Happy Birthday Bob Dylan

Dylan

In a signature year for Robert Allen Zimmerman he is this years recipient of the Nobel prize for literature, the award being made in 2016 Dylan took his time in accepting it.

Zimmerman changed his name after coming across the beautiful lyrical works of the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas.  He was at the time searching for something deeper than rock and roll.

The thing about rock’n’roll is that for me anyway it wasn’t enough… There were great catch-phrases and driving pulse rhythms… but the songs weren’t serious or didn’t reflect life in a realistic way. I knew that when I got into folk music, it was more of a serious type of thing. The songs are filled with more despair, more sadness, more triumph, more faith in the supernatural, much deeper feelings.”                  ………….Bob Dylan

The youth of the counter culture of the 1960’s agreed and the songs of Bob Dylan joined those of Woodie Guthrie and Ramblin’ Jack Elliott as cornerstones of the protest movement.

While gigging around Greenwich village he came across an extended family of Irish brothers from Carrick-on-Suir in County Tipperary.  They shared the simple farming and fishing folksongs and the tradition of rebellion through song of Ireland with him.  The Clancy Brothers and Tommy Makem found fame in their own regard and Dylan acknowledged their contribution to his emerging iconic style.

The citation from the Nobel committee says he was awarded the Literature prize for having created new poetic expressions within the great American song tradition.

Happy Birthday Bob and may you see many more.

Just like a woman; by Bob Dylan

Nobody feels any pain
Tonight as I stand inside the rain
Ev’rybody knows
That Baby’s got new clothes
But lately I see her ribbons and her bows
Have fallen from her curls
She takes just like a woman, yes, she does
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl

Queen Mary
She’s my friend
Yes, I believe I’ll go see her again
Nobody has to guess
That Baby can’t be blessed
Till she sees finally that she’s like all the rest
With her fog, her amphetamine and her pearls
She takes just like a woman, yes
She makes love just like a woman, yes, she does
And she aches just like a woman
But she breaks just like a little girl

It was raining from the first
And I was dying there of thirst
So I came in here
And your long-time curse hurts
But what’s worse
Is this pain in here
I can’t stay in here
Ain’t it clear that

I just can’t fit
Yes, I believe it’s time for us to quit
But when we meet again
Introduced as friends
Please don’t let on that you knew me when
I was hungry and it was your world
Ah, you fake just like a woman, yes, you do
You make love just like a woman, yes, you do
Then you ache just like a woman
But you break just like a little girl

Clancys1-300x240

Clancy Brothers & Tommy Makem

Highest paid poet!

Taupin & John

Officially the highest paid poet in the world, Bernie Taupin; poet and famously lyricist to Elton John.  Happy Birthday!

Don’t let the Sun go down on me: lyric by Bernie Taupin

I can’t light no more of your darkness
All my pictures seem to fade to black and white
I’m growing tired and time stands still before me
Frozen here on the ladder of my life

It’s much too late to save myself from falling
I took a chance and changed your way of life
But you misread my meaning when I met you
Closed the door and left me blinded by the light

Don’t let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it’s always someone else I see
I’d just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
But losing everything is like the sun going down on me

I can’t find
Oh, the right romantic line
But see me once and see the way feel
Don’t discard me baby don’t
Just because you think I mean you harm
But these cuts I have,
They need love to help them heal

Don’t let the sun go down on me
Although I search myself, it’s always someone else I see
I’d just allow a fragment of your life to wander free
Cause’ losing everything is like the sun going down on me

Suicide cycle

13-reasons-why-5-stills-released-see-here

A lot about suicide going on this week.  Both Esha and Gavin are in the Cycle Against Suicide tomorrow from Rockwell College Cashel to Ursuline College Thurles.  So they are cycling from Gavin’s school to Esha’s.

In work people are registering for the “Darkness into Light” walk raising funds for Pieta House, which has a huge role in addressing self esteem issues in young people.

The  big hit TV series is “13 Reasons Why” the Netflix show which follows the set of cassette tapes recorded by a teenage girl before she commits suicide.  Teenagers are eating it up.  I watched it myself and really enjoyed it.  But.  Sorry…BUT (it’s a big but).

As one commentator pointed out tonight on the radio, they are young,  they are downright hot, they are so cool, they are all good looking, well dressed, highly alluring. The production is glossy, the music is fantastic, there is a teenager driving a Ford Mustang for goodness sake.  They are the teenagers that teenagers want to be.  They are the fashion queens, the sports jocks, the cheerleaders, the smart kids, the ones who matter.  When the teenagers your teens want to be are killing themselves in a form of revenge ritual you need to be concerned.  Maybe the reports are anecdotal, maybe not, but all suicide and self-harm agencies are reporting a rise in incidents.

