Posted by Racer on March 27, 2004, at 12:50:48
In reply to Seven Years--Norah Jones, posted by gardenergirl on March 27, 2004, at 0:53:54
OK, so I'm revealing oh so much more about myself, but that's the first song that came to mind today. (Maybe because PBS had a special on Joni Mitchell the other night?)
THE CIRCLE GAME
LYRICS —
Yesterday a child came out to wonder
Caught a dragonfly inside a jar
Fearful when the sky was full of thunder
And tearful at the falling of a star
Then the child moved ten times round the seasons
Skated over ten clear frozen streams
Words like, when you’re older, must appease him
And promises of someday make his dreams
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle gameSixteen springs and sixteen summers gone now
Cartwheels turn to car wheels thru the town
And they tell him,
Take your time, it won’t be long now
Till you drag your feet to slow the circles down
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle gameSo the years spin by and now the boy is twenty
Though his dreams have lost some grandeur coming true
There’ll be new dreams, maybe better dreams and plenty
Before the last revolving year is through
And the seasons they go round and round
And the painted ponies go up and down
We’re captive on the carousel of time
We can’t return, we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle gameThere are others: Different Drum, by the Stone Poneys, for example; or almost anything by Alison Moyet; but The Circle Game is one that I come back to and play and cry to often when I'm farthest down.
Poetry also fits into my self definition, with two clear frontrunners:
On Wenlock Edge, by A. E. Housman
XXXI. On Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble
ON Wenlock Edge the wood’s in trouble
His forest fleece the Wrekin heaves;
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
And thick on Severn snow the leaves.
’Twould blow like this through holt and hanger
When Uricon the city stood:
’Tis the old wind in the old anger,
But then it threshed another wood.
Then, ’twas before my time, the Roman
At yonder heaving hill would stare:
The blood that warms an English yeoman,
The thoughts that hurt him, they were there.
There, like the wind through woods in riot,
Through him the gale of life blew high;
The tree of man was never quiet:
Then ’twas the Roman, now ’tis I.
The gale, it plies the saplings double,
It blows so hard, ’twill soon be gone:
To-day the Roman and his trouble
Are ashes under Uricon.
And Helena, by Heinrich Heine
HELENA
Du hast mich beschworen aus dem Grab
Durch deinen Zauberwillen,
Belebtest mich mit Wollustglut -
Jetzt kannst du die Glut nicht stillen.Preß deinen Mund an meinen Mund,
Der Menschen Odem ist göttlich!
Ich trinke deine Seele aus,
Die Toten sind unersättlich.(You have compelled me out of the grave
through your magical intention
enlivened me with the heat of sensual desire
now you can't still that firePress your mouth on my mouth
the mortal breath is godlike
I drink your soul out
the dead are insatiable.)That's only my poor translation, a bit more literal and less idiomatic than I'd like. That was always a problem for me, interpreting for my mother as a youngster: I'd think in whatever language I was speaking or hearing, so any words without clear idiomatic equivalents got translated literally. Now, I'm pretty much monolingual, can barely read German, let alone speak it, which bothers me a lot. That's something I experience as a real diminishment. Of course, trying to 'fix' it is too damned hard. So, instead of putting on the pressure to do something about bringing my beloved German back into my life, I regret its loss.
Those three, though, are close to defining my self right now. The Ballad Of Lucy Jordan, though, is another I listen to when I'm depressed. And Meatloaf's Bat Out Of Hell -- but sometimes I listen to that just because that man has PIPES!
Great thread.
poster:Racer
thread:328849
URL: http://www.dr-bob.org/babble/social/20040324/msgs/329088.html