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Marrakesh Night Market Lyrics

from A Mediterranean Odyssey

"Marrakesh Night Market" is track #5 on the album A Mediterranean Odyssey.
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"Marrakesh Night Market" is track #5 on the album A Mediterranean Odyssey.
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March 16, 1993 - Arrived tonight in Marrakesh and am staying on the edge of the
market. It is Ramadan and there is heightened activity all around. I am struck
by the hooded features of men as they pass through the lights and shadows: they
look monk-like. Horses, carriages, cars, bicycles and thousands of people are
embroiled in the activities of the night...a cacophony of sound. I retreat to a
rooftop cafe to watch while sipping mint tea...many circles of twenty or so
people are scattered around the market, each involved in their own drama of
music, storytelling, monkeys on men's shoulders, or cobras being coaxed to
"dance" on rugs; "magic" concoctions of bone, seeds, stones and spices are
sold...women are veiled to a great degree...I am struck by the sense of
intrigue the environment creates; as much is concealed as is revealed...

16 mars 1993 - Je suis arrivee cette nuit a Marrakech et je loge en bordure du
marche. C'est le Ramadan et les rues grouillent d'activites. Je suis fascinee
par les silhouettes encapuchonnees des hommes qui passent de l'ombre a la
lumiere: ils ressemblent a des moines. Les cheveaux, les carrioles, les
voitures, les velos et les milliers de passants s'activent aux taches de la
nuit...une cacophonie. Du haut d'une terasse de cafe sur un toit, j'observe
tout en sirotant du the a la menthe...de nombreux cercles d'une vingtaine de
personnes sont eparpilles sur le marche, entourant un musicien, un conteur
d'histoires, des signes perches sur une epaule d'homme, ou des cobras obliges
de "danser" sur des tapis; des potions "magiques" de poudre d'os, de graines,
de pierres et d'epices sont vendues...les femmes sont presque entierement
dissimulees derriere leurs voiles...et je suis frappee par l'impression de
mysthere creee par cet environnement: il y a autant de cache que de devoile...

16. Maerz 1993 - Heute nach tkam ich in Marrakesh an und stehe nun am Rande des
Marktes. Es ist Ramadan und um mich herum herrscht rege Geschaeftigkeit. Ich
bin angetan von der Erscheinung der Maenner, wenn sie mit ihren Kapuzen an mir
vorbei durch Licht und Schatten gehen, sie wirken wie Moenche. Pferde,
Kutschen, Autos, Fahrraeder und Tausende von Menschen sind in die Aktivitaeten
der Nacht verwickelt...Eine Kakophonie der Geraeusche. Ich ziehe mich in ein
Dachcafe zurueck, um bei einem Mint-Tee zu beobachten...ueber den Markt sind
viele kleine Gruppen von 20 oder mehr Personen verstreut, jede beschaeftigt mit
ihrem eigenen Schauspiel von Musik, Geschichtenerzaehlungen, Affen auf
Maennerschultern, oder Kobras, die zum "Tanz" auf Teppichen ueberredet werden;
"magische" Gebraeue aus Knochen, Samen, Steinen und Gewuerzen werden
verkauft...die Frauen sind in hohem Masse verschleiert und es beruehrt mich,
wie dieses Umfeld einen Eindruck von Intrige vermittelt; soviel wie versteckt
ist, ist auch offenbart...

16 de marzo de 1993 - He llegado esta noche a Marrakesh y estoy a las puertas
del mercado. Es Ramadan y hay una ferviente actividad por todas partes. Las
figuras de los hombres con sus chilabas pasando a traves de las luces y de las
sombras me han dejado sorprendida: parecen monjes. Caballos, carros, coches,
bicicletas y miles de personas participan en las actividades nocturnas...un
sonido cacofonico. Me retiro a una terraza de un cafe para observar mientras
sorbo un te de menta...hay muchos circulos de unas veinte personas dispersos
por todo el mercado, cada uno con su propia musica, con sus propias
narraciones, hay monos en los hombros de los hombres, o cobras encantadas que
"bailan" sobre afonbrillas; se venden por doquier brebajes "magicos" de huesos,
semillas y piedras...los velos de las mujeres apenas permiten verlas y queda
atrapada por un fuerte sentido de intrigua que todo este ambiente ha creado;
hay tanto de oculto como de revelado...

They're gathered in circles
the lamps light their faces
the crescent moon rocks in the sky
The poets of drumming
keep heartbeats suspended
The smoke swirls up and then it dies

Would you like my mask?
would you like my mirror?
cries the man in the shadowing hood
You can look at yourself
you can look at each other
or you can look at the face of your god

The stories are woven
and fortunes are told
The truth is measured by the weight of your gold
The magic lies scattered
on rugs on the ground
Faith is conjured in the night market's sound

Would you like my mask?
would you like my mirror?
cries the man in the shadowing hood
You can look at yourself
you can look at each other
or you can look at the face of your god

The lessons are written
on parchments of paper
They're carried by horse from the river Nile
says the shadowy voice
In the firelight, the cobra
is casting the flame a winsome smile

Would you like my mask?
would you like my mirror?
cries the man in the shadowing hood
You cna look at yourself
you can look at each other
or you can look at the face of your god

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