She was a polymath, a Renaissance woman who studied modern languages at Berkeley and served as an EU interpreter in Brussels, while publishing award-winning fiction in “Mademoiselle” and “Cosmopolitan” and scholarly articles in “American Heritage” and “The New York Times Magazine”. But after becoming inspired by some Billie Holiday recordings while living in Paris, she was especially a jazz singer, whose performing career began in London where she also recorded the first of her two-dozen albums.
Born in Berkeley in 1946, by the late ‘70s Susannah McCorkle (by now living in New York) was an international darling with the jazz critics. In the ‘80s and ‘90s she was a featured performer at Carnegie Hall and the Lincoln Center. She also appeared regularly with a consummate cabaret show in the Algonquin Hotel’s eminent Oak Room, for which (thanks to her linguistic skills) she translated her own lyrics from French, Italian and Brazilian songs.
But Susannah McCorkle’s was a sad story in the end. Although she exuded a “sultry self-confidence” on-stage, and despite her many gifts, in private she battled with deep depression and, in May of 2001, tragically leapt off her 16th floor balcony on W. 86th Street in Manhattan.
With its Bossa Nova overtones and its celebration of this rejuvenating, life-affirming month of March, today’s selection is cited as McCorkle’s favorite number. Written and composed by Antonio Carlos Jobim in 1972, with intermittent Portuguese and English lyrics and very much meant to form a collage, some critics deem it to be the best Brazilian song ever written.
LISTEN TO TODAY’S SONG – Thursday 1 March 2012
The Waters of March
É pau, é pedra,
É o fim do caminho
É um resto de toco
É um pouco sozinho…
A stick a stone
It’s the end of the road
It’s feeling alone
It’s the weight of your load
It’s a sliver of glass
It’s life, it’s the sun
It’s night, it’s death
It’s a knife, it’s a gun
A flower that blooms
A fox in the brush
A knot in the wood
The song of the thrush
The mystery of life
The steps in the hall
The sound of the wind
And the waterfall
It’s the moon floating free
It’s the curve of the slope
It’s an egg, it’s a bee
It’s a reason for hope
And the riverbank sings
Of the waters of March
It’s the promise of spring
It’s the joy in your heart…
É o pé, é o chão,
É a marcha estradeira
Passarinho na mão,
pedra de atiradeira
É uma ave no céu,
É uma ave no chão
É um regato, é uma fonte,
É um pedaço de pão
É o fundo do poço,
É o fim do caminho
No rosto o desgosto,
É um pouco sozinho…
A spear, a spike,
A stake, a nail,
It’s a drip, it’s a drop
It’s the end of the tale
The dew on a leaf
In the morning light
The shot of a gun
In the dead of the night
A mile, a must
A thrust, a bump
It’s the will to survive
It’s a jolt, it’s a jump
A blueprint of a house
A body in bed
A car stuck in the mud
It’s the mud, it’s the mud
A fish, a flash
A wish, a wing
It’s a hawk, it’s a dove
It’s the promise of spring
And the riverbank sings
Of the waters of March
It’s the end of despair
It’s the joy in your heart…
É pau, é pedra
É o fim do caminho
É um resto de toco
É um pouco sozinho
É uma cobra, é um pau
É João, é José
É um espinho na mão
É um corte no pé
São as águas de março
Fechando o verão
É a promessa de vida
No teu coração…
A stick, a stone
It’s the end of the road
The stump of a tree
It’s a frog, it’s a toad
A sigh of breath
A walk, a run
A life, a death
A ray in the sun
And the riverbank sings
Of the waters of March
It’s the promise of life
It’s the joy in your heart…
São as águas de março
Fechando o verão
É a promessa de vida
No teu coração
É pau, é pedra
É o fim do caminho
É um resto de toco
É um pouco sozinho
É pau, é pedra
É o fim do caminho
É um resto de toco
É um pouco sozinho…
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