Ah, Mr Zimmerman. He changed his name to Dylan, I have heard, because he was so impressed by the work of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas.
Is that correct, does anyone know, and are you familiar with any of Thomas' poems?
There was a lovely jazz suite written to Thomas' Under Milk Wood.
The knuckles of the doctor's hands were extraordinarily large. When the hands were closed they looked like clusters of unpainted wooden balls as large as walnuts fastened together by steel rods. He smoked a cob pipe and after his wife's death sat all day in his empty office close by a window that was covered with cobwebs. He never opened the window. Once on a hot day in August he tried but found it stuck fast and after that he forgot all about it.
In the fall one walks in the orchards and the ground is hard with frost underfoot. The apples have been taken from the trees by the pickers. They have been put in barrels and shipped to the cities where they will be eaten in apartments that are filled with books, magazines, furniture, and people. On the trees are only a few gnarled apples that the pickers have rejected. They look like the knuckles of Doctor Reefy's hands. One nibbles at them and they are delicious. Into a little round place at the side of the apple has been gathered all of its sweetness. One runs from tree to tree over the frosted ground picking the gnarled, twisted apples and filling his pockets with them. Only the few know the sweetness of the twisted apples.
McTag wrote:Ah, Mr Zimmerman. He changed his name to Dylan, I have heard, because he was so impressed by the work of the Welsh poet, Dylan Thomas.
Is that correct, does anyone know, and are you familiar with any of Thomas' poems?
There was a lovely jazz suite written to Thomas' Under Milk Wood.
Yes Mr McTag your information is correct (Bobby Zimmerman also wante dto be just like Elvis) and, of course, Mr Thomas was quite a wonderful crafter of words.
Oh, my word, listeners. We are back to Dylan and Dylan. I think Zimmerman denies that he took his name from Dylan Thomas, however.
Did you gentlemen know that Jimmy Carter tried to get the Brits to bury Dylan Thomas at Westminster?
McTag. Here's a further hint:
star crossed lovers.
Ballad of the Absent Mare
Say a prayer for the cowboy
His mare's run away
And he'll walk til he finds her
His darling, his stray
but the river's in flood
and the roads are awash
and the bridges break up
in the panic of loss.
And there's nothing to follow
There's nowhere to go
She's gone like the summer
gone like the snow
And the crickets are breaking
his heart with their song
as the day caves in
and the night is all wrong
Did he dream, was it she
who went galloping past
and bent down the fern
broke open the grass
and printed the mud with
the iron and the gold
that he nailed to her feet
when he was the lord
And although she goes grazing
a minute away
he tracks her all night
he tracks her all day
Oh blind to her presence
except to compare
his injury here
with her punishment there
Then at home on a branch
in the highest tree
a songbird sings out
so suddenly
Ah the sun is warm
and the soft winds ride
on the willow trees
by the river side
Oh the world is sweet
the world is wide
and she's there where
the light and the darkness divide
and the steam's coming off her
she's huge and she's shy
and she steps on the moon
when she paws at the sky
And she comes to his hand
but she's not really tame
She longs to be lost
he longs for the same
and she'll bolt and she'll plunge
through the first open pass
to roll and to feed
in the sweet mountain grass
Or she'll make a break
for the high plateau
where there's nothing above
and there's nothing below
and it's time for the burden
it's time for the whip
Will she walk through the flame
Can he shoot from the hip
So he binds himself
to the galloping mare
and she binds herself
to the rider there
and there is no space
but there's left and right
and there is no time
but there's day and night
And he leans on her neck
and he whispers low
"Whither thou goest
I will go"
And they turn as one
and they head for the plain
No need for the whip
Ah, no need for the rein
Now the clasp of this union
who fastens it tight?
Who snaps it asunder
the very next night
Some say the rider
Some say the mare
Or that love's like the smoke
beyond all repair
But my darling says
"Leonard, just let it go by
That old silhouette
on the great western sky"
So I pick out a tune
and they move right along
and they're gone like the smoke
and they're gone like this song
L Cohen
Well, Texas. Europe is asleep and I look at your mare and remember:
Looking for you everywhere
Under sky,
On the stair
Of descending
Night of mare,
On the brink of
Closely falling
turning back but still
Recalling.........................