So to my newest favourite poet, who has just released a new poem.  Not about suicide, but about the very opposite.  I just love this sentiment.  It reflects what I believe about social media.  When you are having fun, put the phone away.  Live in the moment.  It doesn’t last long.  Celebrate the NOW.

 

Blink and You’ll Miss It: by Esha Hourihane Clancy

Unlike a million other things, happiness is a choice.
A choice we all have and one we all make,
make for ourselves but for others we fake.
Fake a smile, fake a laugh,
whose to know, or much less care?
When you smile the world smiles back.
It can’t see past the façade we wear.

I cannot be bought by the wealthy nor donated to the poor.
Who am I? What am I for?
Why do plays and poems celebrate the aching and breaking of hearts?
The rolling of heads and the rolling of tears precede and interrupt the happier parts.
I guess poets and playwrights know all too well
that it is best to write when you are drowning in hell.
It’s easier.
What a sin it would be to pick up a pen while laughing.
To interrupt joy in such gross kind, you would certainly scare it away.
A deer in the woods isn’t so hard to catch.

Document the sad times, the sloths and the snails.
Fill oceans with tears and draw great blue whales.
Sing sad songs ’til the cows come home
but don’t ever try to write a happy poem.
Lions and tigers are too fast for your flash.
Reach for your pen and off they’ll dash.
Don’t worry about forgetting it
because it’s going to get forgotten.
Just enjoy it now, before it’s gone.

Look!

 

Cycle

Mermaid or Siren?

Odysseus

Odysseus tied to the mast

This morning in work a lady was singing softly as she filled her water bottle from the ever so slow water filter in the office.  It reminded me of the passage below.  Do Mermaids really sing?  I thought it was just Sirens.  I thought the Sirens lured you onto the rocks with their singing, and the Mermaids saved you from drowning, if you were good looking enough!

 

—————————-

I grow old … I grow old …
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.
 
Shall I part my hair behind? Do I dare to eat a peach?
I shall wear white flannel trousers, and walk upon the beach
I have heard the mermaids singing, each to each.

I do not think that they will sing to me.

I have seen them riding seaward on the waves
Combing the white hair of the waves blown back
When the wind blows the water white and black.

We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
By sea-girls wreathed with seaweed red and brown
Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

…………………..From: The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock: by T.S. Eliot

Marching out to war

mars

When the Greco-Roman God of War rides to battle he carries with him in his chariot his two sons and his lover/sister.  His sons (the moons of the planet Mars) are Phobos and Deimos (Fear and Terror) and his sister/lover is Enyo (Discord).

The Greeks did not love Ares.  They, who valued mental discipline, saw him as an embodiment of the madness aroused by the passions of battle.  Something to be avoided in favour of good planning and strategy.

 

Life on Mars; by David Bowie

It’s a God-awful small affair
to the girl with the mousy hair
but her mummy is yelling no
and her daddy has told her to go

But her friend is nowhere to be seen
now she walks through her sunken dream
to the seat with the clearest view
and she’s hooked to the silver screen

But the film is a saddening bore
for she’s lived it ten times or more
she could spit in the eyes of fools
as they ask her to focus on

Sailors fighting in the dance hall
oh man look at those cavemen go
it’s the freakiest show

Take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
oh man wonder if he’ll ever know
he’s in the best selling show

Is there life on Mars?

It’s on America’s tortured brow
that Mickey Mouse has grown up a cow
now the workers have struck for fame
‘Cause Lennon’s on sale again

See the mice in their million hordes
from Ibiza to the Norfolk Broads
rule Britannia is out of bounds
to my mother, my dog, and clowns

But the film is a saddening bore
‘Cause I wrote it ten times or more
it’s about to be writ again
as I ask you to focus on

Sailors fighting in the dance hall
oh man look at those cavemen go
it’s the freakiest show

Take a look at the lawman
beating up the wrong guy
oh man wonder if he’ll ever know
he’s in the best selling show

Is there life on Mars?

Rock & Roll Legend

beechcraft-bonanza

The Beechcraft Bonanza, probably the most famous aircraft in the world of Rock and Roll.  On this day in 1959 three rock and roll stars boarded one of these planes for their last flight.  RIP Buddy Holly, Richie Valens and the Big Bopper died in the crash in Clear Lake, Iowa.

Joey “The Lips” Fagan in “The Commitments” (Alan Parker, 1991) recalled that night in the following dialogue:

Joey: Buddy Holly’s last words.

Bernie: What?

Joey: We can’t travel in that shit heap.

Outspan Foster: Did Buddy Holly say that?

Joey: Before he flew to meet his destiny on that storm-tossed night.

music-died