444 results where found for «The Rain is Falling»


The Letter (La carta)

Author:
Violeta Parra
Testimony by:
Paicavi Painemal
Place & date:
« We set up a band with a group of fellow prisoners. They were young, university students. One of them had a guitar. From what I remember, he was a music teacher and they allowed him to keep the instrument. In the band we also played the bombo and the charango. I accompanied by singing. »
[...]
« in the post this morning. »
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The Man Who Transformed into an Animal (El hombre que se convirtió en animal)

Author:
Sergio Vesely
Testimony by:
Sergio Vesely
« I wrote this song shortly after reading Franz Kafka’s The Metamorphosis, one of the books that circulated in Camp Melinka from hand to hand and cabin to cabin. I presume I don’t have to explain who is the one experiencing the metamorphosis here. »
[...]
« the owner of his garments but not his mind. »
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Prayer So You Don't Forget Me

Author:
Óscar Castro (words) and Ariel Arancibia González (music)
Testimony by:
Rosalía Martínez
Place & date:
« When Katia Chornik contacted me a few years ago asking me to provide my testimony about my musical experience in prison, I thought I didn’t have much to say. I had spent most of my detention held by the DINA secret police, at the house on José Domingo Cañas Street, called the Ollagüe Barracks. Then, I was held in solitary confinement at Cuatro Álamos, and spent just a month in the Tres Álamos concentration camp. »
[...]
« in the eyes of the dying Christ »
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Gigi the Ladies’ Man (Gigi l’amoroso)

Author:
Jacqueline Misrahi, Lana Sebastian and Paul Sebastian. Popularised by Dalida.
Testimony by:
Eduardo René Cuevas
« This song was used while the Military Intelligence Service (SIM) subjected me to cruel torture at a clandestine torture centre in the southern Chilean city of Los Ángeles. »
[...]
« Here comes Gigi the ladies' man, wherever his gaze wanders, he caresses »
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The Scholar (El letrado)

Author:
Quelentaro (Gastón and Eduardo Guzmán)
Testimony by:
Luis Cifuentes Seves
Place & date:
Campamento de Prisioneros Chacabuco, November 1973 – February 1974
« From the first time I heard it, I was impressed by the way the duo Quelentaro sang this song, which was also written by them. When I sang it, I always tried to sing it in their style. I never sang it on stage, only for myself or for small groups of friends strumming guitars together. »
[...]
« My father could barely sign his name »
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Candombe for José (Candombe para José)

Author:
Roberto Ternán
Testimony by:
Sara De Witt
Place & date:
« We were in Tres Álamos barracks in September 1976. I don’t recall how many of us women were imprisoned there. I believe there were close to a hundred of us. »
[...]
« The color of the night on his skin »
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Candombe for José (Candombe para José)

Author:
Roberto Ternán
Testimony by:
Alejandro Olate
« The youngest among us, aged 17 or even 16 years, did the heaviest work on Dawson Island. We had to fell trees, cut them, split them in two, cut them into wedges, and walk the several hundred meters back to the barracks carrying the logs on our shoulders. Our older comrades sawed them and cut them into small logs to fill the woodsheds that fed three large heaters in the barracks. »
[...]
« The color of the night on his skin »
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Candombe for José (Candombe para José)

Author:
Roberto Ternán
Testimony by:
Amelia Negrón
« We were in Pavilion 1. One of us came up with the idea, I can’t remember who. There were so many of us and we spent the day inventing and creating things! »
[...]
« The color of the night on his skin »
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After the War (Después de la guerra)

Author:
Sandro
Testimony by:
Nelly Andrade Alcaino
« The military officials in charge of the Tejas Verdes camp made us sing, and they gave us just one day to select the songs and rehearse. »
[...]
« about the miserable things of that horrible hell. »
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Run Run Went up North (Run Run se fue pa'l norte)

Author:
Violeta Parra
Testimony by:
Ernesto Parra Navarrete
Place & date:
« Run Run ... On the big pitch, mild summer weather was in the air. But for us, aching from the torture, hungry, haggard, stinking, tattered, tired of our uncertain future, all we longed for was a breath of energy that would allow us to feel that we were still alive and that the feelings of our absent loving partners were present. »
[...]
« and in-between there is an abyss »
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