Oh, my Gawd, radio audience. I just listened to Ian and Sylvia Tyson sing "Four Strong Winds" and "Keep on the Sunny Side".
ehBeth, you were right. They are fabulous and the guitar is right in sync with the genre of music. Damn, I would love to hear them live.
Listeners, I would highly recommend any of Ian and Sylvia's music. I shall listen to all the clips later on today.
edgar, yes, rudderless.
Diane, you are a climatologist par excellence. I wonder what it would be like to sit on a dune and play winsome guitar to the tides and the winds.
hey Letty for a true experience try sitting in the sourtwest desert with the winsome guitar and perhaps a flute at sunset.
You play flute, dys? Or perhaps the pan pipes. Seriously, all, did dys' remark not conjure up a picture?
".....I tell you folks it's heaven,
To be riding down the trail,
When that Western sun goes down...."
My mind is a wheel sectioned off with unequal proportions:
50% music, and subdivided into several areas.
20% art and the continuing exploration of it.
20% poetry and muse searching.
The remainder is life. <smile>
Thanks to edgar--dys--ehBeth--Francis and so many others, I have expanded my mind that encompasses worlds and galaxies.
and now, listeners. The other 10% is demanding it's fifteen minutes of fame. <smile>
Here are forecasts for some European cities:
Edinburgh---60.4 °F / 15.8 °C
Mostly Cloudy
London---66 °F / 19 °C
Clear
Frankfurt---54 °F / 12 °C
Mostly Cloudy
Paris---61 °F / 16 °C
Clear
Francis, I had never heard of Joy Harjo until your posts of She Had Horses. I was amazed at her writing. Here is another, not as powerful, but lovely.
FOR A GIRL BECOMING A WOMAN
for Krista Rae Chico
That day your spirit came to us rains came in from the Pacific to bless
They peered over the mountains in response to the singing of medicine plants
Who danced back and forth in shawls of mist
Your mother labored there, so young in earthly years
And your father, and all of us who loved you gathered there,
Pollen blew throughout that desert house to bless us
With the fragrant knowledge of your pending arrival here.
And horses were running the land, hundreds of them for you,
To bring you here, to bless.
Girl, I wonder what you thought as you paused there in your spirit house
Before you entered into the breathing world to be with us?
Were you lonely for us, too?
Our relatives in that beloved place dressed you in black hair,
Brown eyes, skin the color of earth, and turned you in the direction of this place.
We want you to know that we urgently gathered to welcome you here; we came
Bearing gifts to celebrate.
From your mother's house we brought: poetry, music, medicine makers, stubbornness, beauty, tribal leaders, a yard of junk cars and the gift of knowing how to make them run. We carried turquoise, white shell, new clothes and joy for you.
And from your father's house came educators, thinkers, dreamers, weavers and mathematical genius. They carried a cradleboard, hope and coral for you.
We brought blankets to wrap you in, soft beaded moccasins of deerskin to warm your feet; we made a home of love for you.
Did you hear us as you traveled from your rainbow house?
We called you with thunder, with singing.
Did you see us as we gathered in the town beneath the mountains?
We were dressed in hope and happiness.
Did you taste the metals of the earth giving muscle to our dreaming?
We are part of the stars, the impetus of the stars.
We were overwhelmed, as you moved through the weft of your mother
When you took your first breath, your eyes blinked wide open.
Now you are becoming a woman.
You are moving from one knowing into another.
Now, breathe.
And when you breathe remember the source of the gift of breathing.
When you walk, remember the source of the gift of walking.
And when you run, remember the source of the gift of all running.
And when you laugh, remember the source of the gift of all laughter.
And when you cry, remember the source of the gift of all crying.
And when you think, remember the source of the gift of all thinking.
And when your heart is broken, remember the source of the gift of all breaking.
And when you are tested by fire, remember the source of the gift of all fire.
And when you are tested by wind, remember the source of the gift of all wind.
And when you are tested by water, remember the source of the gift of all water.
And when you are tested by earth, remember the source of the gift of all earth.
All of this, and you must remember what comes of this is compassion.
Don't forget how you started your journey from that rainbow house,
How you traveled and will travel through the mountains and valleys of human tests.
There are treacherous places along the way, but you can come to us.
There are lakes of tears shimmering sadly there, but you can come to us.
And valleys without horses or kindnesses, but you can come to us.
And angry, jealous gods and humans who will try to hurt you, but you can come to us.
You will fall, but you will get back up again, because you are one of us.
And as you travel through this middle world remember all this:
Give a drink of water to all who need it, whether they be plant, creature, spirit or human.
May you always have clean, fresh water.
Feed your neighbors, be they earthly or spirit. Give kind words and assistance to your parents, brothers and sisters and family.
May you be surrounded with the helpfulness of family and good friends. We are all related in this place.
Grieve with the grieving, share joy with the joyful. Forget gossip or hurtful talk.
May you be build a strong path with beautiful and truthful language.
Clean your room.
May you always have a home, a refuge.
Bury what needs to be buried. Do not harbor hurt.
May you always travel lightly and well.
Praise and give thanks for each small and large thing.
Review each act and thought.
May you grow in knowledge, in compassion, in beauty.
Always within you is that day your spirit came to us
When rains came in from the Pacific to bless
They peered over the mountains in response to the singing of medicine plants
Who danced back and forth in shawls of mist
Your mother labored there, so young in earthly years
And your father, and all of us who loved you gathered there,
Pollen blew throughout that desert house to bless us
With the fragrant knowledge of your pending arrival here.
