Go out of your mind
into the beat of my drum; grind.
Serenade me with your bird song
Rhythmic electric echoes and bass riffs; strong.
You shed my skin and it burns with a fiery passion
My locks and your chatter
You are my space of fascination, body of entertainment
The breathy, pleasurable..silent dance.
Your secrets; sublime
and it's really a crying shame; a crime
I'm taken by your seductive word of slander
your voice thick and heavy
why it broke, I wonder.
In the presence of lust, swallowing his breath; I was merely a pair in the crowd.
Red.
Anonymous
(And, for all we know, Anonymous was a woman.)
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Literature. Show all posts
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Saturday, February 11, 2012
high fidelity five
'Have you got any soul?' a woman asks the next afternoon. That depends, I feel like saying; some days yes, some days no. A few days ago I was right out; now I've got loads, too much, more than I can handle. I wish I could spread it a bit more evenly, I want to tell her, get a better balance, but I can't seem to get it sorted. I can see she wouldn't be interested in my internal stock control problems though, so I simply point to where I keep the soul I have, right by the exit, just next to the blues.
- read in Nick Hornby's High Fidelity
Sunday, February 5, 2012
Trying
Search for an angel
Go high and low
Try to find it
before morning comes
Call up Larissa
Tell her she's sweet
Ask her to come over
Think of a song you like
Change the words a bit
Try to change somebody's mind
Tell yourself you're somebody
and nobody at the same time
Don't get lost
Happens all the time
Shout out from the back porch
Shout out from the back porch
Don't make too much noise though
Breath smells bad
feels like acid
You turn her on
Keep your money and your jacket
Get back
Close your eyes and lay down
You're a lamplight on a snowy street
Where only half the lamplights are
alright
Go high and low
Try to find it
before morning comes
Call up Larissa
Tell her she's sweet
Ask her to come over
Think of a song you like
Change the words a bit
Try to change somebody's mind
Tell yourself you're somebody
and nobody at the same time
Don't get lost
Happens all the time
Shout out from the back porch
Shout out from the back porch
Don't make too much noise though
Breath smells bad
feels like acid
You turn her on
Keep your money and your jacket
Get back
Close your eyes and lay down
You're a lamplight on a snowy street
Where only half the lamplights are
alright
Monday, January 23, 2012
Sunday, January 22, 2012
notebook entry 2: during Abe
among The Woman in the Dunes
"
Got a one-way ticket to the blues, woo, woo. . .
"
"
Got a one-way ticket to the blues, woo, woo. . .
If you want to sing it, sing it. These days people caught in the clutches of the one-way ticket never sing it like that. The soles of those who have only a one-way ticket are so thin that they scream when they step on a pebble. They have had their fill of walking. "The Round-Trip Ticket Blues" is what they want to sing. A one-way ticket is a disjointed life that misses the links between yesterday and today, today and tomorrow. Only the man who obstinately hangs on to a round-trip ticket can hum with real sorrow a song of a one-way ticket. For this very reason he grows desperate lest the return half of his ticket be lost or stolen; he buys stocks, signs up for life insurance, and talks out of different sides of his mouth to his union pals and his superiors. He hums "The One-Way Ticket Blues" with all his might and, choosing a channel at random, turns the television up to full volume in an attempt to drown out the peevish voices of those who have only a one-way ticket and who keep asking for help, voices that come up through the bathtub drain or the toilet hole. It would not be strange at all if "The Round-Trip Ticket Blues" were the song of mankind imprisoned.
"
Thursday, January 19, 2012
notebook entry 1: during Abe
Among The Woman in the Dunes
"
As she spoke the expanse of stars rapidly grew patchy and began to fade.
A tangled filmy cloud swirled around fitfully where the wall of sand met the sky.
"You see, it's because the sand soaks up a lot of fog. When salty sand is full of fog, it gets hard like starch."
"I can't believe it!"
"Oh, yes, it's true. When the tide along the beach goes down, even big tanks can drive over the sand with no trouble."
"Amazing!"
"It's quite true. So that part that sticks out there gets bigger every night. On days when the wind comes from a bad direction, the sand comes down like today, on the umbrella. In the afternoon, when it's good and dry, it comes crashing down all at once. And it's the end if it falls in the wrong place... where the pillars are weak."
Her topics of conversation were restricted. Yet once she entered her sphere she suddenly took on a new animation. This might also be the way to her heart. He was not particularly interested in what she had to say, but her words had a warmth in them that made him think of the body concealed beneath the coarse work trousers.
Then, with all his strength, he repeatedly thrust the dented cutting edge of his shovel into the sand at his feet.
"
"
As she spoke the expanse of stars rapidly grew patchy and began to fade.
A tangled filmy cloud swirled around fitfully where the wall of sand met the sky.
"You see, it's because the sand soaks up a lot of fog. When salty sand is full of fog, it gets hard like starch."
"I can't believe it!"
"Oh, yes, it's true. When the tide along the beach goes down, even big tanks can drive over the sand with no trouble."
"Amazing!"
"It's quite true. So that part that sticks out there gets bigger every night. On days when the wind comes from a bad direction, the sand comes down like today, on the umbrella. In the afternoon, when it's good and dry, it comes crashing down all at once. And it's the end if it falls in the wrong place... where the pillars are weak."
Her topics of conversation were restricted. Yet once she entered her sphere she suddenly took on a new animation. This might also be the way to her heart. He was not particularly interested in what she had to say, but her words had a warmth in them that made him think of the body concealed beneath the coarse work trousers.
Then, with all his strength, he repeatedly thrust the dented cutting edge of his shovel into the sand at his feet.
"
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Why should we really worry?
I begin my thoughts today thusly: Kilgore Trout, the renowned American sci-fi writer, wrote a book about a year at the beginning of which all the people on Earth simultaneously conjured the idea that they were going to be sent to a higher dimension at precisely 5 o'clock on June 2, 2049. AM
It was believed that those who possessed clean souls would wind up in the best locations of this new *, and form a faction around the beings or unbeings present. Humans, on the other hand, with tainted, degraded, deceitful and wayward souls, would find themselves in a * laden with war, jealousy, utter hatred, nuclear weaponry and unfaithful partners; some millions of light years away, no doubt.
