Teki peipon pötkyläinen poskionteloon pesänsä, poikasensa pärskytellen nykivät ulos nokasta. Lampun luona lätkyttivät vilkkaan lempivät lepakot, varjo voihki valvojalle, sydäntä vilu väristi.
Hiki hyrskyi huokosista, virtasi vihan vesistö, kurkku karvas käärmeenpäästä, häntä vatsassa vaelsi. Maistunut ei muikkupaistos, mädältä mehukin haisi, soraa, sontaa sieraimissa, keuhkoputkessa kataja.
Vaan on ollut lohtu läsnä, lempi lääkkeenä lähellä, sormet rintaa sipsutellen, käsi kuumetta kokeillut, kermakeitto kurpitsainen, raukalle ravinto tuotu, iloksensa inkivääri sekä rohdoksi ripaistu.
Illan tullen tutjuleuka vaivasta vähän vapisi, vielä vaipui vierellensä kumppani kevätesikko. Mikäs siinä supsutella, sääret yhdessä sipistä, mieli aamuun miukuvainen, uinui kuntohon kehokin.
We’re getting into truly upsetting territory in many ways, and the feelings involved are complex and a bit contradictory. The topics in themselves are unsettling, slavery and how other animals are also mistreated in the name of what some people call just or a natural right.
But then there’s also a growing recognition that the narrator is not an innocent bystander, and that in fact being a bystander makes him guilty as well. It’s easy to pass moral judgment, and yet the guilt remains. How often we are aware of atrocities committed all over the world, yet we keep doing nothing. One can always say that it’s not our responsibility, appealing to lack of a singular moral authority. But then actually witnessing the things that happen it becomes very hard not to feel responsible for the suffering of others. Who can just stand idly by while others are enslaved and slaughtered?
Also, the punishments themselves are becoming so cruel that there’s a growing recognition that this is not right either, no matter what these people did, and the narrator is starting to hate himself for going through this. There’s an ever growing feeling that the narrator is the one who is both the punisher and the one being punished. I rarely state it as directly as here, with the final line about the brander and the face burnt; usually it’s merely implied with the feelings of guilt and the comparisons made to the narrator’s own indiscretions. Often they aren’t even named, but I’m hinting that such things exist.
The first page of the canto in its current form describes a dream of happy times and love. I wrote it as a kind of relief, and it only came into existence in the last round of rewriting when I scrapped the original beginning. In the original I jumped straight into the more theoretical ethical problems and how Dante describes them later in the canto, and I do believe this works better.
As to why it became a dream of love: I may have thought it as a relief, but if I remember correctly, my partner of many years left me the previous week when I was due to rewrite this canto. The scene describes nothing that has actually happened, but there’s a wistful feeling of love lost, gratitude and regret. Impermanence. The sadness I was feeling at the time isn’t fully expressed in the canto, nor would it have been pertinent, but I’m sure the recent break-up affected how the lines turned out. I kept working on the book with a regular schedule, and of course it was already the fourth or fifth version, so usually it didn’t require extensive rewrites. Only now, without a relationship to keep me grounded, I wrote more fiercely, day and night, diving deep into this world which was very upsetting to live in.
Suutelin suurta kiveä, kaipasin kallioita, saviset sävyt sekoittuivat silmieni sineen, enkä nähnyt muuta, niin oli suloiseksi silinnyt jäämassojen muisto, niin on ikuista ihmisen yksinäisyys, tähdet hehkuvat, pimeää.
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Kiertyisimme, valuisimme lämpimänä hiekkana toisiimme, painautuen yhteen, kylki etsii sormen kaarta, oksat taipuvat hedelmien painosta, hetket katsoen syvempään mäntykangassilmiäsi, kirsikkapuun kaarnaa ja valo täynnä humisevaa tunnetta, keveys toisiaan kaipaavissa käsissä kuin pääskyt yli kuohuvan metsän, kiihkeän meren, jokainen pärskäys koskettaa taivasta, koska tästä se alkaa, ei korkeammalta, tästä missä vuori kurottaa, hiekka helisee, aallot kuin huulet, ilman ja veden virtaus, maanpiiri, jota etsimme, kuiskaus kohti.
Tavallisesti postailen runoja, jotka on saatettu kirjoittaa milloin vain, mutta nämä kaksi kirjoitin juuri nyt. Eli ehkä tämä on jonkinlainen kuva tästä hetkestä, mikä ajatuksissa liikahti, runoilijan yskähdys ilman aikaa miettiä, mikä on runollista.
When I first heard this song as a part of Sinatra’s 10 CD box set I didn’t know it was a jazz standard, nor that it was Sinatra’s first hit, recorded in 1940. But it was clearly a standout track. Quite a few Sinatra’s early records follow the same formula, the orchestra first playing the tune in full, followed by Sinatra’s crooning, the track ending pretty abruptly. No fade-outs back then, and I wonder when they became popular.
I much prefer Sinatra’s soft crooning style to his later songs which often sound like he’s straining much more, some tension always present. Here the vocals are smooth, and the saxophone on the track complements it very nicely to fit the romantic mood.
The story of a couple meeting at a country dance, but there’s some quirkiness to it, with some funny rhymes. I especially like “perplexed one – next one”. And of course the “pug-nosed dream,” implying that the woman in question has a strange feature but he still finds her dreamy. The social judgment is always present, as other dancers look at them askance.
