Dragonfly's Poetry & Prolixity: Got Them Transcendental Blues

Saturday, June 16, 2018

Got Them Transcendental Blues

Luna, a painting by my husband, Ray... Original by Oleg Zhivetin

Transcendental Blues
(Steve Earle)

In the darkest hour of the longest night
If it was in my power I'd step into the light
Candles on the alter, penny in your shoe
Walk upon the water — transcendental blues

Happy ever after 'til the day you die
Careful what you ask for, you don't know 'til you try
Hands are in your pockets, starin' at your shoes
Wishin' you could stop it — transcendental blues

If I had it my way, everything would change
Out here on this highway the rules are still the same
Back roads never carry you where you want 'em to
They leave you standin' there with them ol' transcendental blues

~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Steve Earle singing this song:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=icaBLF2U9FI

4 comments:

Terra said...: I am feeling sad today too and wrote a post about Anthony Bourdain's death, to post on Monday. So much joy in this world and so much to cry about too. I can see Ray was a talented painter.; June 16, 2018 at 3:18 PM
Marion said...: Yes, so much sadness in the world...and joy. Ray is a fabulous artist...I hope wherever he is, he's still painting. Art is his salvation & first love. I miss the Ray whose heart was always giving & open...the Meth closed his heart and turned it black. I pray every day that he's clean, sober & happy... xo; June 17, 2018 at 11:15 AM
Snowbrush said...: Ah yes, Austin City Limits. I have memories of watching it with my sister and her husband in the Delta near Tallulah.; June 18, 2018 at 12:08 PM
Marion said...: Snow, my nephew who's a detective in Austin said they film that show, Austin City Limits, in a building outside the city limits. Kind of funny, right?!?!? LOL! xo; June 25, 2018 at 12:42 PM

I Love Lorrie Moore!!

“You’re not a poetess, I hope,” said the English geologist next to her. “We had a poetess here last month, and things got a bit dodgy here for the rest of us.”

“Really.” After the soup, there was risotto with squid ink.

“Yes. She kept referring to insects as ‘God’s typos’ and then she kept us all after dinner one evening so she could read from her poems, which seemed to consist primarily of the repeating line ‘the hairy kiwi of his balls.’”

From: “Birds of America” by Lorrie Moore, page 266, ‘Terrific Mother’

Miranda July's Best Book:

"Do you have doubts about life? Are you unsure if it is worth the trouble? Look at the sky: that is for you. Look at each person's face as you pass on the street: those faces are for you. And the street itself, and the ground under the street, and the ball of fire underneath the ground: all these things are for you. They are as much for you as they are for other people. Remember this when you wake up in the morning and think you have nothing. Stand up and face the east. Now praise the sky and praise the light within each person under the sky. It's okay to be unsure. But praise, praise, praise." From: "No One Belongs Here More Than You Stories by Miranda July", Page 11

A Dreamy, Drug of a Book

"The minute you land in New Orleans, something wet and dark leaps on you and starts humping you like a swamp dog in heat, and the only way to get that aspect of New Orleans off you is to eat it off. That means beignets and crayfish bisque and jambalaya, it means shrimp remoulade, pecan pie and red beans with rice, it means elegant pompano au papillote, funky file z'herbes, and raw oysters by the dozen, it means grillades for breakfast, a po' boy with chowchow at bedtime, and tubs of gumbo in between. It is not unusual for a visitor to the city to gain fifteen pounds in a week---yet the alternative is a whole lot worse. If you don't eat night and day, if you don't constantly funnel the indigenous flavors into your bloodstream, then the mystery beast will go right on humping you, and you will feel its sordid presence rubbing against you long after you have left town." ~Tom Robbins, "Jitterbug Perfume", page 240