Tag Archives: Music

LEONARD COHEN AT EIGHTY

LEONARD COHEN AT EIGHTY

There is a crack in everything
that’s how the light gets in

Anthem

Growing old does not dim
the magic that you hold
for you were always old

That women want
to sleep with their fathers
Freud would not consider odd
(though nuns may call it God)

but no matter how many cracks
you or the light might see
growing old is still
not all it’s cracked up to be

so you’ve fought
depression all your life
and perhaps you always will

but for mere boys who must compete
it’s more depressing still

ON THAT NOTE

ON THAT NOTE

Classical music fills the car
as we home from the airport in traffic

Our host is from Bulgaria
he plays the trombone, his wife the violin
sometimes they tour, sometimes he drives cab
He loves Austin, he loves his wife

Ahead and around
drivers speed and weave

I wonder what they’re listening to

REMEMBERING VALDY

REMEMBERING VALDY

Play me a rock and roll song
or don’t play me no song at all

I might not remember your name
but I know you’re a friend all the same
when you put the needle down
on that record by the bed

Everything that still moves moves
and memories come flooding back

Girls and cars and beer
as every year becomes that year

Thank you dear

PICKING ON THE BANJO

PICKING ON THE BANJO

When I pick on a banjo
it’s like a bully pickin’ on you
for your lunch money

In high school I tortured a trumpet
hitting the high notes and the low
with many a glancing blow

While Johnny’s boy, damn his hide,
could pick up any instrument

Didn’t have to think or practice
or anything
the music just told him where to put his fingers

BACH IN IRAQ

BACH IN IRAQ

I should have seen it coming

All the songs are machine guns now

It is not so far from rock, to rap

to rat-a-tat-tat

the beats getting harder and harder

and closer and closer together

Sitting at an Austin stop sign

cars filled with soldiers on each side

In a cross-fire of decibels, I think

“No one is playing Bach in Iraq”

as all three cars shudder and shake

I lift my hands in surrender

they keep firing

IN HAARLAM

IN HAARLAM

In Haarlam
ten streets converge
on the huge Grote Markt

A church with a 130 foot high tower
one of the finest organs in the world
pipes as long as thirty three feet

Played by Handel and by Mozart too
resting place of Hals and de Key

But its always been a market square
old guild houses and fine shops
carved stone in a dozen colours
centuries and centuries old

In the corner, red and white
and as plastic as tomorrow
the twin dikes of McDonalds