Keyed up

Jimmy's first recital was Monday evening. He played well, considering how nervous he was. And the choice of music was well-suited to his personality, I think.

K-K-K-Katy

When I was twelve, I went to Detroit with my Nana. This trip was memorable for so many reasons, not the least of which was because it was my first time so far away from home without my parents. It was also my debut with pierced ears, pantyhose and high heels. We stayed at the RenCen with Auntie Joan (who was actually my mother's cousin) and Joan's daughter Virginia. And, most memorable of all, it was the first (and last) time I recall meeting my great-grandfather, Amos Earle Carle.

His health was poor, so our visit at his home wasn't long, but while we were there, he sang "K-K-K-Katy" to me. I had heard it before, over the phone, but hearing him sing it to me in person was so different. I can't remember why, but I happened to have a tape deck and recorded him. I still have the tape, tucked away in a box somewhere.

K-K-K-Katy, beautiful Katy,
You're the only g-g-g-girl that I adore;
When the m-m-m-moon shines,
Over the cowshed,
I'll be waiting at the k-k-k-kitchen door.

It's an old World War I tune, written and composed by Geoffrey O'Hara. I'd never actually heard the entire song until tonight, when I googled it. Buddy Clark recorded this version in the 1930s:



Unfortunately, I also have a rather squicky memory of my middle school gym teacher Mr. Watson singing this song to me just a few years later. The same one who would look down the girls's shirts when we did our push-ups. Ewwww.

NaPoWriMo #19: scraps

Last year, right after NaPoWriMo, I went to a day-long poetry workshop (which, incidentally, I'll be doing again this weekend). Sam Green had us do an exercise that involved writing about smells from our childhood. One of the first ones that came to mind was the scent of the chicken coops behind the trailer where we lived when I was between three and six years old. I started working around that and came up with a few lines of a poem, but it was rough and when I got home, I tucked it away and forgot about it.

Today's prompt at Read Write Poem was to take the scraps of an old poem and make something new. Suddenly, this old poem jumped into my mind and begged for another chance. So, here's the background, because otherwise it may not make sense (it's reworked, but still rough).

When I was small, my dad used to sing to me at bedtime. I can't remember when I (or he) outgrew this ritual, but I have vivid memories of it, and the song I remember him singing is John Denver's "Sunshine on My Shoulders". Whenever I hear it, I think of him.

Oh, and by the way, the words in italics are lyrics from the song which I've worked into the body of the poem.

So Dad, this one's for you.


Sunshine on My Shoulders

Sunshine
outside, still oppressive
at this evening hour
but in the dim room you sit
on
the edge of my bed
tuck a yarn-tied
nine-patch quilt up to
my
chin the exact way
I like it best
and I can see your
shoulders
outlined crisp, dark
against the soft glow
of the drawn shade, which
makes
a gentle tap-tap-tap
against my window sill
its rhythm soothes
me
as it lets in
the still-bright air
the soft clucking of
happy
hens and their sharp scent
though I barely hear
shades or chickens when
sunshine
spills from your voice
the liquid weight
of each word suspended
in
the space between
you and me
a honey-song I taste on
my
tongue, that echoes
golden in my ears
and glows amber in my
eyes
when your voice catches
each time on the same line
in the chorus I
can
hear all those things
you don’t ever say
and each night you
make
it right again
when you sit here
in this same spot beside
me
yes, we are at our best
for those moments
when, together, we
cry.

Geography according to Jimmy

A few weeks ago Jimmy got a new clock radio. The idea was for him to not only have a visual reminder to help him get his morning chores done on time, but also help him to get up on his own every morning in time to say goodbye to his dad before Jim leaves for work.

The clock radio also has a CD player, so Jim let Jimmy choose from our vast collection of mp3s and burned him a mixed CD. It's pretty eclectic; everything from "Johnny B. Goode" by Chuck Berry to "Dancing Queen" by ABBA to "Panama" by Van Halen. One of the songs, which is Jimmy's new favorite, is "Nations of the World", from the cartoon series "The Animaniacs".



For the last week he's been humming it around the house, and this morning it occurred to Jim and I we were missing the educational opportunity this song presented, so we printed up the lyrics and gave them to Jimmy. He disappeared into his room and we could hear him singing the song to himself with great gusto.

About five minutes later he emerged with a look of profound realization on his face.

"Hey, Mom! Panama is a song and a country!"

NaPoWriMo #1: u2

The obvious challenge of writing a poem every day for a month is finding inspiration. I know if I get desperate, I can resort to random prompt generators, but I'm planning to save those for emergencies.

Today I'm inspired by music. Most of my favorite songs are by artists whose lyrics are poetic, and one of my favorite bands for good lyrics is U2. I love "The Fly" from their Achtung Baby album, especially the lines: "every artist is a cannibal/every poet is a thief/they all kill their inspiration/and then sing about the grief." For a long time I wondered if those lines were true about myself, because so much of my earlier poetry was based on angst. It took me years to find I could coexist in a state of happiness with my muse.

A couple weeks ago I was listening to this song and started thinking about the concept of cannibalism in writing poetry: stealing lines from songs and arranging them into a poem.

This is rather rough, but I had a lot of fun doing it. In order of appearance, I cannibalized the following: "The Sounds of Silence," by Simon and Garfunkel; "Sorrow," by Pink Floyd; "Wishing it Was," by Santana and Eagle Eye Cherry; "Strength, Courage & Wisdom," by India.Arie; "Temptation Waits," by Garbage; "All My Trials," by Peter, Paul and Mary (and various other artists); "Canned Heat," by Jamiroquai; "I’m So Happy I Can’t Stop Crying," by Sting.