Knowing that a little less than half a year on the planet was all that was left for them, people started becoming uneasy in each other's presence.
Some of the first signs of this were the so-called speculation-jokes.
These speculation-jokes were foul and unmoral, and I have decided not to give an example of what one would normally look like.
Basically, they made fun of those of whom it was thought would be sent to the lesser-quality zone.
And were most oftenly not funny.
Many cults were formed, families too. Businesses and lawyers' firms.
As a result of which the world began to look like an overpopulated ant farm.
---
What happened on the morning of June 2 (Western hemisphere) was "the biggest thing ever to occur on Earth", according to later reports made by nonhuman journalists.
All the people waited for two hours, in which most everything was still as a bat.
And around 7:13 there was an earthquake, caused by the giant shuttle used by the extraterrestrials.
This rumbling of the ground was thought to be the beginning of everybody's travel to *
Those same nonhuman journalists later accepted the fact that the extraterrestrials had been unpunctual easily, as in space, nobody ever knew what time was.
There simply was no need.
Alas, after the extraterrestrials arrived, what ensued was a week of raping and pillaging.
One must certainly wonder what aliens would possibly want to pillage from the Earth, and the answer is "scarves and stalin-hats".
You put a scarf and a stalin-hat on the coat hanger, and cannot help but think you're stylish. No matter where you come from, apparently.
Not only were there no more of these items left, but there was also no more human life. None. Zilch.
Where the souls of those billions of people went, nobody could tell for sure.
The extraterrestrials soon left the planet, after giving all the husky-dogs superhuman intelligence.
Some other Trout titles to definitely look into are, "The Day The Earth Heard Nothing But The Pink Floyd", "The Octopus's Journey to Saturn and the Death of Uranus" and "The Time Ballet was Used to Free The Slaves of Isador Gamma"
Author's note: * (pronounced [ghee-zik]) - the textual representation of "higher dimension"
And I end my thoughts hereof: Allez-hop!
It was believed that those who possessed clean souls would wind up in the best locations of this new *, and form a faction around the beings or unbeings present. Humans, on the other hand, with tainted, degraded, deceitful and wayward souls, would find themselves in a * laden with war, jealousy, utter hatred, nuclear weaponry and unfaithful partners; some millions of light years away, no doubt.
Knowing that a little less than half a year on the planet was all that was left for them, people started becoming uneasy in each other's presence.
Some of the first signs of this were the so-called speculation-jokes.
These speculation-jokes were foul and unmoral, and I have decided not to give an example of what one would normally look like.
Basically, they made fun of those of whom it was thought would be sent to the lesser-quality zone.
And were most oftenly not funny.
Many cults were formed, families too. Businesses and lawyers' firms.
As a result of which the world began to look like an overpopulated ant farm.
---
What happened on the morning of June 2 (Western hemisphere) was "the biggest thing ever to occur on Earth", according to later reports made by nonhuman journalists.
All the people waited for two hours, in which most everything was still as a bat.
And around 7:13 there was an earthquake, caused by the giant shuttle used by the extraterrestrials.
This rumbling of the ground was thought to be the beginning of everybody's travel to *
Those same nonhuman journalists later accepted the fact that the extraterrestrials had been unpunctual easily, as in space, nobody ever knew what time was.
There simply was no need.
Alas, after the extraterrestrials arrived, what ensued was a week of raping and pillaging.
One must certainly wonder what aliens would possibly want to pillage from the Earth, and the answer is "scarves and stalin-hats".
You put a scarf and a stalin-hat on the coat hanger, and cannot help but think you're stylish. No matter where you come from, apparently.
Not only were there no more of these items left, but there was also no more human life. None. Zilch.
Where the souls of those billions of people went, nobody could tell for sure.
The extraterrestrials soon left the planet, after giving all the husky-dogs superhuman intelligence.
Some other Trout titles to definitely look into are, "The Day The Earth Heard Nothing But The Pink Floyd", "The Octopus's Journey to Saturn and the Death of Uranus" and "The Time Ballet was Used to Free The Slaves of Isador Gamma"
Author's note: * (pronounced [ghee-zik]) - the textual representation of "higher dimension"
And I end my thoughts hereof: Allez-hop!
Thursday, January 12, 2012
To a flower, or Where
Where were my glasses when I was young?
Where was my attention span at school?
Where were my friends when I broke my leg on the secret bike trail?
Where was I when I was supposed to be kissing for the first time?
Where was I when you were supposed to be kissing for the first time?
Where was I the day the music died?
Where was I when my grandfather needed me?
Where was my grandfather when I needed him?
Where was I when my grandfather died?
where were you when I went to the movies for the first time?
where were you when I read my first book?
where were you when I wrote my first book?
where were you on April 3, 2002?
where were you when I stopped watching the news?
where was I when you were upset?
where were you when I was lonesome?
where was time when I was having fun?
where was my smile when it was handsome?
where did all my sketches go?
where did my enthusiasm wind up?
where did my computer come from?
where did "Poor Folk" come from?
where did classical music come from?
where did my great-grandfather come from?
where did my fear of being left alone as a kid come from?
where did my stutter come from?
where did my memories come from?
where did my map come from?
where was I at prom?
where was I after?
where was I near the road?
where lie the remains of my boat?
where was I when my friend fell off a tree?
where was I when decisions were to be made?
where were you when I found out I had no talent?
where I am now, there is a red couch.
where are you, dear flower?
where
where
where
Anywhere really. I suppose.
Gerard K. Slovak
Where was my attention span at school?
Where were my friends when I broke my leg on the secret bike trail?
Where was I when I was supposed to be kissing for the first time?
Where was I when you were supposed to be kissing for the first time?
