Blue (all I want)
I’ve been to sea before
I’ve been to sky between
I’ve gathered gifts of air
the road under my skin
I’ve asked the why and where
the where of going round
the why of what I seek
the where of why I’m bound
I’m bound to sail away
my mind tells me to roam
but anchors pull my heart
and sing my wandering home
I’ll sing a lullaby
of needle under skin
the waves will help me fly
the spiral shell within
I had been working on this collage, so the dVerse prompt for a song spurred me to finish it. In our mid-teens, my best friend Alfie and I would play our guitars with the radio on and write our own songs for hours, either at her house or mine, but I haven’t written any lyrics since then. Where are all those songs now?–I don’t know, although I do strangely remember one, a love song I wrote for her when she had a crush on a boy she met over one summer.
And Joni…this song (and album) are just about perfect. Always lodged in my brain.
Alfie and Joni:
Here is a shell for you
Inside you’ll hear a sigh
A foggy lullaby
There is your song from me
Midnight Rider
To run and
be bound, to keep the
journeyed road–
yes it goes
on, held and released, goes on
running, forever,
and is the path not
paved with our feet? All gonna
meet at the end. Let
your voice travel between em,
those lines that surround and catch
the singing, all the
hymns of light, blues of Midnight–
trailing that Rider.
What a beautiful boy he was. But his face grew into his music. I was lucky enough to see the Allman Brothers a few years back in one of their NYC residences.
Shovel poem using two lines from Gregg Allman’s song “Midnight Rider” (read the last words of each line straight down).
Ella at 100
For Ella
The task of
the basket: calling
unfinished
collections
together with messages
condensed into song.
The elders
plant wandering seeds,
summoning
the dropped lines
into fertilized pockets,
bringing roots to light.
Cut loose but
not lost. Walking on
air–a voice–
unclouded,
animated, multiplied,
luminous. Flying.
Today would have been Ella Fitzgerald’s 100th birthday. I’m pleased to have my drawing and poem included in the anthology celebration “Ella @ 100” .
“The only thing better than singing is more singing.”
–Ella Fitzgerald
Happy Birthday Ella.
Chuck Berry 1926-2017
Brown eyed handsome man:
the things you used to do. That
Rock and Roll music.
Creatures of the Wind
I have two pieces of art and a poem inspired by the great Nina Simone and her song “Wild is the Wind” on Marianne Szlyk’s musical blog “The song is…” You can see them here, along with a fun essay by Bill Cushing on not driving. Marianne has also included a link to the song, as well as a variety of other musical pleasures.
“The song is..” features a lot of interesting writing, art, and music, so take a look around while you’re there.
Two Bluegrass Players
I love these old photos of players wearing suits. Their faces look so miserable but you know when they start to play they are happy. I did this as a companion piece to Kerfe’s lovely tribute to Ralph Stanley. Later I’m going to get my husband to film me singing either “A Man of Constant Sorrow” or “Down to the River to Pray”. RIP Ralph Stanley. He always said his voice was a gift from the Lord above.
The photo I used–off the computer screen.
O Death (for Ralph Stanley 1927-2016)
some say yes
some say no
some welcome Death
some invite it
some force it to stay
some say wait
I’m not ready
some laugh at Death
some curse it
some are too surprised
to speak
is Death cold
or is it hotter
than Hell
or is it on
the borderline
hovering
between freezing
and melting
does Death have hands
does it embrace
or punch
does it strangle or
does it cradle
does it bathe
in darkness or
does it bathe
in light
is it a prayer
is it a question
what is this
that I can’t see
O
death
Ralph Stanley, who died last week at the age of 89, was a performer of traditional mountain music with a unique and powerful voice. His popularity soared after his version of “O Death” was included in the film “O Brother Where Art Thou”. Hearing him sing it will, to paraphrase Carole King, chill your soul right down to the marrow. But his legacy reaches far beyond one song: using both his voice and his own banjo style, he helped nourish new generations of musicians to preserve the music of the Appalachian region, a singular blend of the songs of its many ancestors.
You can read the words to “O Death” and hear Ralph Stanley perform it here.
Come Together
All
the day
sounds singing
of grace saved and
the light sheltering
earth the way the elements
are combined in mystery
like blurred echoes remembering
music we have never heard before
Music of the spheres they call it
like the mind contains mirrors that
are reflecting vibrating
earth as it moves around
the cosmic wheel part
of no known time
sounds that hold
the full
all
It’s hard to know what to say anymore about people killing people.
Friday, after listening to James Taylor’s beautiful version of “Oh What a Beautiful Morning” I started thinking about the line “all the sounds of the earth are like music”, and the musical “Oklahoma” in general. Beginning with the hope in that song, the musical runs the gamut of human behavior and emotion. As nature holds all kinds of music in both its wonder and terror.
I’ve been wanting to do some more responses to all Nina’s amazing mandalas, and I reached back to one I previously referenced in a darker way. Darkness/light: intertwined. Love or war? We can choose. Let’s come together, not apart.
My Name Is…
doves cry purple rain
as symbol or royalty
nothing compares 2
U
Too soon.
Junk Mail Art: Crossroads
…because it’s Eric Clapton’s birthday. And because any time is a good time to celebrate Robert Johnson.
Crossroads is from a group of 13 mythological junk mail art pieces I did, inspired by Boria Sax’s book “Imaginary Creatures”. You can see the first one I posted here.
Down to the crossroads, fell down on my knees.
Asked the Lord above for mercy, “Save me if you please.”
I went down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
Down to the crossroads, tried to flag a ride.
Nobody seemed to know me, everybody passed me by.
Well I’m going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
Going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
You can still barrelhouse, baby, on the riverside.
Going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
Going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
You can still barrelhouse, baby, on the riverside.
You can run, you can run, tell my friend-boy, Willie Brown.*
Run, you can run, tell my friend-boy, Willie Brown.*
And I’m staying at the crossroads, believe I’m sinking down.
I went down to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
I went down to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above “Have mercy, save poor Bob, if you please.”
Mmmmm, standin’ at the crossroad, I tried to flag a ride
Standin’ at the crossroad, I tried to flag a ride
Didn’t nobody seem to know me, everybody pass me by
Mmm, the sun goin’ down, boy, dark gon’ catch me here
oooo, ooee, eee boy, dark gon’ catch me here
I haven’t got no lovin’ sweet woman that love and feel my care
You can run, you can run, tell my friend-boy, Willie Brown.
You can run, tell my friend-boy, Willie Brown.
Lord, that I’m standin’ at the crossroad, babe, I believe I’m sinking down.
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