Simon & Garfunkel – Wikipedia tiếng Việt

About the Song

Scarborough Fair is a haunting and enigmatic ballad that has captivated audiences for centuries. Its origins remain shrouded in mystery, with versions dating back to the 17th century. The song’s melancholic melody and cryptic lyrics have fueled countless interpretations, adding to its enduring allure.

The most recognizable version likely comes from Simon & Garfunkel’s 1967 rendition. This version features the now-famous call and response, “Are you going to Scarborough Fair?” followed by the herbal refrain, “Parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme.”

The lyrics themselves paint a picture of a lost love. The singer sends a message to a former lover through a visitor traveling to Scarborough Fair, a real marketplace town in North Yorkshire, England. The tasks the singer asks their former love to complete are seemingly impossible – sewing a shirt without needle and thread, finding land by the sea, and reaping it with a leather sickle. These impossible tasks can be seen as metaphors for the speaker’s own emotional turmoil and the hopelessness of rekindling the lost love.

Scarborough Fair’s enduring popularity lies in its ambiguity. The lack of specific details allows listeners to project their own experiences and emotions onto the song. The yearning for a lost love, the sense of helplessness, and the bittersweet beauty of unfulfilled desires all resonate deeply with audiences across generations and cultures.

The song’s mystique is further enhanced by the symbolism of the herbs mentioned in the refrain. While the exact meaning remains debated, some believe the herbs represent fidelity (rosemary), remembrance (sage), domesticity (parsley), and death (thyme). These interpretations add another layer of complexity to the song’s emotional core.

Scarborough Fair transcends the boundaries of a folk song. It’s a timeless exploration of love, loss, and the human desire for connection. Whether sung a cappella or accompanied by a simple guitar melody, the song continues to resonate with a primal yearning for something just out of reach.Paul Simon opens up on ending friendship with Art Garfunkel

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Lyrics: Scarborough Fair

Are you going to Scarborough Fair:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.On the side of a hill in the deep forest green.
Tracing of sparrow on snow-crested brown.
Blankets and bedclothes the child of the mountain
Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.Tell her to make me a cambric shirt:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
Without no seams nor needle work,
Then she’ll be a true love of mine.On the side of a hill in the sprinkling of leaves.
Washes the grave with silvery tears.
A soldier cleans and polishes a gun.
Sleeps unaware of the clarion call.Tell her to find me an acre of land:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
Between the salt water and the sea strands,
Then she’ll be a true love of mine.

War bellows blazing in scarlet battalions.
Generals order their soldiers to kill.
And to fight for a cause they have long ago forgotten.

Tell her to reap it with a sickle of leather:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme;
And gather it all in a bunch of heather,
Then she’ll be a true love of mine.

Are you going to Scarborough Fair:
Parsley, sage, rosemary and thyme.
Remember me to one who lives there.
She once was a true love of mine.

 

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The argument in the studio lasted for days, with a producer demanding a funeral on record and a singer who was already living his own slow fade insisting the song was a commercial suicide. By 1980, the man they called No-Show Jones was more myth than musician. His life off-stage was a wreckage of cocaine and broken contracts, and his voice, though still legendary, seemed to be running out of places to hide. When producer Billy Sherrill brought him “He Stopped Loving Her Today,” Jones fought it. He hated the pacing, argued over the melody, and kept trying to turn the ballad into a slow-moving mimicry of a Kristofferson tune. He didn’t want to sing about a man who only finds peace in the grave, mostly because the darkness in the song felt too much like his own. Sherrill refused to back down. He kept the writers, Bobby Braddock and Curly Putman, in a loop of rewrites, demanding they push the funeral imagery further, dragging the listener through every ounce of the protagonist’s refusal to let go. In the studio, the atmosphere was thick with friction. Jones wasn’t just performing a character; he was wrestling with a mirror. It was a slow, agonizing process of bargaining that finally broke when Jones delivered a vocal that felt like a confession. The final take caught the exact moment where pain stops being a performance. The strings swelled, the steel guitar moaned in the background, and the reality of the record landed with a heavy, final quiet. It was not a polished hit; it was a scar captured on tape.