The chickens
are circling and
blotting out the
day. The sun is
bright, but the
chickens are in
the way. Yes,
the sky is dark
with chickens,
dense with them.
They turn and
then they turn
again. These
are the chickens
you let loose
one at a time
and small–
various breeds.
Now they have
come home
to roost — all
the same kind
at the same speed.
–Kay Ryan
From her interview at NPR at the time she became the poet laureate:
First of all, it comes from the thing we say to other people when they’ve done a lot of stupid things, and now they’re getting their comeuppance. We say, well, your chickens are coming home to roost, and I have no doubt that when I wrote this, I was chastening myself, and I was telling myself this, but unfortunately, this poem was sitting on the desk of an editor in New York at the time of 9/11, and it suddenly took on this terrible added significance, and I had to withdraw it because it seemed cruelly appropriate. . . . Now right after 9/11, that sounded, you know, the blue sky in here, the clear sky, sounded just like the beauty of that day, and those chickens sounded much too much like airplanes.
You can view this interactive map from the New York Times to see where people were on that day. You can click on it and write where you were and how you felt/feel.
This is an NPR interview with John Adams and his commission to compose a piece to commemorate the one-year anniversary of 9/11.
This song is from Patty Griffin’s first album, Living with Ghosts. It has been on my mind a lot, especially as I contemplate my life. If I were an island, the song would not make any sense. The principle would be ridiculous.
Maybe just a mini-review of this song.
It’s Patty and her guitar and her feelings. Rawness and purity and vulnerability. Universality and dissipation in bygones. It hurts, it heals: I like it.
May’s rating scale:
MAY!
May.
meh…
meh?
MESS.
-
We are swimming with the snakes at the bottom of the well So silent and peaceful in the darkness where we fell But we are not snakes and what’s more we never will be And if we stay swimming here forever we will never be free
I heard them ringing the bells in heaven and hell They got a secret they’re getting ready to tell It’s falling from the skies, it’s calling from the graves Open your eyes, boy, I think we are saved Open your eyes, boy, I think we are saved
Let’s take a walk on the bridge, right over this mess Don’t need to tell me a thing, baby, we’ve already confessed And I raised my voice to the air and we were blessed It’s hard to give, it’s hard to get But everybody needs a little forgiveness
We are calling for help tonight on a thin phone line As usual we’re having ourselves one hell of a time And the planes keep flying right over our heads no matter how loud we shout “Hey, hey, hey!” And we keep waving and waving our arms in the air but we’re all tired out
I heard somebody say today’s the day A big old hurricane, she’s blowing our way Knocking over the buildings, killing all the lights Open your eyes, boy, we made it through the night Open your eyes, boy, we made it through the night
Let’s take a walk on the bridge, right over this mess Don’t need to tell me a thing, baby, we’ve already confessed And I raised my voice to the air and we were blessed It’s hard to give, it’s hard to get It’s hard to live, baby, but still I think it’s the best bet, hey, yeah Hard to give, and I’m never going to forget But everybody needs a little forgiveness Everybody needs a little forgiveness
So, my friend Kylie updated her blog today with her five favorite albums, and she invited her readers to list their five favorites.
Then my brain shut down.
This is the flow chart of my brain for this process:
Are you going to make this list? NO—-> DONE—-> COMPLAIN ABOUT ROOMMATES SOME MORE YES—-> START CATEGORIZING AND ORDERING FAVORITE ALBUMS—-> BRAIN SHORT-CIRCUITS —-> COMPLAIN ABOUT ROOMMATES SOME MORE
Part of it has to do with my thinking I’ll get my list wrong. My purely subjective, preferential list that I’m sure people will judge me by. Hee, I need to rethink this. So much good music is in the world, and maybe I can choose my top five for now, because something different always rotates through various phases of my life.
Still, my little paranoid heart thinks I’m getting graded for this.
I mean, there are nostalgia favorites: August and Everything After, Counting Crows Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos Pablo Honey and/or The Bends, Radiohead Fumbling Toward Ecstasy, Sarah McLachlan Wide Open Spaces, Dixie Chicks Automatic for the People, R.E.M. Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness, Smashing Pumpkins Our Time in Eden, 10,000 Maniacs
There are my standards: Retrospective, Indigo Girls OK Computer and/or Kid A, Radiohead Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos 1,000 Kisses and/or Living with Ghosts, Patty Griffin
There are soundtrack favorites: The Mission Magnolia (featuring Aimee Mann) Lord of the Rings The Red Violin The Village O Brother, Where Art Thou?
