"Sadie" -Joanna Newsom

I've never been one to be too concerned with lyrics. I never remember them; no matter how much I want to. (And yes, I am that asshole who sings without knowing the words or sings what I think to be the correct words.) I typically like a song for the overall feeling it gives me or because it just sounds good or makes me move. However, in few instances, certain lyrics will strike a chord inside.

Though I don't particularly love Joanna's voice, there's something ethereal about it. She has a provocative cadence that makes her singing interesting. And, wow, these lyrics are beautiful.

Sadie, white coat,
you carry me home.
And bury this bone,
take this pinecone.

Bury this bone
to gnaw on it later; gnawing on the telephone.
'Till then, we pray & suspend
the notion that these lives do never end.

And all day long we talk about mercy:
lead me to water lord, I sure am thirsty.
Down in the ditch where I nearly served you,
up in the clouds where he almost heard you

And all that we built,
and all that we breathed,
and all that we spilt, or pulled up like weeds
is piled up in back;
it burns irrevocably.
(we spoke up in turns,
'till the silence crept over me)

Bless you
and I deeply do
no longer resolute
oh, and I call to you

But the water got so cold,
and you do lose
what you don't hold.

This is an old song,
these are old blues.
This is not my tune,
but it's mine to use.
And the seabirds
where the fear once grew
will flock with a fury,
and they will bury what'd come for you

Down where I darn with the milk-eyed mender
you and I, and a love so tender,
is stretched-on the hoop where I stitch-this addage:
"Bless our house and its heart so savage."

And all that I want, and all that I need
and all that I've got is scattered like seed.
And all that I knew is moving away from me.
(and all that I know is blowing
like tumbleweed)

And the mealy worms
in the brine will burn
in a salty pyre,
among the fauns and ferns.

And the love we hold,
and the love we spurn,
will never grow cold
only taciturn.

And I'll tell you tomorrow.
Sadie, go on home now.
Bless those who've sickened below;
bless us who've chosen so.

And all that I've got
and all that I need
I tie in a knot
that I lay at your feet.
I have not forgot,
but a silence crept over me.
(So dig up your bone,
exhume your pinecone, my Sadie)

I don't like to over-analyze an artist's intent or purpose of a song because the beauty- literally and figuratively- of art is in the eye of the beholder. So, perhaps this song's about losing a dog and the mortality that we don't recognize (until it's too late). Maybe it's about loving someone and not talking to them (we all know about this), or the universal fear we all have of growing older and our worlds changing (endlessly). It could be about the challenge of the letting go/holding on to memories, and that ultimately we should all slow our pace. Conceivable, it could be a song about faith v. science or the reconciliation of the two. Whatever her point is, whatever mine is- I like these words.

Just thought I'd share them.

Bing gan

The woman at work gave me a fortune cookie today. It read:

"You will move to a wonderful new home within the year."



My mentor

My favorite place to be is on a continental coast with my ugly feet (thanks Dad) in the salty water. I love looking out over the expanse and feeling so small and insignificant, but empowered simultaneously. The ocean inspires me more than anything; it's a conundrum- my mind at peace, yet in a rapid procession of thought (think strobe light-like).

I feel like I'm currently standing on that edge of greatness now- looking at my future and feeling insipred. I haven't felt like this since being back in the States, and man, does it feel good. I'm focused. If only I didn't have to wait on this shore for another year before taking that next step.

I'll just have to settle with my feet getting wet- that's a good place too.



In honor of the languages I've once spoken- now only as a conglomerate in my dreams, I've chosen two poems to remind me that they exist independently and in real time.

Pablo Neruda

Now we will count to twelve
and we will all keep still.

This one time upon the earth,
let's not speak any language,
let's stop for one second,
and not move our arms so much.

It would be a delicious moment,
without hurry, without locomotives,
all of us would be together
in a sudden uneasiness.

The fishermen in the cold sea
would do no harm to the whales
and the peasant gathering salt
would look at his torn hands.

Those who prepare green wars,
wars of gas, wars of fire,
victories without survivors,
would put on clean clothing
and would walk alongside their brothers
in the shade, without doing a thing.

What I want shouldn't be confused
with final inactivity:
life alone is what matters,
I want nothing to do with death.

If we weren't unanimous
about keeping our lives so much in motion,

if we could do nothing for once,
perhaps a great silence would
interrupt this sadness,
this never understanding ourselves
and threatening ourselves with death,
perhaps the earth is teaching us
when everything seems to be dead
and then everything is alive.

Now I will count to twelve
and you keep quiet and I'll go.

Pablo Neruda

Ahora contaremos doce
y nos quedamos todos quietos.
Por una vez sobre la tierra
no hablemos en ningun idioma,
por un segundo detengamonos,
no movamos tanto los brazos.

Seria un minuto fragante,
sin prisa, sin locomotoras,
todos estariamos juntos
en una inquietud instantanea.

Los pescadores del mar frio
no harian danio a las ballenas
y el trabajador de la sal
miraria sus manos rotas.

Los que preparan guerras verdes,
guerras de gas, guerras de fuego,
victorias sin sobrevivientes,
se pondrian un traje puro
y andarian con sus hermanos
por la sombra, sin hacer nada.

No se confunda lo que quiero
con la inaccion definitiva:
la vida es solo lo que se hace,
no quiero nada con la muerte.

Si no pudimos ser unanimes
moviendo tanto nuestras vidas,
tal vez no hacer nada una vez,
tal vez un gran silencio pueda
interrumpir esta tristeza,
este no entendernos jamas
y amenazarnos con la muerte,
tal vez la tierra nos ensenie
cuando todo parece muerto
y luego todo estaba vivo.

Ahora contare hasta doce
y tu te callas y me voy.

Вадим Лесич

Пергами пам`яті пом`ятий, не шелестить,

як шумлять затьмарені сади вечора

і вітер гне, наче лук, дугу далечі

і луки ликують під фіялками сутінку.

Бурий дим - і округла, мов гльоб, порожнеча.
Дим від кострубатих кістяків життя,

що попеліють.
Порожнеча, яка чекає на повноту.

Пергамен пам`яті іржаво

запалює свічі на вівтарі вечора.

Мов мох полярний - синіють приморозки.

Під білими зорями тремтить,

мов павутиння, музика Гріга.

Речі зовсім не пов`язані, що існують
окремо кожне для себе, -

але, наче доспілі овочі з різних дерев,

- падають важко у тиші саду
на землю, що меркне в чеканні.

Тіні стають, мов дерева,

і дерева стають, мов тіні.

Пергамен пам`яті

піском розбитих дзеркал

у розсипаній пустині.


Vadym Lesych

The parchment of memory changing, not rustling,

like sound darkening gardens yesterday

and wind bends, as if a bow, the arch of distance

and meadows rejoice below the violets of twilight.

Chestnut smoke - and around me, like a globe, emptiness.

Smoke from the rough skeleton of life,

that turn to ashes.
Emptiness, which waits for fullness.

The parchment of memory rustily

lights candles on the altar of evening.

As polar moss - bluing frosts.
Under white stars trembles,

as if a cob webs, the music of Grieg.

Things totally unbound, that exist
each for itself,-
but, as ripened fruit from different trees,
- falling heavily in the silence of the orchard
to earth, which fades in waiting.

Shadows become as trees,
and tress become as shadows.
The parchment of memory rustles,
the sand of shattered mirrors
in the spilled desert.