Where was I the day the music died?
Where was I when my grandfather needed me?
Where was my grandfather when I needed him?
Where was I when my grandfather died?
where were you when I went to the movies for the first time?
where were you when I read my first book?
where were you when I wrote my first book?
where were you on April 3, 2002?
where were you when I stopped watching the news?
where was I when you were upset?
where were you when I was lonesome?
where was time when I was having fun?
where was my smile when it was handsome?
where did all my sketches go?
where did my enthusiasm wind up?
where did my computer come from?
where did "Poor Folk" come from?
where did classical music come from?
where did my great-grandfather come from?
where did my fear of being left alone as a kid come from?
where did my stutter come from?
where did my memories come from?
where did my map come from?
where was I at prom?
where was I after?
where was I near the road?
where lie the remains of my boat?
where was I when my friend fell off a tree?
where was I when decisions were to be made?
where were you when I found out I had no talent?
where I am now, there is a red couch.
where are you, dear flower?
where
where
where
Anywhere really. I suppose.
Gerard K. Slovak
Friday, November 4, 2011
You're Gonna Make Me Lonesome When You Go
I’ve seen love go by my door
It’s never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow
Been shooting in the dark too long
When somethin’s not right it’s wrong
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
It’s never been this close before
Never been so easy or so slow
Been shooting in the dark too long
When somethin’s not right it’s wrong
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Dragon clouds so high above
I’ve only known careless love
It’s always hit me from below
This time around it’s more correct
Right on target, so direct
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
I’ve only known careless love
It’s always hit me from below
This time around it’s more correct
Right on target, so direct
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Purple clover, Queen Anne’s Lace
Crimson hair across your face
You could make me cry if you don’t know
Can’t remember what I was thinkin’ of
You might be spoilin’ me too much, love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Crimson hair across your face
You could make me cry if you don’t know
Can’t remember what I was thinkin’ of
You might be spoilin’ me too much, love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Flowers on the hillside, bloomin’ crazy
Crickets talkin’ back and forth in rhyme
Blue river runnin’ slow and lazy
I could stay with you forever and never realize the time
Crickets talkin’ back and forth in rhyme
Blue river runnin’ slow and lazy
I could stay with you forever and never realize the time
Situations have ended sad
Relationships have all been bad
Mine’ve been like Verlaine’s and Rimbaud
But there’s no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Relationships have all been bad
Mine’ve been like Verlaine’s and Rimbaud
But there’s no way I can compare
All those scenes to this affair
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Yer gonna make me wonder what I’m doin’
Stayin’ far behind without you
Yer gonna make me wonder what I’m sayin’
Yer gonna make me give myself a good talkin’ to
Stayin’ far behind without you
Yer gonna make me wonder what I’m sayin’
Yer gonna make me give myself a good talkin’ to
I’ll look for you in old Honolulu
San Francisco, Ashtabula
Yer gonna have to leave me now, I know
But I’ll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass, in the ones I love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
San Francisco, Ashtabula
Yer gonna have to leave me now, I know
But I’ll see you in the sky above
In the tall grass, in the ones I love
Yer gonna make me lonesome when you go
Bob Dylan's fifth track off the critically acclaimed Blood on The Tracks, said to be his most mature record.
And one of my favourite songs.
Check out this brilliant jazz version by Madeleine Peyroux
If you'd like to download the original song, click here
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Book & The Blues Pt. 1
Hey Hey
Dumb
Married with Children
Cocaine Blues
God's Gonna Cut You Down
Before the show :)
More to come
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud
I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Poems in Two Volumes (1807)
William Wordsworth
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.
Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.
The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling leaves in glee;
A poet could not be but gay,
In such a jocund company!
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:
For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
Poems in Two Volumes (1807)
William Wordsworth
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
The Cuckoo
Oh the cuckoo She's a pretty bird
She sings while she flies
She never gets lonesome
Till the first day of July
I've gambled down in England
I've gambled in Spain
It's gambling that's brought me prison
It's gambling that's brought me pain
Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds
I've known you of old
You've robbed my poor pockets
Of silver and of gold
Oh the cuckoo She's a pretty bird
She warbles as she flies
And she never gets lonely
Till the fourth day of July
Stranger lady Stranger lady
Our eyes met once that night
I'll be there at your doorstep
Till the sun is shining bright
I wish I was a poet
An' could write a fine hand
I'd write my love a letter
Lord, she would understand
She sings while she flies
She never gets lonesome
Till the first day of July
I've gambled down in England
I've gambled in Spain
It's gambling that's brought me prison
It's gambling that's brought me pain
Jack o' Diamonds, Jack o' Diamonds
I've known you of old
You've robbed my poor pockets
Of silver and of gold
Oh the cuckoo She's a pretty bird
She warbles as she flies
And she never gets lonely
Till the fourth day of July
Stranger lady Stranger lady
Our eyes met once that night
I'll be there at your doorstep
Till the sun is shining bright
I wish I was a poet
An' could write a fine hand
I'd write my love a letter
Lord, she would understand
Sunday, March 6, 2011
The Book & The Blues photography
Представянето на книгата По вина на Боби Фишер в Петното на Роршах, на 22 февруари 2011. Снимки от Цвета Атанасова.
Ivan's blog
Ivan's blog
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
America
America I've given you all and now I'm nothing.
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Allen Ginsberg
America two dollars and twenty-seven cents January 17, 1956.
I can't stand my own mind.
America when will we end the human war?
Go fuck yourself with your atom bomb
I don't feel good don't bother me.
I won't write my poem till I'm in my right mind.
America when will you be angelic?
When will you take off your clothes?
When will you look at yourself through the grave?
When will you be worthy of your million Trotskyites?
America why are your libraries full of tears?
America when will you send your eggs to India?
I'm sick of your insane demands.
When can I go into the supermarket and buy what I need with my good looks?
America after all it is you and I who are perfect not the next world.
Your machinery is too much for me.
