A diciott’anni facevo i compiti di scuola fumando e ascoltando The Piper e Relics con le cuffie; a ventisei la seconda sbandata, mentre facevo l’obiettore. Tuttora ascolto psychobeat inglese dei sixties, Zombies Kinks Donovan Hollies e Searchers, le stesse canzonette che Syd ascoltava nei suoi diciott’anni, e ritrovo quelle intonazioni agrodolci, quella melancolia favolosa di fine estate, quella progressione di accordi così inglesi, che il Testamatta avrebbe reso sublimi nei primi due dei PinkFloyd. Canzoni che ho suonato e cantato per strada in Olanda, musica che mi far star bene.


An Effervescing Elephant
with tiny eyes and great big trunk
once whispered to the tiny ear
the ear of one inferior
that by next June he’d die, oh yeah!
because the tiger would roam.
The little one said: “Oh my goodness I must stay at home!
and every time I hear a growl
I’ll know the tiger’s on the prowl
and I’ll be really safe, you know
the elephant he told me so.”
Everyone was nervy, oh yeah!
and the message was spread
to zebra, mongoose, and the dirty hippopotamus
who wallowed in the mud and chewed
his spicy hippo-plankton food
and tended to ignore the word
preferring to survey a herd
of stupid water bison, oh yeah!
And all the jungle took fright,
and ran around for all the day and the night
but all in vain, because, you see,
the tiger came and said: “Who me?!
You know, I wouldn’t hurt not one of you.
I’d much prefer something to chew
and you’re all too scant.” oh yeah!
He ate the Elephant.

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