None of this has a thing to do with this tune. I’d gotten the germ for it some years ago and put it aside, possibly because it started as a banjo tune and all banjo tunes are suspect. On banjo, it sounded aggressive and militaristic, though you might not intimidate the enemy if you sweep down upon them, banjos blaring. I tried it on guitar and noticed, by cracky, it’s a waltz. I could have named it “Waltzing ~,” but the Copyright Office doesn’t allow special characters in song titles. It doesn’t even allow apostrophes or commas. Which is why the level of literacy in this country is deplorable.
Some of this is true. The rest of it is true in spirit.
Blue Circle
She said just let me remind you there’s snakes in paradise
I was staring at her tattoo, she was staring at my eyes
I said you don’t have to warn me, you leave nothing to suppose
On her shoulder, a blue circle,
barbed wire round a rose
She threw a twenty on the table and she grabbed me by the sleeve
she said a man your age is supposed to know just when it’s time to leave
I said I’m the one’s been waiting, for how long, heaven knows
Just didn’t know the sign would be
barbed wire round a rose
I don’t know what the moon was doing, was it quarter, was it half
If we talked I don’t remember, did we cry or did we laugh
And I didn’t need to wonder whether this is how it goes
Every question, every answer
barbed wire round a rose
A few turns around the graveyard, just the crickets and the night
She put her Karman Ghia top down, cut the engine, killed the lights
She said now it makes no difference eyes open or eyes closed
better than a promise
barbed wire round a rose
Like you, I boldly posit theories right and left, though I might have only one slim bit evidence for their soundness. Back when I taught poetry, I told my students I felt strongly that all language has its basis in onomatopoeia. I warned them, frequently, that I was full of crap, and that I’d reward–not punish–anyone who challenged me successfully. Nobody ever did. Either they found my wacko notions fetching, or they were as leery and contemptuous of academic research as I am, or they were lazy. I always suspected the latter, though I never researched it. But the word squawk does seem a case in point. Should a researcher find that all language does spring from onomatopoeia, I will withdraw my theory. I don’t mind frauds, but ones who procure taxpayer funded grants, I cannot abide.
Grayson come from Eden
ugly handsome, straight as Southern pine
said he’d take his chances maybe east
in Caroline
Whiskey in the wagon
barrel of bourbon, smooth as brandy wine
swore he’d never slave another day
down in the mine
Turned mighty cold since we left Eden
bucket of coal to keep from freezing
ache in your soul to find
a little something
for your sorrows and regret
And who’s going to blame a one who’s shivering
giving but so far unforgiven
Who wouldn’t buy a dram
if it’s close as he can get
Mary rode beside him
dress of gingham, sun all in her eyes
baby in her arms
another coming in July
Lord, but she was winsome
had a bit of gypsy, could see it in her ways
took some hard convincing
before she’d end her rambling days
But sometimes the cold just gets right in you
seems like it holds something against you
sometimes you want a tether
when you fear you’ll blow away
And who’s going to blame a soul for staying
counting the toll each day you’re paying
Who wouldn’t buy a chance to get
as close as close we may
If I ever got to ask an enlightened being just one question, it would be “Why, every now and then, do I get a vivid vivid memory of some meaningless moment in my life, like what the sidewalk outside Sidlin’s Drugstore looked like, or my 9th grade Algebra teacher’s shoes? Especially when what I’m doing at the time has nothing in common with that memory?” I feel as if we’re owed this answer, and I wouldn’t sign on to any religion that didn’t promise I’d get it.
Somewhere Else to Cry
How is it I can see your eyes?
You got away so many years ago
and even you could not say why
but through your laughter
mentioned sorrow
I guess you’d say that we were friends
they’ve got a name for almost everything
And though our story had an end
Can’t say the same
about remembering
You got aboard a northbound train
a single suitcase and a dime
said we never stop our running from the rain
we only go somewhere else to cry
Everybody knows the sound
a half-gone dinner plate
that’s set to break
and so we set each other down
like all we needed
was one more mistake
We couldn’t trust such tenderness
we thought it just another lie
we were certain
nothing like that ever lasts
best just to run somewhere else to cry
How is it I still see your eyes?
I don’t believe I’ve known a sadder blue
I’ve known the oceans and the skies
I’ve known sweet laughter
and I have known you
I hear the distant evening train
the long steel rail
the short cross-tie
always rolling far away
or home again
somewhere to laugh
somewhere else to cry