The music of poetry

Thanks to the Better Half, today I learned something new about one of my favorite singer/songwriters, Ani DiFranco: she’s also a published poet and author. Somehow, I had missed that, probably because I usually search either for music or for poetry/writing but rarely for both at the same time. The Better Half bought DiFranco’s The Knowing for our granddaughter’s upcoming birthday. As I was checking online reviews, I came across a reference to DiFranco’s poetry and went looking specifically for that (Verses) and then came across No Walls and the Recurring Dream: A Memoir. Interestingly, her book of poetry isn’t listed on the “books” page of her web site. Since I currently am in possession of two plus shelves of (indirectly inherited) unread poetry volumes, I’m a little hesitant to add Ms. DiFranco’s just yet, but I expect to get the unread down to a point where I can add to the stacks. Then, a copy of Verses may well show up. May such be my biggest problem for the next several months.

poetry complements music complements poetry

Photo by J. Harrington

Summer has returned in the form of a warm (80℉), sunny afternoon. It’s not helping our drought, but neither is it unseasonable. There’s a chance of a little rain tonight and tomorrow, so we’ll cross our fingers and hope for the best. There’s still six weeks of autumn community supported agriculture [CSA] shares to look forward to, beginning tomorrow. Our share box is reported to contain:

• SPAGHETTI SQUASH
• CARAFLEX CABBAGE
• GREEN ONION
• FRENCH BREAKFAST RADISH
• CHERRY TOMATOES
• BROCCOLI, and
• BRIGHT LIGHTS CHARD

Once again the Better Half will rise to the occasions (yes, plural) and turn things I’d normally try to avoid consuming into something I find at least palatable. If I didn’t think we needed more and stronger local food systems (residual affinity from my folkies and hippies days), we wouldn’t purchase CSA shares each year and I wouldn’t be faced with the prospect of eating so many fresh veggies. It’s all living proof of the old saying “No good deed shall go unpunished.” 

The Weary Blues

Langston Hughes     1901 – 1967

Droning a drowsy syncopated tune,
Rocking back and forth to a mellow croon,
     I heard a Negro play.
Down on Lenox Avenue the other night
By the pale dull pallor of an old gas light
     He did a lazy sway . . .
     He did a lazy sway . . .
To the tune o’ those Weary Blues.
With his ebony hands on each ivory key
He made that poor piano moan with melody.
     O Blues!
Swaying to and fro on his rickety stool
He played that sad raggy tune like a musical fool.
     Sweet Blues!
Coming from a black man’s soul.
     O Blues!
In a deep song voice with a melancholy tone
I heard that Negro sing, that old piano moan—
     "Ain’t got nobody in all this world,
       Ain’t got nobody but ma self.
       I’s gwine to quit ma frownin’
       And put ma troubles on the shelf."

Thump, thump, thump, went his foot on the floor.
He played a few chords then he sang some more—
     "I got the Weary Blues
       And I can’t be satisfied.
       Got the Weary Blues
       And can’t be satisfied—
       I ain’t happy no mo’
       And I wish that I had died."
And far into the night he crooned that tune.
The stars went out and so did the moon.
The singer stopped playing and went to bed
While the Weary Blues echoed through his head.
He slept like a rock or a man that's dead.

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