Then there are newish favorites: Re-arrange Us, Mates of State Fleet Foxes, Fleet Foxes For Emma, Forever Ago and/or Bon Iver, Bon Iver Armchair Apocrypha, Andrew Bird Weathervanes, Freelance Whales Mortal City, Dar Williams
And, there are are classical favorites:
I don’t even know where to begin.
Composers?
Eras/Movements?
Countries?
Performers/Orchestras?
Conductors?
I CAN’T I CAN’T DO THIS OH DEAR THERE GOES MY BRAIN MELTING INTO A FATTY GELATINOUS PUDDLE AAAAAAAH A;LJ5ADJFKTIAFKAJLFK58A;LJF%#!*(&)AJFLFJK(&*taQL4JKAF098FDKJF00001000100010001001000100000000 ZERO ONE.
Hmm. For now, let’s try: Little Earthquakes, Tori Amos 1,000 Kisses, Patty Griffin Retrospective, Indigo Girls OK Computer, Radiohead The Mission soundtrack
Two songs: the original and a cover. I really need to listen to more Kate Bush.
Both versions move me. It’s just a beautiful song. And it’s wonderful how different the song seems when a man sings it. Especially Greg Laswell.
I’m working on a paper due Monday. Too bad this song stimulates way more creativity than research. There are other things I’d rather be writing than a paper on King Lear. Well, not entirely true. I’d actually enjoy writing a paper on King Lear (because the play is incredible), but not under these particular circumstances. C’est la vie. Que sera sera.
It will get done.
Back to work.
Enjoy.
—-
Pray God you can cope. I stand outside this woman’s work, This woman’s world. Ooh, it’s hard on the man, Now his part is over. Now starts the craft of the father.
I know you have a little life in you yet. I know you have a lot of strength left. I know you have a little life in you yet. I know you have a lot of strength left.
I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show. I should be hoping, but I can’t stop thinking
Of all the things I should’ve said, That I never said. All the things we should’ve done, That we never did. All the things I should’ve given, But I didn’t.
Oh, darling, make it go, Make it go away.
Give me these moments back. Give them back to me. Give me that little kiss. Give me your hand.
(I know you have a little life in you yet. I know you have a lot of strength left. I know you have a little life in you yet. I know you have a lot of strength left.)
I should be crying, but I just can’t let it show. I should be hoping, but I can’t stop thinking
Of all the things we should’ve said, That were never said. All the things we should’ve done, That we never did. All the things that you needed from me. All the things that you wanted for me. All the things that I should’ve given, But I didn’t.
Oh, darling, make it go away. Just make it go away now.
I’m basically moving around the corner, but I’ve lived at this apartment for a proper year and a half, and in the college world, that’s a very long time.
But, it’s also a very long time.
Two semesters left, and sometimes I panic. Sometimes I’m giddy.
I’ll miss my bedroom window view of the mountains. I hope whoever lives in this room after me enjoys it just as much.
I return yet again to Patty Griffin. “Useless Desires” makes me think and feel a million different things at once. And this happens whenever I move. Even with this move, when I had an entire year and a half to form close friendships with people in my apartment complex, but it seems I went out of my way to make friends with people who don’t live here. There are nice people. Lots. It’s been hard to find people to relate to, to click with. Things are just different, which is okay, and I’d rather be continuing to transition somewhere else for the next ten months. Because it’s time.
Just around the corner, but it’s still a move, and my soul’s a-swirl.