And horses were running the land, hundreds of them for you,
To bring you here, to bless.
c Joy Harjo
Diane - You are a blessing for posting us this.
Diane: Your post is truly a thing of beauty. Thank you.
May you all walk in beauty.
An American Indian and a poet. Now those creations take on a totally different meaning, Francis and Diane.
Another reading is required, listeners, as In Thomas Moor's Believe me if All Those Endearing Young Charms, the background helps us to see through the mists.
To follow along with the Amerind:
I am tired of fighting. Our chiefs are killed. Looking Glass is dead. Toohulhulsote is dead. The old men are all dead. It is the young men who say yes or no. He who led the young men is dead.
It is cold and we have no blankets. The little children are freezing to death. My people, some of them, have run away to the hills and have no blankets, no food. No one knows where they are--perhaps freezing to death. I want to have time to look for my children and see how many I can find. Maybe I shall find them among the dead.
Hear me, my chiefs. I am tired. My heart is sick and sad. From where the sun now stands, I will fight no more forever.
Big Hole National Battlefield
Background
Joseph was chief of the Nez Perce, a Native American tribe of the Wallowa Valley in Northwest Oregon. In 1877 the Nez Pierce were ordered to a reservation, or special land reserved for Native Americans. The Nez Pierce refused to go. Instead, Chief Joseph tried to lead 800 of his people to Canada. Fighting the U.S. Army all along their 1100 mile journey, they crossed Idaho and Montana. They were trapped just forty miles from Canada. After a five-day fight, the remaining 431 remaining Nez Perce were beaten.
It was then, on October 5, 1877 at Bears Paw, that Chief Joseph made his speech of surrender.
Ah, listeners, the French named the tribe because of their pierced noses. . How very eloquent was his surrender.
All right, listeners.
Thought for Today: ``History is principally the inaccurate narration of events which ought not to have happened.'' - Ernest Albert Hooten, American anthropologist (1887-1954).
Sooooo, can we believe that the swallows returned to Capistrano Mission on this day in history?
Thinking of my brother who I can hear singing this song as clearly as though he were here:
When the swallows come back to Capistrano.
That's the day you promised to come back to me.
When you whispered farewell in Capistrano.
That's the day the swallow flew out to the sea.
Oh the mission bells will ring,
The chapel choir will sing,
And happiness you'll bring,
To live in my memory.
When the swallows come back to Capistrano.
That's the day you promised to
Come back to me.
and that, listeners, is the difference between the mind and the brain.
When I hear that song, letty, I always think of Jack Benny's "song" he wrote on his radio show.
When you say I beg your pardon
Then I'll come back to you
When you ask me to forgive you
Then I'll return
Like the swallows to Capistrano ...
edgar, I don't recall much about Jack Benney except that he was always saying, "well" and that his age never changed from 39.
It is difficult for me to recall if my memories are my own or those of my older siblings, but that song must have been born in my ears when my mom carried me. <smile>
There is something that I would like to discuss with all our listeners at the moment.
Several of the vast audience here at WA2K has expressed displeasure with the site and although I can see rudeness in some forums, such as politics, etc. I am at a loss to understand quite what they mean.
Letty, let me just say that with the return of the swallows comes the return of the boo-birds on A2K. It's a seasonal thing...don't be alarmed.
dys, not understanding? Do you mean a misreading of responses?
Boo birds! Funny, panz. There are so many ways to express a dissention without going for the jugular, right?
I miss the polar bear and many others, but I realize that they have jobs to maintain, and it's always nice to see an explanation about why they are leaving.
Any other comments are welcome here on the radio, folks. One of the supporters of the cold war died recently. I can't quite remember his name, but in the end he expressed the idea that we must strive to understand other cultures if we are to compromise and avoid the battlefield.
And as it takes more than one swallow to make a summer, it takes more than a couple of boo-birds for real displeasure.
(He-he: I'm kind of borne here since the start of A2K. [Don't teach me group sociology/psychology now, panz!
])
Ah, come on now, Walter. Let us analyze and pigeon hole ya, ok? Odd, but I think it was Lady J who wants to create a psychology forum. That would be fine with me, except I really don't see the need for it.
and as you observed in your signature, the links that you post are simply to inform and not necessarily the view of the poster.
For listeners who enjoyed the early music of Ian and Sylvia, I would recommend that they investigate their more recent efforts. Both of them as solo artists, and Sylvia as a member of the marvellous group Quartette.
http://www.quartette.com/sylvia.htm
There are some samples of Sylvia's more recent work ^^^
Sylvia Tyson's RIVER ROAD
Here I go once again with my suitcase in my hand
I'm running away down River Road
And I swear, once again, that I'm never coming home
I'm chasing my dreams down River Road
Mama said, "Listen child, you're too old too run wild
You're too big to go fishing with the boys these days
So I grabbed my clothes and ran
Stole five dollars from the sugar can
Just a twelve-year-old jail-breaker running away.
CHORUS
Well I married a pretty good man and he tries to understand
But he knows I've got leaving on my mind these days
When I get that urge to run I'm just like a kid again
A thirty-year-old jail-breaker running away.
And here I go once again with my suitcase in my hand
I'm running away down River Road
And I swear once again that I'm never coming home
In my dreams I still run down River Road.
