JOAN BAEZ

Joan Baez começou oficialmente a sua carreira como cantora em 1958, mas só em 1963 depois de uma digressão com Bob Dylan e depois de começar a gravar as suas próprias canções se tornou famosa no mundo da folk music americana.
Ao longo dos anos 60 e 70 foi gravando êxitos de outros autores, como Phil Ochs, Richard Farina, Leonard Cohen, Tim Hardin, Paul Simon, Johnny Cash, Lennon-McCartney, Villa-Lobos e Jacques Brel.
Em 1966 um cantor inglês - Alasdair Clayre - traduziu La Colombe para a sua língua (que ficou THE DOVE) e Joan Baez incluiu a canção no seu reportório. Também Judy Collins a cantou em manifestações contra a guerra do Vietname.
Brel escreveu a ambas as cantoras agradecendo este facto e acrescentando "… admiro igualmente a vossa coragem e o vosso talento".

THE DOVE

Why all these bugles cry These squads of young men drill
To kill and to be killed Stood waiting by the train
Why the orders loud and hoarse Why the engine's groaning cough
As it strains to drag us all Into the holocaust
Why crowds who sing and cry And shout and fling us flowers
And trade their rights for ours To murder and to die
The dove has torn her wing So no more songs of love
We are not here to sing We're here to kill the dove

Why must this moment come When childhood has to die
When hope shrinks to a sigh And speech into a drum
Why are they pale and still Young boys trained over night
Conscripts paid to kill And dressed in gray to fight
These rainclouds massing tight This train load battle bound
This moving burial ground Goes thundering to the night

Why statues towering grave Above the last defeat
Old words and lies repeat Across a new made grave
And why the same still-birth That victory always brought
These hours of glory bought By men with mounds of earth
Dead ash without a spark Where cities used to be
Where guns probe every spark And crush it into dust

And while your face undone With jagged lines of tears
That gave in those first years All the peace I'd ever want
Your body in the gloom The platform fading back
Your shadow on the track A flower upon a tomb
And why these days ahead When I must let you cry
And live prepared to die as if our loves were dead