You made me want to be a saint.
There must be some other way to settle this argument.
Burroughs is in Tangiers I don't think he'll come back it's sinister.
Are you being sinister or is this some form of practical joke?
I'm trying to come to the point.
I refuse to give up my obsession.
America stop pushing I know what I'm doing.
America the plum blossoms are falling.
I haven't read the newspapers for months, everyday somebody goes on trial for
murder.
America I feel sentimental about the Wobblies.
America I used to be a communist when I was a kid and I'm not sorry.
I smoke marijuana every chance I get.
I sit in my house for days on end and stare at the roses in the closet.
When I go to Chinatown I get drunk and never get laid.
My mind is made up there's going to be trouble.
You should have seen me reading Marx.
My psychoanalyst thinks I'm perfectly right.
I won't say the Lord's Prayer.
I have mystical visions and cosmic vibrations.
America I still haven't told you what you did to Uncle Max after he came over
from Russia.
I'm addressing you.
Are you going to let our emotional life be run by Time Magazine?
I'm obsessed by Time Magazine.
I read it every week.
Its cover stares at me every time I slink past the corner candystore.
I read it in the basement of the Berkeley Public Library.
It's always telling me about responsibility. Businessmen are serious. Movie
producers are serious. Everybody's serious but me.
It occurs to me that I am America.
I am talking to myself again.
Asia is rising against me.
I haven't got a chinaman's chance.
I'd better consider my national resources.
My national resources consist of two joints of marijuana millions of genitals
an unpublishable private literature that goes 1400 miles and hour and
twentyfivethousand mental institutions.
I say nothing about my prisons nor the millions of underpriviliged who live in
my flowerpots under the light of five hundred suns.
I have abolished the whorehouses of France, Tangiers is the next to go.
My ambition is to be President despite the fact that I'm a Catholic.
America how can I write a holy litany in your silly mood?
I will continue like Henry Ford my strophes are as individual as his
automobiles more so they're all different sexes
America I will sell you strophes $2500 apiece $500 down on your old strophe
America free Tom Mooney
America save the Spanish Loyalists
America Sacco & Vanzetti must not die
America I am the Scottsboro boys.
America when I was seven momma took me to Communist Cell meetings they
sold us garbanzos a handful per ticket a ticket costs a nickel and the
speeches were free everybody was angelic and sentimental about the
workers it was all so sincere you have no idea what a good thing the party
was in 1835 Scott Nearing was a grand old man a real mensch Mother
Bloor made me cry I once saw Israel Amter plain. Everybody must have
been a spy.
America you don're really want to go to war.
America it's them bad Russians.
Them Russians them Russians and them Chinamen. And them Russians.
The Russia wants to eat us alive. The Russia's power mad. She wants to take
our cars from out our garages.
Her wants to grab Chicago. Her needs a Red Reader's Digest. her wants our
auto plants in Siberia. Him big bureaucracy running our fillingstations.
That no good. Ugh. Him makes Indians learn read. Him need big black niggers.
Hah. Her make us all work sixteen hours a day. Help.
America this is quite serious.
America this is the impression I get from looking in the television set.
America is this correct?
I'd better get right down to the job.
It's true I don't want to join the Army or turn lathes in precision parts
factories, I'm nearsighted and psychopathic anyway.
America I'm putting my queer shoulder to the wheel.
Allen Ginsberg
Monday, February 28, 2011
Way Over Yonder in the Minor Key
I lived in a place called Okfuskee
And I had a little girl in a holler tree
I said, little girl, it's plain to see
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
She said it's hard for me to see
How one little boy got so ugly
Yes my little girly that might be
But there ain't nobody that can sing like me
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Way over yonder in the minor key
Way over yonder in the minor key
There ain't nobody that can sing like me
We walked down by the Buckeye Creek
To see the frog eat the goggle-eye bee
To hear the west wind whistle to the east
There ain't nobody that can sing like me
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Oh my little girly will you let me see
Way over yonder where the wind blows free
Nobody can see in our holler tree
And there ain't nobody that can sing like me
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Way over yonder in the minor key
Way over yonder in the minor key
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Her mama cut a switch from a cherry tree
And laid it on the she and me,
It stung lots worse than a hive of bees
But there ain't nobody that can sing like me
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Now I have walked a long long ways
And I still look back to my Tanglewood days
I've led lots of girls since then to stray
Saying ain't nobody that can sing like me
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Way over yonder in the minor key
Way over yonder in the minor key
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Ain't nobody that can sing like me
Woody Guthrie
this was written about his mother
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Five (Dire Straits) Songs
1. Single Handed Sailor
track eight on the Communique album (1979)
Two in the morning, dry-dock town
The rivers rolls away in the night
Little gypsy moth she's all tied down
She quiver in the wind and the light
Yeah and a sailing ship just held down in chains
From the lazy days of sail
She's just lying there in silent pain
He lean on the turist rail
A mother and her baby and the college of war
In the concrete graves
You never wanna fight against the river law
Nobody rules the waves
Yeah and on a night when the lazy wind is a-wailing
Around the Cutty Sark
Single handed sailor goes sailing
Sailing away in the dark
He's upon the bridge on the self same night
The mariner of dry dock land
Two in the morning, but there is one green light
And a man on the barge of sand
She's gonna slip away below him
Away from the things he's done
But he just shouts "Hey man, what do you call this thing?"
He could have said "Pride of London"
On a night when the lazy wind is a-wailing
Around the Cutty Sark
Yeah the single handed sailor goes sailing
Sailing away in the dark
The rivers rolls away in the night
Little gypsy moth she's all tied down
She quiver in the wind and the light
Yeah and a sailing ship just held down in chains
From the lazy days of sail
She's just lying there in silent pain
He lean on the turist rail
A mother and her baby and the college of war
In the concrete graves
You never wanna fight against the river law
Nobody rules the waves
Yeah and on a night when the lazy wind is a-wailing
Around the Cutty Sark
Single handed sailor goes sailing
Sailing away in the dark
He's upon the bridge on the self same night
The mariner of dry dock land
Two in the morning, but there is one green light
And a man on the barge of sand
She's gonna slip away below him
Away from the things he's done
But he just shouts "Hey man, what do you call this thing?"
