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November 22, 2003
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As I get
older I find I get essential solace and renewal from music, especially
music of the remarkable years from the late 1960s to the early 1970s,
when we all thought we could
save the world. One of my favourite musician-songwriters from that
period is Ottawa's Bruce
Cockburn. A pilgrimmage to Le Hibou coffeehouse to
see Bruce or one of the many other great folk artists and poets of the
day was the Canadian equivalent of a trip to the Village to see Bob
Dylan. In the early 1970s, Bruce was at the top of his form, turning
out lyrics at once angry and poetic, underlined by rich, unique and
challenging guitar riffs. He turned out two really exceptional albums, Joy Will Find a Way and In the Falling Dark that I think
are among the best albums of their genre. If you've never heard his
music, you can buy it here, and
listen to some samples here. His
poetry is exemplary in its own right, and I found his words and music
immensely cathartic last week, a week of disheartening news, watching
our society's seemingly hopeless decline into endless violence, terror,
retribution and rage. Here are the lyrics from three of his songs from
the above two albums.

Gavin's Woodpile
Working out on Gavin's woodpile
Safe within the harmony of kin
Visions begin to crowd my eyes
Like a meteor shower in the autumn skies
And the soil beneath me seems to moan
With a sound like the wind through a hollow bone
And my mind fills with figures like Lappish runes of power
And log slams on rough-hewn log
And a voice from somewhere scolds a barking dog.
I remember a bleak-eyed prisoner
In the Stoney Mountain life-suspension home
You drink and fight and damage someone
And they throw you away for some years of boredom
One year done and five more to go --
No job waiting so no parole
And over and over they tell you that you're nothing...
and I toss another log on Gavin's
woodpile
and wonder at the lamp-warm window's welcome smile.
I remember crackling embers
Coloured windows shining through the rain
Like the coloured slicks on The English River
Death in the marrow and death in the liver
And some government gambler with his mouth full of steak
Saying, "If you can't eat the fish, fish in some other lake.
To watch a people die -- it is no new thing."
And the stack of wood grows higher
and higher
And a helpless rage seems to set my brain on fire.
And everywhere the free space fills
Like a punctured diving suit and i'm
Paralyzed in the face of it all
Cursed with the curse of these modern times
Distant mountains, blue and liquid,
Luminous like a thickening of sky
Flash in my mind like a stairway to life --
A train whistle cuts through the scene like a knife
Three hawks wheel in a dazzling sky --
A slow motion jet makes them look like a lie
And I'm left to conclude there's no human answer near...

In the Falling Dark
And the lights lie tumbled out like
gems
The moon is nothing but a toothless grin
Floating out on the evening wind
The smell of sweat and lube oil pervades the night
And the rush of life in flight at the speed of light
A million footsteps whispering
A guitar sounds -- some voices sing
Smoke on the breeze -- eyes that sting
Far in the east a yellow cloud bank climbs
Stretching away to be part of tomorrow's time
Earthbound while everything expands
So many grains of sand
Slipping from hand to hand
Catching the light and falling into dark
The world fades out like an overheard remark
In the falling dark
Light pours from a million radiant
lives
Off of kids and dogs and the hard-shelled husbands and wives
All that glory shining around and we're all caught taking a dive
And all the beasts of the hills around shout, "such a waste!
Don't you know that from the first to the last we're all one in the
gift of grace!"

A Long-Time Love Song
Can't trace this conversation --
Words fragment and fall
Into blue shadows by a white-baked wall.
Through shimmering spaces a single thrush calls --
A song when it's over is no song at all
And you know I long to feel that sail
Leaping in the wind
And i long to see what lies beyond that rim
Oh, ever-new lover and friend
Sing me that love song again.
Time measured in summersaults
And flickering kids' play --
Cross-world and southward it's a fine summer day
Translucent life-span evaporates away
To bead on the cool grass in a cyclic ballet

Oh, damn it, I'm crying again. Gotta get some sleep.
Postscript: The image above is
of a painting by Canadian artist Alex Colville entitled "Horse &
Train". Bruce used it as cover art for one of his albums and wrote "The
horse seems to contain such energy, as if it were a charged particle of
pure spirit. This sense of spirit, in confrontation with material
power, is something any artist can relate to. A sense of impending
doom, too, I think". The painting hangs in the National Gallery of
Canada.
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10:39:48 AM
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© Copyright 2004
Dave Pollard.
Last update:
19/02/2004; 2:56:44 PM. |
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