Poetry and song and maybe culture


Tuesday, December 28, 2004

"All I Want for Christmas is You"
Olivia Olson, "Love Actually" soundtrack

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
I don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas
Is you

I don't want a lot for Christmas
There is just one thing I need
and I don't care about the presents
Underneath the Christmas tree
I don't need to hang my stocking
There upon the fireplace
Santa Claus won't make me happy
With a toy on Christmas day
I just want you for my own
More than you could ever know
Make my wish come true
All I want for Christmas is you.

Tuesday, December 21, 2004

Rubbernecker

The stories circle back and they change the names
The freshly painted lies all sound the same
I'm drowning in news of other people's pain
Like a peeping Tom, and I burn with shame

Life here goes on and it seems to change
We're all treading new water day after day
One eye on the games our masters play
Little flies on the walls of their firing range

They claim reason and rhyme, season and time
If you stop to speak out you'll fall behind
Get treated like you've totally lost your mind
Just take a post on the corner with an 'End Times' sign

Forget ambition if you happen to care
About the widowed or dying from anywhere
If it means you can't do just what you want, anytime
We'll all stand by at the scene of the crime

Since the cavalry rode right on back home
The vandals are playing at the Senate of Rome
Two centuries work goes up in a flash
But I'm just rubbernecking at the site of this crash

The theives speak well and the wolves are polite
It bleeds through when we're talking, just you and I
I don't care where it leads, I'm just looking for a door
Some days I can't watch this show anymore

"natasha"

Wednesday, July 07, 2004

I Invented Time
by Herb Brin

Hold back your clocks
Damn it, no requiem for me!
I'll rust those gears
With the fire spray of seas
That sweep my autumn years.

Crusts of age clog my knees
But I'll get along
At a lesser pace
At a lesser pace.

And softer my sighs
Gentler, more gentle
And as suns descend
I'll get along
It's moonlight saving time
For me.

I've many a mountain yet to climb
And the hot breath of lips on mine
And the touch of tender hips.

Are there promises to keep?
Don't count my ways
Don't count my ways.

The brook, the stream, the massive sea
Hold many mysteries for me
And books unread
And paths untrod
Primeval forests beckon me.

Don't speed my way to dreams undreamed
I've cantatas to create
I've heady lilacs yet to sense
And little foxes to divine.

Take back your clocks
Hold back your clocks
With searing breath of lips
On mine
I invented time.

April 28, 1982 London

Saturday, June 12, 2004


Waltzing Matilda


"Banjo" Paterson, 1893


Once a jolly swagman sat beside the billabong,

Under the shade of a coulibah tree,

And he sang as he sat and waited till his billy boiled:


Chorus:

Who'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda

Who'll come a waltzing matilda with me

And he sang as he sat and waited by the billabong

Who'll come a waltzing matilda with me.


2. Down came a jumbuck to drink beside the billabong

Up jumped the swagman and seized him with glee

And he sang as he tucked the jumbuck in his tuckerbag


Chorus:

You'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda

You'll come a waltzing matilda with me

And he sang as he tucked the jumbuck in his tuckerbag

You'll come a waltzing matilda with me.


3. Down came the stockman, riding on his thoroughbred,

Down came the troopers, one, two, three.

"Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tuckerbag?"


Chorus:

You'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda

You'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Where's that jolly jumbuck you've got in your tuckerbag?

You'll come a waltzing matilda with me.


4. Up jumped the swagman and plunged into the billabong,

"You'll never catch me alive," cried he

And his ghost may be heard as you ride beside the billabong,


Chorus:

Who'll come a waltzing matilda with me

Waltzing matilda, waltzing matilda

Who'll come a waltzing matilda with me

And his ghost may be heard as you ride beside the billabong,

Who'll come a waltzing matilda with me.





Waltzing Matilda Definitions



Billabong
- Originally an aboriginal word for a section of still water adjacent to a river, cut off by a change in the watercourse, cf. an oxbow lake. In the Australian outback, a billabong generally retains water longer than the watercourse itself, so it may be the only water for miles around.



Billy - A tin can, maybe two litres (four pints) in capacity, usually with a wire handle attached to the top rim, in which 'swaggies' (and contemporary Australian campers) boil water to make tea (and to kill the beasties in the water they've taken out of the billabong).



Coolibah tree (also coolabah) - A particular kind of eucalyptus which grows beside billabongs.



