Rest in Peace, Dad

Dear friends,

Dad passed away early this morning.

I made this little poem for him recently:

Mother's Garden

Please keep him in your hearts and your prayers, and wish him safe journey.

Peace,
Tony

Happy Groundhog Day!

Ma Normandie et Moi

Below is an excerpt from a page in my new website, Ma Normandie dedicated to the song, Ma Normandie, by Frédéric Bérat, and the charming countryside that provided its inspiration:

Ma Normandie et Moi

This is a story of gifts. It all started some years ago, when my parents gifted me with a compact disc album, Vive la Normandie, by Émilio Corfa. I was very much taken with the beauty of the song, Ma Normandie. My mother was from Normandy, and I was born there. I loved visiting my Normandy, and had made a few stabs at making a song that would convey my love for this land, but with little success. The project was still on the back burner. When I heard Corfa's rendition of Ma Normandie, my quest was over. I knew that any attempt on my part to make another song like this masterpiece by Frédéric Bérat would pale by comparison. My new quest would be to make this song my own.

A few years later, my parents gifted me with an Appalachian dulcimer that they had picked up at a flea market. It was a sweet-sounding instrument with reasonably accurate intonation. Though I had never played the ducimer before, I was familiar with it from my college days, hanging around with my fellow 'folkies' and swapping songs between classes. Later, the popular Rhode Island folk duo, Atwater-Donnelly cemented my love and respect for the instrument. In short order I taught myself some playing techniques, and before long was working on an arrangement for Ma Normandie. When I thought I felt comfortable enough, I set out to unveil it in public.

I decided to debut the song at an open-mic in nearby Londonderry, New Hampshire. I invited my parents without telling them anything about my repertoire for the evening. I wanted to surprise them with a gift of the song they had given me on the instrument they had given me. I can't explain why -- perhaps, because it meant a lot to me -- but I found myself suffering from a terrible case of nerves that night. When it came my turn to play, I sat on the stage with my dulcimer in my lap, looked down at my dulcimer, and felt like I had never seen this instrument before. I was staring at a foreign fingerboard of fleeting frets. I managed to find a note here and there, and avoided striking any wrong notes, but I sang the song mostly a capella. The audience was polite, and my parents were appreciative, but I felt that my gift was inadequate.

A couple of months later, my wife and I attended the Rhode Island Old-Time Music Festival in Pawtucket, two days of banjo, dulcimer, and old-time music workshops, hosted by Aubrey Atwater, and featuring the great Jean Ritchie. On the evening of the first day, we had a round-robin, and I chose Ma Normandie. When my turn came around, I stepped up to the 'hot' seat right in front of Aubrey. Jean Ritchie was not in attendance, but I was still, once again, feeling overcome by nerves. With Aubrey over my left shoulder, I introduced the song, dedicated it to my mother, explained my nerves, and proceeded to play. This time it was magic. My trembling fingers did their job; my voice rang out pure and clear, if somewhat quavery, and the audience fell silent. When I came to the instrumental break, I heard the audience quietly humming along, and on the crescendo of the final verse, the audience came forth, humming and harmonising. As the last note faded, I heard Aubrey whisper, "Wow!"

Many congratulations, comments, and questions about the song followed. My wife pointed out that one young woman in the corner of the room had been brought to tears. This young woman, Bernadette came up to me and asked if I had a recording of the song, or if I would make a recording for her. We were invited to a get-together at Aubrey and Elwood's the next day. There Bernadette trotted out an old cassette recorder, and had me sing and record the song for her. Then Jean Ritchie came into the room, and Bernadette had me play the song for her -- A command performance for Jean Ritchie! -- Jean commented what a sweet song it was, and complimented me on my performance. My gift was worthy.

The following Spring, I visited my Normandy for the first time in thirty years, and found her beauty undiminished. It would be my mother's last visit in this life. She passed away in August of that year. We would return to Normandy the following year to spread her ashes in her beloved waters in the bay of the Mont-Saint-Michel. At her funeral I sang and played Ma Normandie for her. The gift was complete.

Autumn's Child

Autumn is upon us once again -- my favourite time of year.

I've created a new musical slideshow to celebrate:

You will need Windows Media Player to view slideshow.FREE DOWNLOAD HERE

Enjoy!

Homesick

This Tuesday, (May 1st.,) my father and my sister, Betty, are leaving for a couple of weeks in France to visit relatives and the place of departure of my mother's ashes in 'ma Normandie'.

Judy and I are staying behind, this year, to give our exhausted budget a chance to recover... but I sure am feeling homesick!

