Charles Santore. Poppy Field, 1991.

Duerme Dorothy

So, you won't take warning, eh? All the worse for you. I'll take care of you now instead of later. When I gain those ruby slippers, my power will be the greatest in Oz. (She stirs the potion.) Now my beauties. Something with poi-son in it I think. With poison in it. But attractive to the eye and soothing to the smell. Ha-ha-ha-ha. Poppies. Poppies. Poppies will put them to sleep. Sle-ee-p. Now they'll sle-ee-p.

Atrapasueños

Estamos acostumbrados a verlos por todos lados en los mercadillos, con diseños muy feos, pero la idea de los atrapasueños es muy bonita. Según la tradición india los buenos sueños atraviesan el centro mientras que los malos sueños quedan atrapados en la red y se desvanecen al llegar el día.

La foto (es increíble que sea una foto y no una ilustración) es de Chrissie White.

Her morning elegance

Para compensar lo de ayer, pongo una de mis canciones y vídeos preferidos. Casi no la puedo escuchar entera porque siempre se me saltan las lágrimas.

Sun been down for days
A pretty flower in a vase
A slipper by the fireplace
A cello lying in its case

Soon she's down the stairs
Her morning elegance she wears
The sound of water makes her dream
Awoken by a cloud of steam
She pours a daydream in a cup
A spoon of sugar sweetens up

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread
And She goes...
Nobody knows

Sun been down for days
A winter melody she plays
The thunder makes her contemplate
She hears a noise behind the gate
Perhaps a letter with a dove
Perhaps a stranger she could love

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
As she goes in a store
With a thought she has caught
By a thread
She pays for the bread


And She goes...
Nobody knows

And She fights for her life
As she puts on her coat
And she fights for her life on the train
She looks at the rain
As it pours
And she fights for her life
Where people are pleasently strange
And counting the change
And She goes...
Nobody knows

No sé muy bien por qué pongo esta foto aquí si la odio. Desde que la descubrí en la página de este fotógrafo me repelió y al mismo tiempo no me la quito de la cabeza. Es como todo el terror de mis pesadillas de la infancia concentrado en una imagen.

Enter Sandman

Esta es otra canción famosísima sobre el Hombre de Arena muy diferente a la de Mr. Sandman...

Say your prayers little one
don't forget, my son
to include everyone

tuck you in, warm within
keep you free from sin
till the sandman he comes

sleep with one eye open
gripping your pillow tight

exit light
enter night
take my hand
off to never never land

something's wrong, shut the light
heavy thoughts tonight
and they aren't of snow white

dreams of war, dreams of liars
dreams of dragon's fire

and of things that will bite

sleep with one eye open
gripping your pillow tight

exit light
enter night
take my hand
off to never never land

now I lay me down to sleep
pray the lord my soul to keep
if I die before I wake
pray the lord my soul to take

hush little baby, don't say a word
and never mind that noise you heard
it's just the beast under your bed,
in your closet, in your head

exit light
enter night
grain of sand

exit light
enter night
take my hand
we're off to never never land

Mr. Sandman

Hay varias canciones que hablan del Hombre de Arena. Esta es una de las más famosas. Ojalá este Mr. Sandman se pasara por mis sueños y me trajera a mí también ese pedido...

Mr. sandman, bring me a dream (bung, bung, bung, bung)
make him the cutest that i've ever seen (bung, bung, bung, bung)
give him two lips like roses and clover (bung, bung, bung, bung)
then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
sandman, i'm so alone
don't have nobody to call my own
please turn on your magic beam
mr. sandman, bring me a dream.
(scat "bung, bung, bung, bung".)
Mr. sandman, bring me a dream
make him the cutest that i've ever seen
give him the word that i'm not a rover
then tell him that his lonesome nights are over.
sandman, i'm so alone
don't have nobody to call my own
please turn on your magic beam
mr. sandman, bring me a dream.
(scat "bung, bung, bung, bung")
Mr. sandman (male voice: "yesss?") bring us a dream
give him a pair of eyes with a "come-hither" gleam
give him a lonely heart like pagliacci
and lots of wavy hair like liberace
mr sandman, someone to hold (someone to hold)
would be so peachy before we're too old
so please turn on your magic beam
mr sandman, bring us, please, please, please
mr sandman, bring us a dream.
(scat "bung, bung, bung, bung".)

Sandman

El Hombre de la Arena o Sandman, es un personaje del folklore anglosajón que según las leyendas se encargaba de hacer dormir a las personas derramando un poco de arena en los ojos (de ahí que a veces despertemos con legañas). También era el que hacía que tuvieran sueños buenos o malos.



Hay muchos autores que han utilizado a este personaje. El primero fue Hans Christian Andersen en su cuento Ole Lukøje. Copio de wikipedia:

There is nobody in the world who knows so many stories as Ole-Luk-Oie, or who can relate them so nicely. In the evening, while the children are seated at the table or in their little chairs, he comes up the stairs very softly, for he walks in his socks, then he opens the doors without the slightest noise, and throws a small quantity of very fine dust in their eyes, just enough to prevent them from keeping them open, and so they do not see him. Then he creeps behind them, and blows softly upon their necks, till their heads begin to droop. But Ole-Luk-Oie does not wish to hurt them, for he is very fond of children, and only wants them to be quiet that he may relate to them pretty stories, and they never are quiet until they are in bed and asleep. As soon as they are asleep, Ole-Luk-Oie seats himself upon the bed. He is nicely dressed; his coat is made of silken stuff; it is impossible to say of what color, for it changes from green to red, and from red to blue as he turns from side to side. Under each arm he carries an umbrella; one of them, with pictures on the inside, he spreads over the good children, and then they dream the most beautiful stories the whole night. But the other umbrella has no pictures, and this he holds over the naughty children so that they sleep heavily, and wake in the morning without having dreamed at all.

Me hace gracia esto que dice: "But Ole-Luk-Oie does not wish to hurt them, for he is very fond of children". No me extraña que tenga que aclararlo porque alguien que entra en casa de los niños sigilosamente, se les acerca por la espalda y les sopla un polvo para hacerlos dormir me parece más un secuestrador psicópata que un simpático duendecillo. Por otro lado el asunto de los dos paraguas es también bastante inquietante. Imagina que te despiertas y te encuentras a un tipo poniéndote un paraguas negro encima de la cabeza.