Neak Mê (Our Mothers): Song on the fall of 1975
07:06 // 0 ความคิดเห็น // vichkh // Category: KHMERNEWS //Dear webmaster of Khmerization,
I would like to post a video on a song that my daughter Bosba Panh. Khmer soprano age 13, is singing about the fall of 1975 and the pain left on the families. It is a beautiful song with meaningful lyrics in Khmer and English.
-------------------------------------bosbaPANH — November 17, 2009 — Bosbapanh, Khmer Soprano age 12, opened her 2009 concert with this song to announce the imminent drama of a family of teachers, who has to relocate as the French redefined the frontiers of Indochina. Using the melody of the Concierto d'Aranjuez composed by Joaquim Rodrigo, in 1939 in the turmoil of the Second World War, the song evokes both the happy days before the war and the tragedies that follow. Bosbapanh is reminded of the story of her grand mother who died after the evacuation of Phnom Penh in 1975 and witnessed the death of most of the family members. This is a tribute to Bosbapanh's grand mother and all mothers, the foundation of our families.
Neak Mê (Our Mothers
Sung by Bosba Panh (Niece of the internationally-acclaimed film director Rithy Panh)
Below is the lyrics:
Over the mountains
Across the rivers
Through the thunder
The wind brings back our words, our screams
At sunset, Neak Mê
The junk leaves the port
The grand river Kompong Tonle whimpers
Now the temple is beyond repair
No roof left, all swallowed by fire.
To meditate too much on the passing seasons
We store up years
Since this early morning of April
When they arrived
Yelling, singing, aiming
Writing on walls
They shot and they wrote
Words that made us tremble
The vines of roses grow from the stains
And on these walls, blood-red petals
Break out every April
The roses climb among the bruises and
Turn so red that they pierce us
The well is dry and empty
Rice fields are burnt by the sun
During the parched prang season of April
Counting the rhythm of the seasons
Dozens of years pile up
Since these early hours of April
When they arrived
Their chests covered with roses
Like deaf-mutes
Barefoot, with tense bodies
In their fiery eyes
Begins the strange smile of the powerful
One can guess the trails of blood
So violently red on these walls
But these are only roses.
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