Hear me?
and, edgar. You will appreciate this news item as well:
Baez Performs Near Crawford War Protest By ANGELA K. BROWN, Associated Press Writer
14 minutes ago
CRAWFORD, Texas - Iraq war protesters camping out near President Bush's ranch are getting support from a prominent figure in the anti-Vietnam war movement: folk singer Joan Baez.
"In the first march I went to (opposing Vietnam) there were 10 of us. This is huge," Baez told relatives of fallen U.S. soldiers Sunday as she prepared to perform a free evening concert in Bush's adopted hometown.
The concert was expected to draw more than 1,000 people to a 1-acre lot offered by a landowner who opposes the war. Not far away, protesters continued a camp-out started by grieving mother Cindy Sheehan.
Meanwhile, more Bush supporters arrived at a downtown pro-Bush camp. As of Sunday afternoon, more than 150 people had visited the large tent with "God Bless Our President!" and "God Bless Our Troops" banners and a life-size cardboard cutout of Bush.
"When we saw this, we said, `Thank God you're here'," said Frances Lee, who arrived in Crawford with her Douglasville, Ga., neighbor Brenda Bohanan. They planned to hold pro-Bush banners down the street from the protesters.
"We said, `We wanted y'all to know that there are people from all over the United States that care'," Lee said.
The pro-Bush camp is called "Fort Qualls," for Marine Lance Cpl. Louis Wayne Qualls, 20, killed in Fallujah last fall. His father, Gary Qualls of Temple, said the anti-war demonstrators are being disrespectful to soldiers.
Sheehan's 24-year-old son, Army Spc. Casey Sheehan, also died last year in Iraq. He is among more than 1,800 U.S. soldiers killed since the March 2003 invasion.
Sheehan, of Vacaville, Calif., started the anti-war demonstration on Aug. 6 and vowed to remain until Bush agreed to meet with her or until his monthlong vacation ends Sept. 3. She flew to Los Angeles last week after her 74-year-old mother had a stroke but is expected to return to Texas in a few days.
Bush has said he sympathizes with Sheehan but won't change his schedule to meet with her. She and other families met with Bush about two months after Casey died, before she became a vocal opponent of the war.
In addition to the "Fort Qualls" camp, a few Bush supporters have stood with signs in the ditch across from the demonstrators' camp. Down the street, another group of about a dozen set up tents and pro-Bush signs on private property over the weekend.
You can get anything you want
At Alice's Resturant . . .
" Somewhere, Somewhere, In times own space.
There must be some sweet pastured place.
Where creeks sing on, and tall trees grow,
Some paradise where horses go.
For by the love that guides my pen.
I KNOW great horses live again. "
~ Stanley Harrison
I've known horses,
known them all.
From the long-necked Arabs
to the stocky apaloosas.
I'd rather have one
than have a car.
I've never loved a horse,
never cared at all,
I had a mule
stubborn as me,
loved as much as hated.
when I tied him to that tree,
He continue eating grass
as if I had set him free.
You know something listeners. I come from a military family, but that does not preclude me from looking at a new menu, and Alice doesn't live there anymore.<smile>
Well, edgar. I am going to leave that question unanswered until we see what McTag comes up with tomorrow.
Until that time. Let's hear a song from David Bowie.
Goodbye love
Didn't know what time it was the lights were low oh how
I leaned back on my radio oh oh
Some cat was layin' down some rock 'n' roll 'lotta soul, he said
Then the loud sound did seem to fade a ade
Came back like a slow voice on a wave of phase ha hase
That weren't no d.j. that was hazy cosmic jive
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie
I had to phone someone so I picked on you ho ho
Hey, that's far out so you heard him too! o o
Switch on the tv we may pick him up on channel two
Look out your window I can see his light a ight
If we can sparkle he may land tonight a ight
Don't tell your poppa or he'll get us locked up in fright
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie
Starman waiting in the sky
He'd like to come and meet us
But he thinks he'd blow our minds
There's a starman waiting in the sky
He's told us not to blow it
Cause he knows it's all worthwhile
He told me:
Let the children lose it
Let the children use it
Let all the children boogie
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
La, la, la, la, la, la, la, la
David Bowie
Alice's Restaurant was sold many years ago, if I correctly recall.