He could have said "Pride of London"
On a night when the lazy wind is a-wailing
Around the Cutty Sark
Yeah the single handed sailor goes sailing
Sailing away in the dark
2. Lions
the ninth and final track on their self-titled debut album (1978)
Red sun go down way over dirty town
Starling are sweeping around crazy shoals
A girl is there high heeling across the square
Wind blows around in her hair and the flags upon the poles
Waiting in the crowd to cross at the light
She looks around to find a face she can like.
Church bell clinging on trying to get a crowd for Evensong
Nobody cares to depend upon the chime it plays
They're all in the station praying for trains
Cogregations late again
It's getting darker all the time these flagpole days
Drunk old soldier he gives her a fright
He's crazy lion howling for a fight.
Strap hanging gunshot sound
Doors slamming on the overground
Starlings are tough but the lions are made of stone
Her evening paper is horror torn
But there's hope later for Capricorns
Her lucky stars give her just enough to get home
Then she's reading about a swing to the right
But she's thinking about a stranger in the night
I'm thinking about the lions tonight
What happened to the lions.
Starling are sweeping around crazy shoals
A girl is there high heeling across the square
Wind blows around in her hair and the flags upon the poles
Waiting in the crowd to cross at the light
She looks around to find a face she can like.
Church bell clinging on trying to get a crowd for Evensong
Nobody cares to depend upon the chime it plays
They're all in the station praying for trains
Cogregations late again
It's getting darker all the time these flagpole days
Drunk old soldier he gives her a fright
He's crazy lion howling for a fight.
Strap hanging gunshot sound
Doors slamming on the overground
Starlings are tough but the lions are made of stone
Her evening paper is horror torn
But there's hope later for Capricorns
Her lucky stars give her just enough to get home
Then she's reading about a swing to the right
But she's thinking about a stranger in the night
I'm thinking about the lions tonight
What happened to the lions.
3. Lady Writer
song five on Communique (1979)
Lady writer on the TV
Talk about the Virgin Mary
Reminded me of you
Expectation left to come up to yeah
Lady writer on the TV
She had another quality
The way you used to look
And I know you never read a book
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time, another place
Lady writer on the TV
She had all the brains and the beauty
The pictures does not fit
You'd talk to me when you felt like it
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Yes and your rich old man,
You know he'd a call her a dead ringer
You got the same command
Plus your mother was a Jazz singer
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Lady writer on the TV
She knew all about a history
You couldn't hardly write your name
I think I want it just the same as the ...
Lady writer on the TV
Talking about the Virgin Mary
You know I'm talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the TV
Talking about the Virgin Mary
Yeah you know I'm talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the TV
Talk about the Virgin Mary
Reminded me of you
Expectation left to come up to yeah
Lady writer on the TV
She had another quality
The way you used to look
And I know you never read a book
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time, another place
Lady writer on the TV
She had all the brains and the beauty
The pictures does not fit
You'd talk to me when you felt like it
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Yes and your rich old man,
You know he'd a call her a dead ringer
You got the same command
Plus your mother was a Jazz singer
Just the way that her hair fell down around her face
And I recall my fall from grace
Another time another place
Lady writer on the TV
She knew all about a history
You couldn't hardly write your name
I think I want it just the same as the ...
Lady writer on the TV
Talking about the Virgin Mary
You know I'm talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the TV
Talking about the Virgin Mary
Yeah you know I'm talking about you and me
And the lady writer on the TV
4. Expresso Love
The fourth song on Making Movies (1980)
she gets the sun in the daytime
perfume in the dusk
and she comes out in the night time
with the honeysuckle musk
because she smells just like a rose
and she tastes just like a peach
she got me walking where the wildlife goes
I'd do anything to reach her
and she was made in heaven
heaven's in the world
is this just expresso love
you know i'm crazy for the girl
she call me just to talk
she's my lover, she's a friend of mine
she says hey mister you wanna take a walk
in the wild west end sometime
and i get trouble with my breathing
she says boys don't know anything
but i know what i want
i want everything
well i feel so good cos i feel so good
and i feel so good cos it feels so right
i was made to go with my girl
like a saxophone was made to go with the night
and she can raise one eyebrow
put her hand on my hip
and i close one eye now
sweat on her lip
and i surrender to the fever
she love me so tender i got to believe her
love? expresso love's alright
i don't want no sugar in it
thank you very much
all wired up on it all fired up on it
expresso touch
hey maestro expresso
it's just another one just like the other one
hey maestro expresso
is this another one just like the other one
perfume in the dusk
and she comes out in the night time
with the honeysuckle musk
because she smells just like a rose
and she tastes just like a peach
she got me walking where the wildlife goes
I'd do anything to reach her
and she was made in heaven
heaven's in the world
is this just expresso love
you know i'm crazy for the girl
she call me just to talk
she's my lover, she's a friend of mine
she says hey mister you wanna take a walk
in the wild west end sometime
and i get trouble with my breathing
she says boys don't know anything
but i know what i want
i want everything
well i feel so good cos i feel so good
and i feel so good cos it feels so right
i was made to go with my girl
like a saxophone was made to go with the night
and she can raise one eyebrow
put her hand on my hip
and i close one eye now
sweat on her lip
and i surrender to the fever
she love me so tender i got to believe her
love? expresso love's alright
i don't want no sugar in it
thank you very much
all wired up on it all fired up on it
expresso touch
hey maestro expresso
it's just another one just like the other one
hey maestro expresso
is this another one just like the other one
5. The Bug
track five in 1991's On Every Street
well it's a strange old game - you learn it slow
one step forward and it's back to go
you're standing on the throttle
you're standing on the breaks
in the groove 'til you make a mistake
sometimes you're the windshield
sometimes you're the bug
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're a fool in love
sometimes you're the louisville slugger
sometimes you're the ball
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're going to lose it all
you gotta know happy - you gotta know glad
because you're gonna know lonely
and you're gonna know bad
when you're rippin' and a ridin'