Acknowledging such traits there’s a strange gray area where acceptance and a sense of superiority meet. On the one hand, you can say that it’s genuine love indeed, saying that he acknowledges her pug nose and even considers it endearing, not caring what everyone else things. On the other hand, the very fact that he keeps bringing up that feature sounds like he feels superior for his acceptance, wants to revel in it. Like it is not about the woman after all, but about the narrator’s need to feel great about himself, his admiration of something that others scoff at. It’s not a self-evident interpretation, but it’s not that far-fetched either, so that’s why I call it a gray area. Acceptance is fine, but when one starts to take such pride in the acceptance it’s not about the other person at all.
I liked playing this song in my early 20s, and looking at the sheet music now I notice that the tune has some really nice tensions in how the phrases avoid the tonic. Each phrase ends with 7th, flat 7th, 9th or 6th note of the scale, just skirting around the tonic note until the very end. While it’s a standard composition trick, I do think it’s a well-written tune creating a narrative with a clear beginning and an end even without the lyrics.
The song has been recorded by many artists, Bill Evans and Chet Baker among others. Baker’s version is pretty nice too, as his soft way of playing the trumpet fits this kind of ballad well.
Tyhjä kirjekuori kädessään hän kulkee halki ihmismetsikön, odottaa miestä nimeltä Nikomakhos, joka kirjoittaisi mustekynällä kiihkeän viestin. Mikään ei ratkea, kaikki on yhtä epämoraalista tai moraalista avaruuden, jokaisen paperin tyhjyydessä, kukaan ei kirjoita, sormet puristavat tiukemmin kuorta, ainoaa toivoa. Hän avaa sen joka aamu, kurkistaa sisälle, miettii tyhjyydenkin tuoksuvan maan päällä, eräänlainen Pandora.
The first canto where the topic is truly controversial, and I did have some trouble trying to get the tone right. Sexuality in general tends to be a sensitive subject. Who is being judged, and who has the right to judge? I have not revealed why exactly the people in the Underworld have ended up there. It’s more important to describe the inner condition of the person rather than someone else’s morality.
Here the idea is not that sex would be bad. Rather, I decided to explore the idea that when certain acts are taken as signifiers of freedom, therein lies the danger that someone is taken advantage of. Freedom is not proved by one particular action in all possible circumstances, but when people believe it is, that may mean becoming subject to manipulation. Thus the topic is not really sexuality but rather our notions of freedom, and how they too may become a shackle. Kant’s categorical imperative is wrong because one action cannot be made into a universal law, as there are no universal circumstances.
The sorrow described thus does not come from the things she has done, and she vehemently opposes the idea. It’s about being taken advantage of, the sadness and self-reproach involved that people may be stuck in, bitterness and the desire to lay blame somewhere. The narrator is an observer staying quite detached in the situation. It’s not so much about what is right, but about how fluid our assessments of reality are.
I’m still not sure whether I got the point across, because this topic is such a minefield to navigate. And ultimately this canto, like so many others, is about loneliness, the lack of connection to other people and to one’s own feelings and desires.
A song evocative of summer evenings, its laid-back tempo sets the tone that was present in a lot of Cale’s music afterwards, present already on his first album. The husky vocals approach a whisper, suggesting gentleness, as if the situation is too tender to state anything in a normal voice. Maybe it is very late or early in the morning, the singer is missing his beloved, and doesn’t want to disturb the neighbours, yet has to keep on singing.
The lyrics refer to gentle mornings, but the summer breeze and the sound of the music make me rather think of a warm evening. Instruments pop in for a moment, bursts of strummed guitars or bent guitar notes lingering like on a swaying branch. Little birds flapping their wings, these softly moaning notes. The guitar breathes, sings a slow line, then returns to silence, waiting, inhaling deeply.
The chords and melody are simple: for the most part the song uses just alternating tonic and subdominant chords. But simplicity doesn’t mean it’s easy to do. A simple song may approach universal feelings, like here the slight tension and release of the chord functions, but there’s always a risk of sounding trite, evoking impressions of children’s songs and musical clichés. The difficulty in these bluesy sounds is that one must make the song interesting with elements that have been used countless times before. Sometimes the differences are very subtle, which creates a challenge for the listener.
Here I think the song has such a unique style that it transcends the simplicity to create a mood that is at the same time universal and particular. The particularity comes from the sound that creates a sense of time and place, and that is enough to make it interesting. That’s why Cale was a good guitarist even if the lines aren’t fast or complex. However, I find that appreciating such music does require an already existing mood, or at least willingness to dive into this tranquil meditation on summer and the wistful, if happy, longing for a distant lover.
Last week I was picking bilberries in the evening (my freezer is now full, so the season is already over for me), and after listening to the radio I listened to music on shuffle, and this song came on just as I was walking home, still in the woods but close enough to the edge of the forest to see pine trees golden with light, everything turning orange as I slowly stepped toward the setting sun. No need to rush anywhere, just casually traipsing on the rocky path, avoiding roots and fallen trunks.
I don’t know what magnolia smells like, and my impressions of New Orleans or Tulsa, where Cale hailed from, are probably far from reality. But that’s one of the fascinating aspects of music: it can fit the occasion on the other side of the planet. Is the feeling exactly the same as understood in a forest full of bilberries and somewhere in the southern US? Probably not. It doesn’t really matter, and humans still have similar feelings, similar longing and ambitions, finding comfort resting in the summer breeze recalling happy morning greetings.