Bless Joan Baez.
All The Weary Mothers Of The Earth Lyrics
All the weary mothers of the earth will finally rest;
We will take their babies in our arms, and do our best.
When the sun is low upon the field,
To love and music they will yield,
And the weary mothers of the earth will rest.
And the farmer on his tractor, and beside his plow,
Will stand there in confusion as we wet his brow
With the tears of all the businessmen
Who see what they have done to him,
And the weary farmers of the earth shall rest.
And the aching workers of the world again shall sing
These words in mighty choruses to all will bring -
"We shall no longer be the poor,
For no one owns us any more,"
And the workers of the world again shall sing.
And when the soldiers burn their uniforms in every land,
And the foxholes at the borders will be left unmanned -
General, when you come for the review
The troops will have forgotten you,
And the men and women of the earth shall rest.
Reincarnation
"What does reincarnation mean?"
A cowpoke asked his friend.
His pal replied, "It happens when
Yer life has reached its end.
They comb yer hair, and warsh yer neck,
And clean yer fingernails,
And lay you in a padded box
Away from life's travails.
"The box and you goes in a hole,
That's been dug into the ground.
Reincarnation starts in when
Yore planted 'neath a mound.
Them clods melt down, just like yer box,
And you who is inside.
And then yore just beginnin' on
Yer transformation ride.
"In a while the grass'll grow
Upon yer rendered mound.
Till some day on yer flattened grave
A lonely flower is found.
"And say a hoss should wander by
And graze upon this flower
That once wuz you, but now's become
Yer vegetative bower.
"The posey that the hoss done ate
Up, with his other feed,
Makes bone, and fat, and muscle
Essential to the steed.
But some is left that he can't use
And so it passes through,
And finally lays upon the ground
this thing, that once wuz you.
"Then say, by chance, I wanders by
And sees this upon the ground,
And I ponders, and I wonders at,
This object that I found.
I thinks of reincarnation,
Of life and death, and such,
And come away concludin': Slim,
You ain't changed, all that much."
By © Wallace McRae
Sweet and greener pastures, Bob and dys. Both beautiful tributes to the wild and free. It doesn't matter if they are tethered, does it.
Diane, and a salute to all earth mothers everywhere.
Well, listeners. This earth mother has some things to do.
Do horses ever roll their eyes? Oh, yes. I've seen it.
Letty, have you read about the project to increase the Florida panther population? Texas female panthers have been brought in to increase the gene pool in order to provide a better selection for future panthers.
The population has increased I think by over half and the Texas females have been returned to Texas so that the Florida panther won't be diluted more than necessary. The kittens are stronger and have a better survival rate. There is hope.
Here are a couple of photos. I think puma faces, whether in Florida or in the southwest, are the most beautiful of all the big cats.
Prowling the Everglades
Oh, God, Diane. They are so beautiful. Yes, I saw that, honey. Thank you so much for those wild things.
Strange, listeners. Everything reminds me of something.
The Princess and the Puma
The Ghost and the Darkness
A Passion in the Desert
The eye of the Tiger.
Uhoh! I must quit this animal blitz and do regular stuff. The next thing I know, I'll be seeing unicorns in my garden. <smile>
Bob, I missed your reincarnation song. I love it.
Hey, lover. You haven't said one word about your Karaoke gig. You are sooooo modest, right listeners?
While I wait for my dinner to cook, let's take a long and serious look at a beautiful and discerning poem by Sara Teasdale:
Since There Is No Escape
Since there is no escape, since at the end
My body will be utterly destroyed,
This hand I love as I have loved a friend,
This body I tended, wept with and enjoyed;
Since there is no escape even for me
Who love life with a love too sharp to bear:
The scent of orchards in the rain, the sea
And hours alone too still and sure for prayer --
Since darkness waits for me, then all the more
Let me go down as waves sweep to the shore
In pride; and let me sing with my last breath;
In these few hours of light I lift my head;
Life is my lover -- I shall leave the dead
If there is any way to baffle death.
