jónsi sang go

jónsi sang go

i thought i was ready to throw off
winter’s weight as soon as spring
peeked from the ground, softened
the stark dark trees, that i too
could again be green and colour
and soft earth, but the cold
deadness clung with suffocating
hands to its post, dug in deep
and obstinate. so i took jónsi on a walk.
out through the sunlit streets, filled
my eyes with petalspetalspetals
all orangeredyellowwhitepink.
the magnolias bursting – branches
once heavy burdened with snow
and ice – now in flight against blue sky
waving their arms adorned (aburst!)
with pinkwhite blossoms, sharing
their glory with the grass below – a sprinkling
of pinkwhite salt seasoning the green.
my feet sang along – starting and stopping,
turning, slowing, lifting (sometimes imagining
in their minds – twirling) and then i found a tree
and sat beneath it when what i really wanted
was to lay on the grass, gazing up

it took a moment, but my feet
talked me into it – “go do”
they sang with jónsi – so i lay back
and the streets were no more –
just me, the tree, the blue and
masses of white cloud creating
a moving landscape beyond
the dark stark branches
sprinkled with leaf buds.
occasionally birds flew past.
and once a dry brown leaf skittered
from the ground up over me
its dead dryness somehow
a part of this simple playful
scene of bluewhitebrown
while i lay, one with the green

“no one knows you, till it’s over”
maybe that means even me.
maybe i’ll be surprised by
who i can be when it’s over.

*inspired by jónsi's album, go.

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wake up

i was particularly struck by the words of this arcade fire song today:

Wake Up

Somethin’ filled up
my heart with nothin’,
someone told me not to cry.

But now that I’m older,
my heart’s colder,
and I can see that it’s a lie.

Children wake up,
hold your mistake up,
before they turn the summer into dust.

If the children don’t grow up,
our bodies get bigger but our hearts get torn up.
We’re just a million little god’s causin rain storms
Turnin’ every good thing to rust.

I guess we’ll just have to adjust.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’ to be
when the reaper he reaches and touches my hand.

With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am goin’
With my lighnin’ bolts a glowin’
I can see where I am go-goin’

You better look out below!

like all good poems - it can't truly be explained line by line. but overall there is this simple honesty that fills me with hope. the recognition that whatever you thought before that brought you to this place of coldness can be shed. 'wake up'. 'hold your mistake up'.

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sigur rós

i've known of sigur rós for several years now, possibly five or six. but i've never owned an album or even listened (knowingly) to an entire one. there've just been a few songs that friends have shared with me that i've listened to over and over.

when i heard that they were playing in kc this summer something in me knew i couldn't miss this. even though it was nearly $30, i had to go.

ethereal. childlike. imaginative. playful. inspiring. delightful.

these are just a few words to describe the experience. i don't know what the land of iceland does to create its musicians, but bjork and emiliana, also embody these - have this amazing full-range of voice.

there were moments when the music would fill every corner of the theatre with its loudness. and there were moments when the single sound of the bells or one voice could fill everything with its quietness. sometimes all eyes were drawn to the stage where magical onion-like globes hung suspended in coloured lights, glowing yellow from within. and there were times when the lights fanned out green across the ceiling and into the crowd. once i even noticed how the bank of lights cast a shadow on the ceiling - a normally mundane tangle of wires and cylinders suddenly mysterious and part of the beauty filling up the room.

watching the band, it was the music that played them; they themselves were the instruments. the way they would sometimes all quiet themselves so that one could play or sing; the rest still. eyes down. waiting, listening for where the music wants to go next.

during the encore song, i watched as jónsi sang. for the first time during the evening, he held nothing in his hands. and they couldn't be still. couldn't stay down at his sides, where he tried to keep them. they found their way up, first one, then the other.

my only complaint: i'd love to hear them w/o a yelling crowd. i sense the band understands how to use silence and i'd love to experience that.

*inspired by sigur rós's Med Sud I Eyrum Vid Spilum Endalaust album.

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"did you think we'd all dream the same?"

i've been hinted at and told recently that it's been a long time since i posted. i always feel like i have to have some great event to report, so i wait...and wait. in an effort to end the waiting - i decided to take a step and post something.

this morning i was driving, listening to my ipod and in one of those moments that seems perfectly timed, this song by missy higgins started playing.

"Scar"

He left a card, a bar of soap and a scrubbing brush next to a note
That said "use these down to your bones"
And before I knew I had shiny skin and it felt easy being clean like him
I thought "this one knows better than I do"

A triangle trying to squeeze through a circle
He tried to cut me so I'd fit

And doesn't that sound familiar? Doesn't that hit too close to home?
Doesn't that make you shiver; the way things could've gone?
And doesn't it feel peculiar when everyone wants a little more?
And so that I do remember to never go that far,
Could you leave me with a scar?

So the next one came with a bag of treats, she smelled like sugar and
spoke like the sea
And she told me don't trust them, trust me
Then she pulled at my stitches one by one, looked at my insides clicking
her tongue and said
"This will all have to come undone"

A triangle trying to squeeze through a circle
She tried to blunt me so I'd fit

And doesn't that sound familiar? Doesn't that hit too close to home?
Doesn't that make you shiver; the way things could have gone?
And doesn't it feel peculiar when everyone wants a little more?
And so that I do remember to never go that far,
Could you leave me with a scar?

I think I realized just in time, although my old self was hard to find
You can bathe me in your finest wine but I'll never give you mine
'Cos I'm a little bit tired of fearing that I'll be the bad fruit nobody buys
Tell me, did you think we'd all dream the same?

And doesn't that sound familiar? Doesn't that hit too close to home?
Doesn't that make you shiver; the way things could have gone?
And doesn't it feel peculiar when everyone wants a little more?
And so that I do remember to never go that far,
Could you leave me with a scar?
Could you leave me with a scar?

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musical vision

just found out that the irish hymn "be thou my vision" (one of my favourites) was written to the tune of a song about slane hill, which is where st. patrick bravely lit the pascal fire, defying the king, and one of the first steps in beginning the spread of christianity around ireland.

some sufjan comfort

i always knew you
in your mother's arms
i have called your name
i have an idea
placed in your mind
to be a better man
i've made a crown for you
put it in your room
and when the bride groom comes
there will be noise
there will be glad
and a perfect bed
and when you write a poem
i know the words
i know the sounds
before you write it down
only wear your clothes
i wear them too
i wear your shoes
and your jacket too
i always knew you
in your mother's arms
i have called you son
i've made amends
between father and son
or if you haven't one
rest in my arms
sleep in my bed
there is a design
to what i did and said

{from vito's ordination song}

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