbri Street 43!Heroes on Kawasakis in colorful sweaters
van gallivanting on the blonde streets and hurry,
personally austere I dress in blue because I hate black
and I'm afraid to even 'ride a bike:
discarded at the jet-set draft,
I don't cry, but I buy Clarks,
if I have to emigrate to America,
like my grandfather, I take the streetcar!If everything came out of me, if I opened the gates altogether,
I would make with words garlands to adorn your hair,
but mothers and morals close me,
I return to play at my place:
I give a party, with cats and poets,
here at dawn at 43 Fabbri Street!
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