and you're coming on strong
you start slippin' and slidin'
and it all goes wrong because
sometimes you're the windshield
sometimes you're the bug
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're a fool in love
sometimes you're the louisville slugger baby
sometimes you're the ball
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're going to lose it all
one day you got the glory
one day you got none
one day you're a diamond
and then you're a stone
everything can change
in the blink of an eye
so let the good times roll
before we say goodbye, because
sometimes you're the windshield
sometimes you're the bug
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're a fool in love
sometimes you're the louisville slugger baby
sometimes you're the ball
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're going to lose it all
one step forward and it's back to go
you're standing on the throttle
you're standing on the breaks
in the groove 'til you make a mistake
sometimes you're the windshield
sometimes you're the bug
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're a fool in love
sometimes you're the louisville slugger
sometimes you're the ball
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're going to lose it all
you gotta know happy - you gotta know glad
because you're gonna know lonely
and you're gonna know bad
when you're rippin' and a ridin'
and you're coming on strong
you start slippin' and slidin'
and it all goes wrong because
sometimes you're the windshield
sometimes you're the bug
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're a fool in love
sometimes you're the louisville slugger baby
sometimes you're the ball
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're going to lose it all
one day you got the glory
one day you got none
one day you're a diamond
and then you're a stone
everything can change
in the blink of an eye
so let the good times roll
before we say goodbye, because
sometimes you're the windshield
sometimes you're the bug
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're a fool in love
sometimes you're the louisville slugger baby
sometimes you're the ball
sometimes it all comes together baby
sometimes you're going to lose it all
Saturday, February 26, 2011
You Angel You
Surely one of the best things in the history of modern music was Bob Dylan's teaming up with The Band.
I can't but not be reminded of Canada often times when I'm listening to a Band record. I'll be sure to do a blog post soon on some of my favourite songs from this fine company. But now, I musn't deviate from the point, and that is You Angel You. And here it is:
You Angel You
You angel you
You got me under your wing
The way you walk and the way you talk
I feel I could almost sing
You got me under your wing
The way you walk and the way you talk
I feel I could almost sing
You angel you
You’re as fine as anything’s fine
The way you walk and the way you talk
It sure plays on my mind
You’re as fine as anything’s fine
The way you walk and the way you talk
It sure plays on my mind
You know I can’t sleep at night for trying
Never did feel this way before
I get up at night and walk the floor
If this is love then gimme more
And more and more and more and more
Never did feel this way before
I get up at night and walk the floor
If this is love then gimme more
And more and more and more and more
You angel you
You’re as fine as can be
The way you smile like a sweet baby child
It just falls all over me
You’re as fine as can be
The way you smile like a sweet baby child
It just falls all over me
You know I can’t sleep at night for trying
Never did feel this way before
Never did get up and walk the floor
If this is love then gimme more
And more and more and more
Never did feel this way before
Never did get up and walk the floor
If this is love then gimme more
And more and more and more
You angel you
You got me under your wing
The way you walk and the way you talk
It says everything
You got me under your wing
The way you walk and the way you talk
It says everything
This was written by Bob Dylan and recorded in November of 1973 (released on January 17 1974) with The Band as track 9 on the Planet Waves album.
Dylan later dismissed the song as having "dummy lyrics", but nevertheless, it is one of my favourite Bob Dylan & The Band tunes.
The album consisting of 'Cast-iron songs & torch ballads', originally to be called "Ceremonies Of The Horsemen"
Have a listen to You Angel You From here, taken from Biograph CD 2
And on the second Biograph CD, right after You Angel You, we have the Million Dollar Bash, taken from 1975's Basement Tapes by Bob Dylan and The Band And what a treat that is, download it from Megaupload, here
Million Dollar Bash
Well, that big dumb blonde
With her wheel in the gorge
And Turtle, that friend of theirs
With his checks all forged
And his cheeks in a chunk
With his cheese in the cash
They’re all gonna be there
At that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
With her wheel in the gorge
And Turtle, that friend of theirs
With his checks all forged
And his cheeks in a chunk
With his cheese in the cash
They’re all gonna be there
At that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
Ev’rybody from right now
To over there and back
The louder they come
The harder they crack
Come now, sweet cream
Don’t forget to flash
We’re all gonna meet
At that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
To over there and back
The louder they come
The harder they crack
Come now, sweet cream
Don’t forget to flash
We’re all gonna meet
At that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
Well, I took my counselor
Out to the barn
Silly Nelly was there
She told him a yarn
Then along came Jones
Emptied the trash
Ev’rybody went down
To that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
Out to the barn
Silly Nelly was there
She told him a yarn
Then along came Jones
Emptied the trash
Ev’rybody went down
To that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
Well, I’m hittin’ it too hard
My stones won’t take
I get up in the mornin’
But it’s too early to wake
First it’s hello, goodbye
Then push and then crash
But we’re all gonna make it
At that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
My stones won’t take
I get up in the mornin’
But it’s too early to wake
First it’s hello, goodbye
Then push and then crash
But we’re all gonna make it
At that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
Well, I looked at my watch
I looked at my wrist
Punched myself in the face
With my fist
I took my potatoes
Down to be mashed
Then I made it over
To that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
I looked at my wrist
Punched myself in the face
With my fist
I took my potatoes
Down to be mashed
Then I made it over
To that million dollar bash
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
Ooh, baby, ooh-ee
It’s that million dollar bash
Enjoy!
Friday, February 25, 2011
Blow your harmonica, son!
Well I'm about to get sick
From watchin' my TV
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean to say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it's gonna change, my friend
Is anybody's guess
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Wednesday I watched the riot . . .