Say goodbye to the old street That never cared much for you anyway And the different coloured doorways You thought would let you in one day Goodbye to the old bus stop Frozen and waiting The Weekend Edition Has this town way overrated
You walk across the baseball green The grass has turned to straw A flock of birds tries to fly Away from where you are Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, old friend I can’t make you stay I can’t spend another ten years Wishing you would anyway
How the sky turns to fire Against a telephone wire And even I’m getting tired Of useless desires
Every day I take a bitter pill It gets me on my way For the little aches and pains The ones I have from day to day To help me think a little less About the things I miss To help me not to wonder how I ended up like this
I walk down to the railroad track And ride a rusty train With a million other faces I shoot through the city veins Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, old friend You wanted to be free Somewhere beyond the bitter end Is where I want to be
How the sky turns to fire Against a telephone wire And even I’m getting tired Of useless desires
Say goodbye to the old building That never tried to know your name Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye, old friend You won’t be seeing me again Goodbye to all the windowpanes Shining in the sun Like diamonds on a winter day Goodbye, goodbye to everyone
How the sky turns to fire Against a telephone wire It burns the last of the day down And I’m the last one hanging around Waiting on a train track And the train never comes back And even I’m getting tired Of useless desires
Because I’d rather explain how I came across the song in the last post because I’m feeling worlds of nostalgic right now and I let that song lull me to sleep last night/this morning so I’ve always loved classical music as most of you know I refer to Yo-Yo Ma as my uncle but maybe it was in the year 2000 I found out about a violinist named Hilary Hahn and a friend loaned me her first album where she plays solo Bach and it was amazing so then I decided to follow her career because she’s only three years younger than I and seemed to be a really good role model which is what I was looking for at that point in my life because I was returning to a proper course after having careened into some prodigal years and so there’s that and I respected Hilary’s patience with her career and her seeming deliberateness with choices she was making for her life in addition to her writing online and in her album jacket notes, and after buying her Bach album I found her Beethoven/Bernstein and then the Barber/Meyer CD came out and I read in the jacket notes that a double-bassist/composer named Edgar Meyer commissioned Hilary for that concerto and so I wondered who Edgar Meyer is and I started looking up things about him because after listening to the concerto I was more or less blown away. Double basses are flippin huge. I also found out about a collaborative album (in the course of researching chamber music with Richard Stoltzman or Sabine Meyer, Emmanuel Ax and Yo-Yo Ma because I was also trying to improve my clarinet playing by listening to awesome clarinet music) called Appalachian Journey that involves Mr. Ma, Edgar Meyer, and violinist/fiddler Mark O’Connor, which features vocalists like James Taylor and Alison Krauss and the idea of hybridizing bluegrass and chamber music fascinated me because I really truly appreciate talent no matter where it is and I also adore James Taylor and Alison Krauss because they can both respectively guitar and fiddle as well as stir nostalgia through their voices and this album does not disappoint because nostalgia crept up on me last night and made me look for that Stephen Foster to share with you and it was hard to let myself fall asleep to that song because I enjoyed watching the performance, the communication between the musicians, the eye contact and other cues to let different instruments stand out whenever Alison wasn’t singing, the way Alison looks at the instrumentalists through the final chord and her smile when it ends, and then the perfect stillness between the last note and applause just makes me so happy and so maybe I watched the video three or maybe four times before I lay down and closed my eyes while the song played again and this morning, although my eyes are really dry and I can’t quite remember (much less explain) all of a dream I had where I was crowd-surfing in my high school bleachers in a sports bra and underwear and then there was my marching band self watching very nervously my nearly-naked self hoping that nobody else was watching her, I feel pretty good.
I spent the day reading King Lear and listening to the Indigo Girls. Most of it at the same time. By the time I finished the Shakespeare, I thought I was going to die of a catharsis overdose.
Some versions have Edgar performing the last lines; others use Albany. There is significance in either character, but I like it better when Edgar speaks last; I feel a stronger sense of justice. I mean, there has to be something after nearly everyone dies. (NOT A SPOILER; IT’S A SHAKESPEARE TRAGEDY, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD.) Here are the lines:
The weight of this sad time we must obey,
Speak what we feel, not what we ought to say.
The oldest hath borne most. We that are young
Shall never see so much, nor live so long.
And, the Indigo Girls. I’ve been listening to their self-titled album from 1989, and I can’t get enough of their songwriting. All the time. While I like all songs from this album, “Love’s Recovery” stands out today. In my mind, King Lear and this song connect, but I can’t quite explain how, other than I decided to experience them together today. Plus, I just spent three hours at Borders looking at books, and it didn’t even feel like I was there for that long. It was great.
During the time of which I speak it was hard to turn the other cheek
To the blows of insecurity
Feeding the cancer of my intellect the blood of love soon neglected
Lay dying in the strength of its impurity
Meanwhile our friends we thought were so together
They’ve all gone and left each other in search of fairer weather
And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love’s recovery.