To help assuage my homesickness -- and to share 'ma Normandie' with you -- I have created this musical video slideshow:

Ma Normandie
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A Song for Earth Day

Some time ago, Kelly Hamel, a friend and fellow member of 'The Cowpasture Collective', which ran the Canal Street Coffeehouse and published the Merrimack Valley Progressive, wrote this poem. I was moved to make it into a song - a song for Earth Day:

If the River Could Speak

poem by Kelly Hamel
music by Tony Provencher

If the river could speak
of its worries and woes,
we would hear angry tears
in the sadness that flows.

If the meadow could speak
with a voice of its own,
we'd hear tell about people
who have hearts made of stone.

If the forests could scream
like a jet through the sky,
we would shudder with fear
as they toppled and died.

If the wind called your name,
as it sobbed through the trees,
and asked for your voice,
would you silently leave?

If the ocean turned red
from the blood of the earth,
would you still wash your hands
of the blame?

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Q: What shall we do with a drunken sailor? A: Put him at the wheel of an Exxon Tanker...

Well, it took a while, but I finally recorded and uploaded this song, and am dedicating it, as promised to my nephew, Jeremy, and his wife, Michelle, who have embarked on a sail of the South Pacific, as part of a planned circumnavigation of the globe.

Stories and photos of their escapades can be viewed HERE

So -- Jeremy and Michelle, (and the wee tar in the hold,) -- This song is dedicated to you:

Drunken Sailor

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Lyrics

Presidents' Day

Many of our presidents are remembered for the insightful and inspiring words they spoke:

George Washington: "The time is near at hand which must determine whether Americans are to be free men or slaves."

Abraham Lincoln: "Fourscore and seven years ago..."

Teddy Roosevelt: "Speak softly and carry a big stick."

John F. Kennedy: "And so, my fellow Americans... ask not what your country can do for you - ask what you can do for your country."

William Jefferson Clinton: "I experimented with marijuana a time or two... I didn't inhale." and "I did not have sexual relations with that woman..."

With that in mind, I offer, as my observance of Presidents' Day, this little ditty / history lesson:

Monica Lewinski
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by snoupi

Monica Lewinski
Tara Lipinski
I've always had trouble remembering names.

When I first heard the news
I was so confused.
I heard that our pres was with what-was-her-name;
That cute little skater?
With that old masterb... beguiler?
She was only fifteen, what a crime and a shame!

Now, I see you shake your head and say that I'm confused;
That is not the crime of which our president was accused!

No, Monica Lewinski,
I mean, Tara Lipinski
Won an Olympic gold medal, an ice skating star!
But Tara Lipinski,
I mean, Monica Lewinski
Won fame for what she did with the president's cigar!

She smoked it in a most peculiar way.
And told Linda Tripp how she'd been led astray.

Ken Starr, the old fogey,
He wanted that stogie;
He wanted to put Mr. Clinton in jail.
But Bill wasn't guilty
Of anything filthy;
He didn't really have sex, 'cause he didn't...

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inhale.

The Lord Helps Those...

I don't know if anyone saw this onTV or in the papers earlier. I found this story inspiring:

from The Columbus Dispatch January 29, 2007

Robbers pick the wrong church

We certainly have been changed in the aftermath of 9/11.

This song came from that inspiration -- rough draft for now:

The Lord Helps Those...

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words and music by Tony Provencher

Once upon a Sunday morn

In Columbus Ohio

Bob and Carol rose from bed

To worship they would go.

Father Michael said his sermon;

The basket passed around;

And just before the bread was broke

Carol heard a rustling sound.

The woman sitting next to her

Had stolen Carol’s purse.

When Bob rose to defend his wife

The woman yelled a curse.

The man who had come with her,

He pulled out a gun.

He pistol-whipped poor Bob and said

These words when he was done:

The Lord helps those who help themselves.

We’ll help us to our fill.

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

This pistol says we will.

So hand over your wallets,

Your bags and purses too.

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

We’ll help ourselves to you.

But while the thieves were gathering

The bags and wallets too.

A fire stirred up in the hearts

Of people in the pews.

"Let’s roll," the voices rumbled,

The ghosts of Flight 93;"

Let’s roll; the Lord helps those who help..."

"Let’s roll! Get off your knees!"

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

‘Let’s Roll’ our battle cry --

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

Let’s roll; let’s do or die!

Those thieves cannot imagine

That we would ever dare...

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

Those thieves don’t stand a prayer!

And so they rolled into the thieves,

While others used their phones.

They rushed and threw the gunman down;

The woman ran alone.

They held the gunman down

As the police sirens wailed

The thieves were put in handcuffs then

And taken off to jail.

Bob went to the Hospital;

Got stitches, nothing worse.

Carol said a prayer of thanks

For getting back her purse.

The congregation gathered

For services delayed.

Then Father Michael broke the Bread

And grateful prayers were prayed.

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

You can pray your woes away --

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

But it’s not in the words you say --

Just hold on to your bootstraps

And give a tug or two --

The Lord helps those who help themselves --

It’s in the things you do.

Amen.

Je Suis Grand-Père