Pollyanna checking in, grateful again for a few specific wonders:
And as a bonus, how about an ear-worm? This simple little ditty is on heavy repeat on my inner jukebox. I like the combination of gloomy lyrics and cheering tune, plus the nod to e.e. cummings is not a bad touch...
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Open Sesame. Ala Kazam. An incantation. Casting a spell. A strong curse. Abracadabra!* Throwing a hex. There's a reason that magic spells employ rhyme and rhythm. I dare you not to get goosebumps from this YouTube video of Robin Robertson. Happy National Poetry Month. *Bonus factiod: "Abracadabra" can be translated to "As spoken so it shall pass." And that's magic. Thank you, James Frances Child. Born in 1825, this son of a sailmaker* went to Harvard on scholarship and later put his passion into studying and collecting the folk songs of Scotland and England. Starting in 1882, he published ten volumes of English and Scottish Ballads with notes and side-by-side commentary about multiple versions of 305 songs. He categorized the ballads by theme ("Supernatural Beings," "Tragic Other than Love," "Humor," etc.) and numbered them. For example, Child #26 is "The Twa Corries" also "The Three Ravens," a song from before 1600 about carrion birds discussing their future meal of the body of a fallen knight. Child #39 is "Tam Lin," which has a dozen versions of the story in which a spunky maiden must save the handsome human knight she loves from his doom as a prisoner of the court of Elfland. Some may remember Sandy Dennys of Fairport Convention singing it. The story of Janet (or Margaret, depending on the version) and her knight has inspired a handful of recent novels, including two that I like very much:
It's funny and suspenseful and –– like so many of Jones' novels –– very cleverly plotted. As I lift the book from my shelf, I see that I purchased it from The Strand Bookstore for $2.
Chosen simply because it was published by Greenwillow Books, which was then run by one of my publishing idols, Susan Hirschman, it has been a happy find and a great bargain. A sort of literary child of Child. (* No, really... Which make these also the grandkids of a sailmaker.) Each writing day, I wonder if a ray of light will come down from on high to illuminate a Higher Truth –– complete with the sound of horns. Maybe Wynton Marsalis playing Haydn, or something like this: Then I snap out of my whimsy –– as if inspiration had a sound-effect! Oh for pity's sake, cliché alert! –– and buckle down to some warm-up writing. Warming up –– for me anyhow –– often involves a second helping of whimsy. For instance, I wonder what Saint John might possibly have been listening to on his iPod while writing the Book of Revelation?
Story #1 The music washed over him in ecstatic waves. Ear-buds vibrating against the cartilage of tragus and cavum, the thin white cord tickling his neck with each pump of his pulse. There were times like this when he thought music was the only thing keeping him connected to the rocky earth. Without the slim silicone-encased player, he might float free among the clouds. Like the eagle, he might stare into the sun as he rose, until vitreous humor boiled into steam in the sockets of his eyes and the soft conjunctiva dried into sand. But then the music faded, the four chords of the chorus gently shifting to outro and silence, and in the moment of stillness between songs on his unnamed playlist, and he felt again the rock under his elbow. He took a steadying breath and calmed his thoughts against the feverish images of devils and harlots, the Lord God Almighty and the Lamb. He dipped his pen into the walnut juice and held it over the page as next introduction began to climb into the bridge. Story #2 Revelation, he thought. You say you want a revelation, well, you know. We all want to change the world. He jotted the words on parchment and found the next line flowed almost without effort. You say you've got a real solution, you know we want to see a plan. The words, written, turned on him like a serpent. Doubt and the devil take this infernal music machine! He pressed the wheel-within-a-wheel on the MP3 player. Damn the Beatles, he thought, skipping the remaining tunes of the White Album to get to the first song from the eponymous Beau Dommage. Thank you Lord, he mouthed the words and focused his gaze on the clouds. Thank you for the future that includes Canadians!
It's a slippery slope, research. It sends you into some pretty strange places, even without a high-speed internet connection. Here are a couple of gems that I MUST share. Full disclosure: I am trying to erase them from my brain by scraping them off on anyone else. Thanks for stopping by.
I don't really WANT to like either of these deep-voiced sensitive singer-songwriter types, but it's like a genetic imparitive or sparkly jewelry. Folky guitar, emotional pain, clever lyrics: I am pitiably helpless to resist. It's early, but since I am bundled up in a thick sweater and looking at autumn-bright foliage, I'm going to embrace the festival of harvest and plastic orange jack-o-lantern buckets. Here are a few of the songs that call me to the season.
Other tunes on my Halloween playlist (I am a lister from way back) include, of course "I Am Stretched On Your Grave (Kate Busby's version), Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights" (the regular tempo, not the super-slow version). Also, for a bit of relief from the Celtic tradition, "Graveyard Blues" by The Gits contrasted with the same tune done by Bessie Smith.
Hmm. Thanks to the magic of translate Google I'm going to just go ahead and coin this one: Rückwirkendneid. (Oooh, as a special bonus, they threw in an umlaut!) That would be Google-German for "retroactive envy." Close enough for my purposes, espcially with that extra-Teutonic umlaut.
What things beget Rückwirkendneid in the husk of my heart? Oh, let's see. There's a short list of novels I wish I had written (Elizabeth Knox's Mortal Fire, Jasper Fford's The Eyre Affair, and Kate Atkinson's Life after Life). And inventions -- like my pal K, I wish I had been the one to figure out that sun-protection neck gaiters were going to be a thing. Also, I wish I had invented Tervis Tumblers because they make people so happy. And also, this website devoted to a collection of cool musical covers also kind of does it to me too. Tell me what gives you Rückwirkendneid (comment below) and I will send the top three responses (or perhaps the first three! or maybe the three regular contributors who have commented on past posts!) a super-neato prize. Or anyway a "prize." Past winners have received things like paperback novels, handmade soaps, and lunch at my favorite Chinese place.
And thank the stars above this song does not include anything Lionel Richie (sorry Lionel, you've always felt like someone else's parents' favorite artist to me).
Toronto-based The Pursuit of Happiness (TPOH to those who know) offered a kickin' New Age Sound with lyrics that are directly to the point and clever. Who among us cannot relate? Or, for some, who among us used to could relate to this message? I quote this particular song often. Enjoy. I am not the only one looking for answers. Here's a trio of musical offerings on the subject of ignorance (and bliss?). From South Africa, Ireland, and Britain... The Arctic Monkeys are good for some existential doubt, plus of course some trippy graphics. |
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