Sing About the Grief

Hello darkness my old friend
sweet smell of a great sorrow
lied the truth I can't pretend
putting off my living for tomorrow
I'm waiting for my moment
too late, but never mind
I know this anger's heaven sent
got to leave the darkness sometime.

We are family

I have this fantasy. No, no—before you rush to get out the brain bleach and a scrub brush, it's not that kind of fantasy.

See, I was running on the treadmill the other night, and grooving to my workout tunes, and "We Are Family" by Sister Sledge started to play. I have always loved that song. And it reminded me that for a long time I've had a daydream about dressing up in a gold lamé disco jumpsuit and a 'fro and singing "We Are Family" with my sisters, all dressed in matching jumpsuits and wigs, and shaking our groove thangs. And here's the fantasy part: I look and sound totally fierce while doing this. We all do.

Yeah, I know. That's why it's called a fantasy.

@#$%! sony

I'm not nearly as steamed about my Sony NW-E507 mp3 player as I was last year (when I left a nasty review about the product on Amazon.com). Perhaps time has dulled the pain. Or maybe I'm just more jaded about electronics than I used to be. I think what still chaps my hide the most is I bought the NW-E507 when it first came out and was ridiculously expensive, because I wanted a really nice player for working out that would last a long time—and then it went haywire on me almost exactly a year after I bought it. It still works (sometimes, if I stand on my head and cross all my fingers, toes, and eyes), but it's unreliable and a total waste of money. I feel like such a sucker.

Take my advice: buy a cheap mp3 player. The technology changes so rapidly, when one wears out you can replace it with a better (and often cheaper) model. Oh, and avoid Sony like the pestilential multi-national conglomerate it is.

All aboard for blanket bay

When I was very small, my mom used to sing me a lullaby called "All Aboard for Blanket Bay". I remember hearing that she learned it from her mother. From the time Jimmy was a baby, I've been singing it to him, too. It's now a bed-time staple that he requests almost every night:

All aboard for Blanket Bay

Won't get home 'til the break of day

I'll tuck you up in your little white sheet

So I can't see your little bare feet

Snuggle down little in your trundle bed

Go to sleep, little sleepy-head

Kiss Mommy, kiss Daddy and sail away

All aboard for Blanket Bay...

The other day I got to wondering about the history of the song and where it originated. Gotta love Google! Here's what I learned: "All Aboard for Blanket Bay" was written by Harry Von Tilzer and released in 1910. The version I remember is a variation on the chorus, and the original lyrics are a little different. The best thing I found was an MP3 of the song by an artist named Domino George: take a listen to this wonderful, old-fashioned lullaby!

P.S. 10 days and counting...

Night and day

You learn something new every day (especially if you're me). This afternoon while folding my Friday laundry, I watched The Gay Divorcee with Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, and found out that one of my favorite songs, the old standard "Night and Day" by Cole Porter, was written for this particular film. The movie itself is an appealing light musical comedy with plenty of the duo's famous dancing (my favorite part).

In The Gay Divorcee, Astaire sings "Night and Day". Many others have covered it since the film came out in 1934, but my favorite version is by the incomparable Ella Fitzgerald. Every time I hear it, I envision myself in a flowing gown, being swept away à la Ginger and Fred, dancing on my own personal cloud.

I have an mp3 of Ella Fitzgerald singing "Night and Day"; however, Blogger doesn't support sharing mp3 files. So I googled like crazy to try and find a link to a recording of it, but no dice. Then I remembered Youtube.com and got lucky. This isn't quite as smooth as the track I have on mp3, but it's still a wonderful live performance by a consummate artist of a beautiful love song.

Oh, and by the way—Youtube.com also has a trailer for The Gay Divorcee, which has a short clip of Astaire singing "Night and Day". That particular scene is charming; it's where he finally wins her over with the song and a romantic waltz. If you've never seen it, this classic film is worth watching.

Adagio

Last week when I was getting my massage, I noticed some familiar music playing. I asked my massage therapist the name of the CD. It turned out to be "Classical Healing" by Tom Barabas, but the track I recognized was listed simply as "Adagio," with no composer credited. It started to bug me, like when I was obsessing about Katie the Cleaning Lady. But the more I thought about it, I knew that I had heard the music on a movie soundtrack and that it was playing during a tragic scene, maybe during a war. So I got on the internet and went to my trusty friend, IMDB. There I searched movie soundtracks for "Adagio" and amongst the many hits I found a movie that I had seen, "Gallipoli". Looking at the movie's soundtrack listing gave me the name of the composer, Tomaso Albinoni, and a more exact title of the piece of music, "Adagio in G minor for strings and organ."



I saw "Gallipoli" for the first time in a high school history class, when we were studying World War I. Directed by Peter Weir and starring a very young Mel Gibson, it was a scathing idictment of the British role in the loss of life of Australian soldiers, as well as a general anti-war piece. Weir is a great craftsman of film and one of the things that makes his movies even more compelling is his selection of music. I think that the music is what made this movie stay with me for so long, even though it isn't my favorite movie by Weir. "Adagio in G minor" is one of the most hauntingly beautiful pieces of music I've ever heard: aching, poignant and compelling.