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Quote by David Bromberg

“Come on reach over mamma And hand me my traveling shoes I want you folks to know right now I got the Statesboro blues”

Quote by David Bromberg

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David Bromberg
David Bromberg

David Bromberg, born in September 1945, is a multi-instrumentalist known for his expertise in a variety of instruments, including guitar, harmonica, banjo, and mandolin. Bromberg's musical career began in the 1960s, with a focus on bluegrass, folk, and country music. His musical style blends traditional and modern elements, appealing to a wide audience. more

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“s Zondags liepen wij uren en uren ver over wegen, waar zij nooit kwamen, en op kantoor dachten wij aan de slootjes en de weilanden, die wij gezien hadden en terwijl de heeren ons bevalen dingen te doen waarvan wij 't nut niet begrepen, dachten wij er aan, hoe Zondagavond de zon was ondergegaan achter Abcoû. En hoe wij woordeloos 't heelal doordacht hadden, hoe God ons hoofd, ons hart en ons ruggemerg gevuld had en hoe mal zij zouden kijken, als wij hun dat zouden zeggen.”

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“Pero estoy contra la nostalgia. No, no es cierto. Dondequiera que mire hay alguien renovando votos con el pasado. Recordamos canciones que en realidad nunca nos gustaron. Volvemos a ver a las primeras novias, a compañeros de curso que no nos simpatizaban, saludamos con los brazos abiertos a gente que repudiábamos. Me asombra la facilidad con la que olvidamos lo que sentíamos, lo que queríamos. La rapidez con la que asumimos que ahora deseamos o sentimos algo distinto. Y a la vez queremos reírnos con las mismas bromas. Queremos, creemos ser de nuevo los niños bendecidos por la penumbra.”

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“He pasado tres días extraños: el mar, la playa, los caminos me fueron trayendo recuerdos de otros tiempos. No sólo imágenes: también voces, gritos y largos silencios de otros días. Es curioso, pero vivir consiste en construir futuros recuerdos; ahora mismo, aquí frente al mar, sé que estoy preparando recuerdos minuciosos, que alguna vez me traerán la melancolía y la desesperanza. El mar está ahí, permanente y rabioso. Mi llanto de entonces, inútil; también inútiles mis esperas en la playa solitaria, mirando tenazmente al mar”

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“When our thoughts turn towards the past, we are often mired in the seductive trap of regret or bathed in the illusory glow of nostalgia. We wallow in the murky waters of what once was, reaching out to the shadows of deeds done and words uttered. Yet, the past is but a deserted stage, the actors long departed, the play concluded. No amount of wandering in its hallowed halls can change the script that was once performed.”

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“By the old Moulmein Pagoda, lookin' lazy at the sea, There's a Burma girl a-settin', and I know she thinks o' me; For the wind is in the palm-trees, and the temple-bells they say: "Come you back, you British soldier; come you back to Mandalay!" Come you back to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay: Can't you 'ear their paddles chunkin' from Rangoon to Mandalay ? On the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay! 'Er petticoat was yaller an' 'er little cap was green, An' 'er name was Supi-yaw-lat - jes' the same as Theebaw's Queen, An' I seed her first a-smokin' of a whackin' white cheroot, An' a-wastin' Christian kisses on an 'eathen idol's foot: Bloomin' idol made o' mud Wot they called the Great Gawd Budd Plucky lot she cared for idols when I kissed 'er where she stud! On the road to Mandalay... When the mist was on the rice-fields an' the sun was droppin' slow, She'd git 'er little banjo an' she'd sing "Kulla-lo-lo! With 'er arm upon my shoulder an' 'er cheek agin my cheek We useter watch the steamers an' the hathis pilin' teak. Elephints a-pilin' teak In the sludgy, squdgy creek, Where the silence 'ung that 'eavy you was 'arf afraid to speak! On the road to Mandalay... But that's all shove be'ind me - long ago an' fur away An' there ain't no 'busses runnin' from the Bank to Mandalay; An' I'm learnin' 'ere in London what the ten-year soldier tells: "If you've 'eard the East a-callin', you won't never 'eed naught else." No! you won't 'eed nothin' else But them spicy garlic smells, An' the sunshine an' the palm-trees an' the tinkly temple-bells; On the road to Mandalay... I am sick o' wastin' leather on these gritty pavin'-stones, An' the blasted English drizzle wakes the fever in my bones; Tho' I walks with fifty 'ousemaids outer Chelsea to the Strand, An' they talks a lot o' lovin', but wot do they understand? Beefy face an' grubby 'and - Law! wot do they understand? I've a neater, sweeter maiden in a cleaner, greener land! On the road to Mandalay... Ship me somewheres east of Suez, where the best is like the worst, Where there aren't no Ten Commandments an' a man can raise a thirst; For the temple-bells are callin', an' it's there that I would be By the old Moulmein Pagoda, looking lazy at the sea; On the road to Mandalay, Where the old Flotilla lay, With our sick beneath the awnings when we went to Mandalay! O the road to Mandalay, Where the flyin'-fishes play, An' the dawn comes up like thunder outer China 'crost the Bay !”

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