“At dawn, my lover comes to me
And tells me of her dreams,
With no attempts to shovel a glimpse
Into the ditch of what each one means.
At times, I think there are no words
But these to tell what’s true.
And there are no truths outside the Gates of Eden.”
I don’t understand the lyrics to that song any better than I did 47 years ago, but I love it anyway. As this last verse suggests, sometimes a song is like a dream- we have to appreciate its images for what they are, without trying to impose some kind of meaning on them.
An obscure one I’ve always loved from “Open the Door, Homer:”
“Take care of all your memories”
Said my friend, Mick
“For you cannot relive them
And remember when you’re out there
Tryin’ to heal the sick
That you must always
First forgive them”
Louise, she’s all right, she’s just near
She’s delicate and seems like the mirror
But she just makes it all too concise and too clear
That Johanna’s not here.
Do we all have a Johanna, a path not taken, now overgrown with regret? Or am I a depressed, old romantic?
I was just wondering, chappachula, if reading through this thread helped you “get it” or if **EinsteinsHund **'s quote in post 38 helped at all? Another thing that might be interesting to you would be to read some of the poetry that has won the Nobel prize in the past. For example, Rudyard Kipling or Pablo Neruda. If you read some of that and then read through this thread I think it might help you to see that yes this is worthy of a Nobel prize. (Poetry is a little less linear than you might be expecting for a Nobel prize, maybe? or more topical?)
FTR, from album to CD and listening with pretty good earplugs, and despite that I quoted the published lyric from his own damned website, on the recording he says “she seems like veneer,” a delicate and beautiful wood product.
Well, my telephone rang it would not stop
It’s President Kennedy callin’ me up
He said, My friend, Bob, what do we need to make the country grow?
I said my friend, John, Brigitte Bardot
Anita Ekberg
Sophia Loren
Country’ll grow