Jumbuck - A sheep



Squatter - As Australia was settled, there was of course little or no authority and bureaucracy in place. People 'squatted' on patches of land, grazed their animals, grew their crops and built their houses and fences. In due course, as authority arrived, it generally accepted the claims of whoever was in apparent possession of the land (aboriginals had been no match for armed blue men, and anyway were largely nomadic across reasonably large areas). Particularly in good quality grazing country, squatters quickly became relatively very well off, hence the term 'squattocracy' which blends 'squatter' with 'aristocracy'. The constabulary tended to work with them to maintain law and order. To non-land-owners, squatters were an object of resentment.



Swagman - A gentleman of the road, an itinerant roaming country roads, a drifter, a tramp, a hobo. Carried his few belongings slung in a cloth, which was called by a wide variety of names, including 'swag', 'shiralee' and 'bluey'. Given the large number of names for them, they must have been a pretty common sight.



Troopers - Cavalry soldiers, or perhaps mounted militia-men or policemen. To a swaggie, what was the difference??



Tucker-bag - A bag to keep tucker in. (Tucker is food.)



Waltzing matilda - Matilda was a mock-romantic word for a swag, and to waltz matilda was to hit the road with a swag on your back. The term is thought to come from a German expression, Auf die Walz gehen, meaning to take to the road, and Matilda is a girl's name, applied to one's bed-roll. So the poem (doggerel? folk song?) can be interpreted as yet another Aussie complaint about them in authority. We're one of the most urbanised nations in the world, who sort-of yearn for the wide open spaces (there's so much of it out there!), and the freedom that goes with it (or at least seems to go with it, to those that don't live there). So Waltzing Matilda strikes a chord (so to speak), generation after generation, for the same reason that Crocodile Dundee was as popular here as anywhere else - we know we're not like that; but it's fun pretending for a while that we are.



Saturday, May 22, 2004

Black Camellia

by Henri Cole

after Petrarch

Little room, with four and a half tatami mats
and sliding paper doors, that used to be
a white, translucent place to live in refined poverty,

what are you now but scalding water in a bath?

Little mattress, that used to fold around me
at sunrise as unfinished dreams were fading,

what are you now but a blood-red palanquin
of plucked feathers and silk airing in the sun?

Weeding the garden, paring a turnip, drinking tea
for want of wine, I flee from my secret love
and from my mind's worm—This is a poem.
Is this a table? No, this is a poem. Am I a girl?—
seeking out the meat-hook crowd I once loathed,
so afraid am I of finding myself alone.

Link Audio!
is this a table? no, this is a poem

no great feasts of delicacies sweet
are laid upon it
for the body's eager consumption

no melons, no honey, no rich, dark bread
spread thick with golden butter,
no tender roasted essence of beast or fowl,
no fish from the sea or fruit from a tree,
no sweet wines crushed
from the fullness of sun-fed grape
to tempt the taste of jaded gourmand,
or sustain the body of warrior and priest

no, this is not a table
laid out to feed our fleshly needs,
it is a poem, set full with nourishment
for every weary spirit, sustenance spread
wide, with joy for every questing heart

it is a poem, fully-laden for our feasting,
a banquet set out for all who wish to join
a celebration of the richness of our kind

by: Allen Itz

Sunday, May 02, 2004

Always unsuitable
.......................by Marge Piercy


She wore little teeth of pearls around her neck.
They were grinning politely and evenly at me.
Unsuitable they smirked. It is true

I look a stuffed turkey in a suit. Breasts
too big for the silhouette. She knew
at once that we had sex, lots of it

as if I had strolled into her diningroom
in a dirty negligee smelling gamy
smelling fishy and sporting a strawberry

on my neck. I could never charm
the mothers, although the fathers ogled
me. I was exactly what mothers had warned

their sons against.

I was quicksand
I was trouble in the afternoon. I was
the alley cat you don't bring home.

I was the dirty book you don't leave out
for your mother to see. I was the center-
fold you masturbate with then discard.

Where I came from, the nights I had wandered
and survived, scared them, and where
I would go they never imagined.

Ah, what you wanted for your sons
were little ladies hatched from the eggs
of pearls like pink and silver lizards

cool, well behaved and impervious
to desire and weather alike. Mostly
that's who they married and left.

Oh, mamas, I would have been your friend.
I would have cooked for you and held you.
I might have rattled the windows

of your sorry marriages, but I would
have loved you better than you know
how to love yourselves, bitter sisters.

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