There I am in younger days, star gazing,
Painting picture perfect maps of how my life and love would be
Not counting the unmarked paths of misdirection
My compass, faith in love’s perfection
I missed ten million miles of road I should have seen
Meanwhile our friends we thought were so together
Left each other one by one in search of fairer weather
And we sit here in our storm and drink a toast
To the slim chance of love’s recovery.
Rain soaked and voice choked like silent screaming in a dream
I search for our absolute distinction
Not content to bow and bent
To the whims of culture that swoop like vultures
Eating us away, eating us away
Eating us away to our extinction
Oh how I wish I were a trinity, so if I lost a part of me
I’d still have two of the same to live
But nobody gets a lifetime rehearsal, as specks of dust we’re universal
To let this love survive would be the greatest gift we could give
Tell all the friends who think they’re so together
That these are ghosts and mirages, these thoughts of fairer weather
Though it’s storming out I feel safe within the arms of love’s discovery
It was Friday, March 25, 2011. I was reading at the BYU English Symposium, and a good friend of mine came to hear the presentation. It was already raining that morning, and by the time my panel was over, it was pouring even harder, and threatening to snow. On our walk from the Jesse Knight Building to the Marriott Center, my friend heard a girl singing a song to the friend she was walking with. My friend remarked that that was the second time she overheard someone singing that song. I asked, “What song is this?” Then she started describing it, and I had never heard of it. But, if people on campus had caught the earworm, then I figured I would hear it eventually.
Eventually came very soon. That night I was at a friend’s apartment. We had just returned from a BYU men’s volleyball game, and it was getting late, and we started looking up videos on YouTube. We looked up everything from the Kermit the Frog singing Johnny Cash to Flight of the Conchords. And then somebody had to bring up a song called “Friday” by Rebecca Black. The group of us watched this video a few times, commenting on the musicality and songwriting. I must admit I was taken aback. Why hadn’t I heard of this earlier? How did this phenomenon arise? And, how fortunate was I to have heard this song on a Friday?
Since that fated Friday, I hear the song all the time, everywhere. Here’s the song, for your reference, to accompany my following comments:
The more I listen to the song, the more hypnotizing it becomes. In addition to the catchy autotuned singing, which so skillfully cloaks Ms. Black’s pubescent voice, the lyrics are profound and showcase the marvelous acrobatics of the English language in a neglected circus sideshow. Words, music, video – everything about the song begs further analysis:
From the beginning, this song exudes positivity. Where some songs begin with “No-oooo” or even simply, “la la la la,” the “Yeah” inherently invites acceptance. Yeah, of course I will like this song. Yeah, I will keep singing this song all day because, yeah, it makes me so happy. Yeah, even when it’s not Friday. But real-life Fridays make me smile very big. Yeah.
Also, what about the beautiful message of the Ark? The story of Noah’s Ark expresses new beginnings and exclusion of the wicked. What does this have to do with Friday? The righteous party hard on Friday, but not on Sunday. Rainbows come on Sunday.
What do you think of the flipbook animation here? I wish I were as skillful at creating cartoon effects as other people.
Seven a.m., waking up in the morning Gotta be fresh, gotta go downstairs Gotta have my bowl, gotta have cereal Seein’ everything, the time is goin’ Tickin’ on and on, everybody’s rushin’ Gotta get down to the bus stop Gotta catch my bus, I see my friends (My friends)
The first thing I think of when I read this verse isn’t exactly positive: if she’s rushing in the morning, why doesn’t she set her alarm clock to go off earlier? I do appreciate Rebecca’s fastidiousness, though, especially her hygiene and the importance of breakfast.
I LOVE the forced rhyme of bowl and cereal. It further emphasizes the value of breakfast: if you make those words rhyme, then you can make yourself eat breakfast in the morning. Also, by the end of the week, by Friday, one’s energy is all but spent, and if she’s going to party that night, she needs all the energy that she can get.
The dilemma of having to choose between riding the bus and riding in the cool car with friends is so, so real!
Kickin’ in the front seat Sittin’ in the back seat Gotta make my mind up Which seat can I take?
I LOVE how Rebecca thinks safety first! Which seat can she take? Instead of taking either side in the back, she takes the middle! She wants to be alive for the big party that night!