Seen the cops out on the street
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round
Seen the smoke and fire
And the market burnin' down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust and burn
And I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Well, you can cool it,
You can heat it . . .
'Cause, baby, I don't need it . . .
Take your TV tube and eat it
'N all that phony stuff on sports
'N all the unconfirmed reports
You know I watched that rotten box
Until my head begin to hurt
From checkin' out the way
The newsman say they get the dirt
Before the guys on channel so-and-so
And further they assert
That any show they'll interrupt
To bring you news if it comes up
They say that if the place blows up
They will be the first to tell,
Because the boys they got downtown
Are workin' hard and doin' swell,
And if anybody gets the news
Before it hits the street,
They say that no one blabs it faster
Their coverage can't be beat
And if another woman driver
Gets machine-gunned from her seat
They'll send some joker with a brownie
And you'll see it all complete
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Hey, you know something people?
I'm not black
But there's a whole lots a times
I wish I could say I'm not white
Well, I seen the fires burnin'
And the local people turnin'
On the merchants and the shops
Who used to sell their brooms and mops
And every other household item
Watched the mob just turn and bite 'em
And they say it served 'em right
Because a few of them are white,
And it's the same across the nation
Black and white discrimination
Yellin' "You can't understand me!"
'N all that other jazz they hand me
In the papers and TV and
All that mass stupidity
That seems to grow more every day
Each time you hear some nitwit say
He wants to go and do you in
Because the color of your skin
Just don't appeal to him
(No matter if it's black or white)
Because he's out for blood tonight
You know we got to sit around at home
And watch this thing begin
But I bet there won't be many live
To see it really end
'Cause the fire in the street
Ain't like the fire in the heart
And in the eyes of all these people
Don't you know that this could start
On any street in any town
In any state if any clown
Decides that now's the time to fight
For some ideal he thinks is right
And if a million more agree
There ain't no Great Society
As it applies to you and me
Our country isn't free
And the law refuses to see
If all that you can ever be
Is just a lousy janitor
Unless your uncle owns a store
You know that five in every four
Just won't amount to nothin' more
Gonna watch the rats go across the floor
And make up songs about being poor
Blow your harmonica, son!
From watchin' my TV
Been checkin' out the news
Until my eyeballs fail to see
I mean to say that every day
Is just another rotten mess
And when it's gonna change, my friend
Is anybody's guess
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Wednesday I watched the riot . . .
Seen the cops out on the street
Watched 'em throwin' rocks and stuff
And chokin' in the heat
Listened to reports
About the whisky passin' 'round
Seen the smoke and fire
And the market burnin' down
Watched while everybody
On his street would take a turn
To stomp and smash and bash and crash
And slash and bust and burn
And I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Well, you can cool it,
You can heat it . . .
'Cause, baby, I don't need it . . .
Take your TV tube and eat it
'N all that phony stuff on sports
'N all the unconfirmed reports
You know I watched that rotten box
Until my head begin to hurt
From checkin' out the way
The newsman say they get the dirt
Before the guys on channel so-and-so
And further they assert
That any show they'll interrupt
To bring you news if it comes up
They say that if the place blows up
They will be the first to tell,
Because the boys they got downtown
Are workin' hard and doin' swell,
And if anybody gets the news
Before it hits the street,
They say that no one blabs it faster
Their coverage can't be beat
And if another woman driver
Gets machine-gunned from her seat
They'll send some joker with a brownie
And you'll see it all complete
So I'm watchin' and I'm waitin'
Hopin' for the best
Even think I'll go to prayin'
Every time I hear 'em sayin'
That there's no way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
No way to delay
That trouble comin' every day
Hey, you know something people?
I'm not black
But there's a whole lots a times
I wish I could say I'm not white
Well, I seen the fires burnin'
And the local people turnin'
On the merchants and the shops
Who used to sell their brooms and mops
And every other household item
Watched the mob just turn and bite 'em
And they say it served 'em right
Because a few of them are white,
And it's the same across the nation
Black and white discrimination
Yellin' "You can't understand me!"
'N all that other jazz they hand me
In the papers and TV and
All that mass stupidity
That seems to grow more every day
Each time you hear some nitwit say
He wants to go and do you in
Because the color of your skin
Just don't appeal to him
(No matter if it's black or white)
Because he's out for blood tonight
You know we got to sit around at home
And watch this thing begin
But I bet there won't be many live
To see it really end
'Cause the fire in the street
Ain't like the fire in the heart
And in the eyes of all these people
Don't you know that this could start
On any street in any town
In any state if any clown
Decides that now's the time to fight
For some ideal he thinks is right
And if a million more agree
There ain't no Great Society
As it applies to you and me
Our country isn't free
And the law refuses to see
If all that you can ever be
Is just a lousy janitor
Unless your uncle owns a store
You know that five in every four
Just won't amount to nothin' more
Gonna watch the rats go across the floor
And make up songs about being poor
Blow your harmonica, son!
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Hooligans and Mad Men, Hooligans and Mad Men
For to see Mad Tom of Bedlam,
Ten thousand miles I've traveled.
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes,
For to save her shoes from gravel
To find my Tom of Bedlam
ten thousand years I'll travel,
Mad Maudlin goes with dirty toes
to save her shoes from gravel.
Yet will I sing bonny boys,
bonny mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonny;
they still go bare
and live by the air,
and want no drink nor money.
I now repent that ever
poor Tom was so distain'd,
my wits are lost since I him crossed,
which makes me thus go chain'd.
Yet will I sing......
My staff hath murder'd giants,
my bag a long knife carries,
to cut mince pies from children's thights,
with which I feed the fairies.
Yet will I sing......
I went to Pluto's kitchen,
to beg some food one morning,
and there I got souls piping hot,
with which the spits were turning.
Yet will I sing......
Then took I up a cauldron
where boiled ten thousand harlots,
'twas full of flame, yet I drank the same
to the health of all such varlets.
Yet will I sing......
