Thursday, August 14, 2014
Something in You Strains to Remember, Could Almost Narrate Incinerated Bits of Prior Lives
Serendipity: Friend anne mentioned Mike Scott in a comment yesterday. I didn't know who she was referring to, what band she was referring to. I know a lot of music, there's way more music I don't know. I went to WFMU and typed Mike Scott into their search engine and came up with this which linked to this. I have heard of Mayfield's Mule, and I have heard these songs though if I heard them without knowing prior who the band is I don't think I could have pulled the name out of my head. Mike Scott was the bassist for Mayfield's Mule. I don't know if this is what anne was requesting, I'm actually pretty sure it isn't, but... I then clicked to the WFMU schedule to listen to Julie's Thursday morning 3AM-6AM show and discovered she's away, Micah filled-in, and in his second set he played the above. Blessed Serendipity, an aargh-free post.
UPDATE! Here is the song anne requested, it was obvious in her comment but I was dense.
Let the dogs run the wet meadow.
Don't grumble unmapable sadness
at scouring pads of grey cloud abrading
the night sky. Quit fretting about the end
of everything while it's unfolding. Whining
turns the brain to molasses. Regret clogs
arteries. Born empty-handed, we gawk
at circling hawks, stuff ourselves
with bread and sex. Maybe we scream
or sing. Philosophers say we're made
of fire and smolder all our lives.
Then ash provides the most elegant
last transport imaginable. No need
for granite slabs or satin-lined coffins.
You'll waft over your old haunts
as key scenes play out below. Something
in you strains to remember, could almost
narrate incinerated bits of prior lives.
The dogs blazing across the drenched
meadow were once you and you them,
avid, chasing rabbits, as the garrulous
world drawled on and on and on.