It’s Friday, Friday Gotta get down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend Friday, Friday Gettin’ down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
I LOVE the English language! I had no idea that forward could be pronounced “forWARD”! I love having the choice of pronouncing words differently than their standard, universally accepted pronunciations! I’m going to pronounce forward in as many ways as I can! I LOVE the free spirit of this song!
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah) Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah) Fun, fun, fun, fun Lookin’ forward to the weekend
7:45, we’re drivin’ on the highway Cruisin’ so fast, I want time to fly Fun, fun, think about fun You know what it is I got this, you got this My friend is by my right, ay I got this, you got this Now you know it
I LOVE how Rebecca throws caution to the wind and safety doesn’t matter anymore! She’s not sitting deep in the seat but on the back of seat in that ultra-cool convertible. But she’s with her friends on a Friday night, and that’s what’s important! I LOVE the city skyline and the full moon in the background. I was a little worried teenagers were going to start morphing into vampires and wolves, but THAT DOES NOT HAPPEN! I LOVE THAT!
I LOVE how the friends on both sides of her have braces! What a brilliant plug for dental maintenance and self-conscious imperfections!
Kickin’ in the front seat Sittin’ in the back seat Gotta make my mind up Which seat can I take?
It’s obvious now which seat is her Friday seat. But I LOVE to hear it again anyway.
It’s Friday, Friday Gotta get down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend Friday, Friday Gettin’ down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah) Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah) Fun, fun, fun, fun Lookin’ forward to the weekend
Yesterday was Thursday, Thursday Today i-is Friday, Friday (Partyin’) We-we-we so excited We so excited We gonna have a ball today
Did you know that one of my favorite poets, Gerard Manley Hopkins, left out small words in his poetry to purify it and extract its essence? I believe Rebecca caught the pulse of Mr. Hopkins with this part of the song. “We so excited” carries just as much meaning as “We are so excited.” The important words: We = togetherness and bonding. So = describes how excited. Excited = excited!
Tomorrow is Saturday And Sunday comes after … wards I don’t want this weekend to end
The sequence of weekend days often confuses me. This is a wonderful reminder. This segment hearkens back to the beginning with the flipbook animation. The continuity (and cost consciousness!) of this video is really impressive.
R-B, Rebecca Black So chillin’ in the front seat (In the front seat) In the back seat (In the back seat) I’m drivin’, cruisin’ (Yeah, yeah) Fast lanes, switchin’ lanes Wit’ a car up on my side (Woo!) (C’mon) Passin’ by is a school bus in front of me Makes tick tock, tick tock, wanna scream Check my time, it’s Friday, it’s a weekend We gonna have fun, c’mon, c’mon, y’all
Did you know that R.B. are the initials for Rebecca Black?
Did you know that Gertrude Stein often strung words together in a seemingly nonsensical way, but she used words similarly to how artists use different materials to build and layer and texture their work? Not only does Rebecca add variety to the song by including a rapper, she adds dimension to the song by adding other lyrics that also do not seem to make sense. It’s a diversion, much like Fridays are supposed to be.
In terms of continuity and diversity, the rapper-driver is reckless driving, swerving between lanes, passing a school bus full of children-victims of the public school system. Caution has clearly caught the jetstream. I appreciate the understated environmental message. Pure genius.
It’s Friday, Friday Gotta get down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend Friday, Friday Gettin’ down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah) Partyin’, partyin’ (Yeah) Fun, fun, fun, fun Lookin’ forward to the weekend
It’s Friday, Friday Gotta get down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend Friday, Friday Gettin’ down on Friday Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend
More about the lyrical brilliance of this song. How do you fill a measure of music? Four beats? Not with “la la la la” or even with “yeah yeah yeah yeah” but with “Fun fun fun fun!” I love the challenge of memorizing this song with all the quirky shifts in the words – the words themselves, as well as the pronunciations. So, so deep.
If I were going to sing a song about the weekend to my friends, I would sing it beside a tree. I would also include cuts to me singing autotuned high notes in a studio with colored lights and stage smoke. I would also make the audience clap for me and my groovy moves. The song ends with the same positivity as it begins. But, the song also ends with a word that ends in end: weekend. Who else would have thought of that?
This song deserves higher than a “SUPER DUPER” rating, but I can’t possibly make an exception in the scale I designed, even as powerful as Fridays are.
