Friday, August 8, 2008
So I'm taking a bit of a break from fashion again today... as I have been... to analyze a few more lyrics...
You cut your head on the bedside table. Your temple bled as you were unable to remember the lines of what you were reading about someone deciding to quit speaking.
What I was just reading about someone deciding to quit speaking began to dissolve into my lap as the words gave up their attempts at meaning.
What does this mean?!! I suppose some people would say that this is a bad question... or a question that can't be answered... or blah.. blah... (lol!) I just love to analyze things. So sue me. Anyway... What does this song mean?
Sometimes I hear a song and think... "Wow. I have no idea what that artist is trying to say with that!" But somehow I know that deep inside of me I agree with their... angst... or... happiness or sadness and it reaches something inside of a person that they don't know how to express with words... It's cathartic... because someone out there in the world also understands some small degree, at least, of what is deepest in one's soul. When I hear the song I feel as though I am able to finally process the emotions the artist is seemingly also feeling... and it's a huge relief... Poetry (not set to music) can be like that too...
Once, as a child, out in a field of sheep,
Thomas Hardy pretended to be dead
And lay down flat among their dainty shins.
In that sniffed-at, bleated-into, grassy space
He experimented with infinity.
His small cool brow was like an anvil waiting
For sky to make it sing the perfect pitch
Of his dumb being, and that stir he caused
In that fleece-hustle was the original
Of a ripple that would travel eighty years
Outward from there, to be the same ripple
Inside him at its last circumference.
I especially enjoy the work of Sarah Teasdale and Seamus Heaney. The previous poem is a favorite. I imagine a young boy shepherding sheep on the green hills of Ireland long ago. I imagine him laying down and staring up into the blue sky pretending to die... Of course it doesn't work... but... it serves as sort of a starting point for his life's journey which eventually leads him home to Ireland again... likely on the same farm where he was a boy once with his sheep. Then, at a ripe old age he finally lays down, perhaps even poetically in that same place on the hill, and dies a quiet death. It's a beautiful idea... I have no idea if my interpretation of this poem is correct but... in any case... I love this poem.
PS I was once told that the poem The Lark Ascending by George Meredith inspired Ralph Vaughan Williams' The Lark Ascending... which I think is one of the most lovely pieces of music there is... I like that.. a poem inspiring music...