A spirit hot as lightning,
did in that journey guide me,
the sun did shake, and the moon pale quake,
as soon as ever they spied me.
Yet will I sing......
No gipsy, slut or doxy
shall wind my mad Tom from me,
we'll sleep all night, and with stars fight:
the fray will well become me.
Yet will I sing......
And when that I have beaten
the man in the moon to powder,
his dog I'll take, and him I'll make
as could not Daemon louder.
Yet will I sing......
---
From the hagg and hungrie goblin
That into raggs would rend ye,
And the spirit that stands by the naked man
In the Book of Moones - defend ye!
That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.
(Chorus; sung after every verse)
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding,
Feedinge, drinke or clothing,"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged,
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged.
On the lordly lofts of Bedlam,
With stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips ding-dong,
With wholesome hunger plenty.
With a thought I took for Maudlin
And a cruse of cockle pottage,
With a thing thus tall, skie blesse you all,
I befell into this dotage.
I slept not since the Conquest,
Till then I never waked,
Till the roguish boy of love where I lay
Me found and stript me naked.
When I short have shorne my sowre face
And swigged my horny barrel,
In an oaken inn I pound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel.
The moon's my constant Mistrisse,
And the lowly owl my morrowe,
The flaming Drake and the Nightcrow make
Me music to my sorrow.
The palsie plagues my pulses
When I prigg your pigs or pullen,
Your culvers take, or matchless make
Your Chanticleers, or sullen.
When I want provant, with Humfrie
I sup, and when benighted,
I repose in Powles with waking souls
Yet never am affrighted.
I know more than Apollo ,
For oft, when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at bloody wars
In the wounded welkin weeping,
The moone embrace her shepherd
And the queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horne the star of morne,
And the next the heavenly Farrier.
The Gipsie Snap and Pedro
Are none of Tom's companions.
The punk I skorne and the cut purse sworne
And the roaring boyes bravadoe.
The meek, the white, the gentle,
Me handle touch and spare not
But those that crosse Tom Rynosseros
Do what the panther dare not.
With a host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghostes and shadowes
I summon'd am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond the wild world's end.
Methinks it is no journey.
anonymous, 1634
with modernized spelling by Bloom
Ten thousand miles I've traveled.
Mad Maudlin goes on dirty toes,
For to save her shoes from gravel
To find my Tom of Bedlam
ten thousand years I'll travel,
Mad Maudlin goes with dirty toes
to save her shoes from gravel.
Yet will I sing bonny boys,
bonny mad boys,
Bedlam boys are bonny;
they still go bare
and live by the air,
and want no drink nor money.
I now repent that ever
poor Tom was so distain'd,
my wits are lost since I him crossed,
which makes me thus go chain'd.
Yet will I sing......
My staff hath murder'd giants,
my bag a long knife carries,
to cut mince pies from children's thights,
with which I feed the fairies.
Yet will I sing......
I went to Pluto's kitchen,
to beg some food one morning,
and there I got souls piping hot,
with which the spits were turning.
Yet will I sing......
Then took I up a cauldron
where boiled ten thousand harlots,
'twas full of flame, yet I drank the same
to the health of all such varlets.
Yet will I sing......
A spirit hot as lightning,
did in that journey guide me,
the sun did shake, and the moon pale quake,
as soon as ever they spied me.
Yet will I sing......
No gipsy, slut or doxy
shall wind my mad Tom from me,
we'll sleep all night, and with stars fight:
the fray will well become me.
Yet will I sing......
And when that I have beaten
the man in the moon to powder,
his dog I'll take, and him I'll make
as could not Daemon louder.
Yet will I sing......
---
From the hagg and hungrie goblin
That into raggs would rend ye,
And the spirit that stands by the naked man
In the Book of Moones - defend ye!
That of your five sound senses
You never be forsaken,
Nor wander from your selves with Tom
Abroad to beg your bacon.
(Chorus; sung after every verse)
While I doe sing "any foode, any feeding,
Feedinge, drinke or clothing,"
Come dame or maid, be not afraid,
Poor Tom will injure nothing.
Of thirty bare years have I
Twice twenty been enraged,
And of forty been three times fifteen
In durance soundly caged.
On the lordly lofts of Bedlam,
With stubble soft and dainty,
Brave bracelets strong, sweet whips ding-dong,
With wholesome hunger plenty.
With a thought I took for Maudlin
And a cruse of cockle pottage,
With a thing thus tall, skie blesse you all,
I befell into this dotage.
I slept not since the Conquest,
Till then I never waked,
Till the roguish boy of love where I lay
Me found and stript me naked.
When I short have shorne my sowre face
And swigged my horny barrel,
In an oaken inn I pound my skin
As a suit of gilt apparel.
The moon's my constant Mistrisse,
And the lowly owl my morrowe,
The flaming Drake and the Nightcrow make
Me music to my sorrow.
The palsie plagues my pulses
When I prigg your pigs or pullen,
Your culvers take, or matchless make
Your Chanticleers, or sullen.
When I want provant, with Humfrie
I sup, and when benighted,
I repose in Powles with waking souls
Yet never am affrighted.
I know more than Apollo ,
For oft, when he lies sleeping
I see the stars at bloody wars
In the wounded welkin weeping,
The moone embrace her shepherd
And the queen of Love her warrior,
While the first doth horne the star of morne,
And the next the heavenly Farrier.
The Gipsie Snap and Pedro
Are none of Tom's companions.
The punk I skorne and the cut purse sworne
And the roaring boyes bravadoe.
The meek, the white, the gentle,
Me handle touch and spare not
But those that crosse Tom Rynosseros
Do what the panther dare not.
With a host of furious fancies
Whereof I am commander,
With a burning spear and a horse of air,
To the wilderness I wander.
By a knight of ghostes and shadowes
I summon'd am to tourney
Ten leagues beyond the wild world's end.
Methinks it is no journey.
anonymous, 1634
with modernized spelling by Bloom
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)