St. Clare

Clare was an Italian saint, a prioress of the Franciscan Order. She dedicated her life to prayer and poverty. In fact, her following was known as the Order of the Poor Ladies, or just the Poor Clares. They were also monastic and preferred silence and hard work; they traveled little.

Ironically, she is the patron saint of goldsmiths and gilders, of embroiderers and needle-workers... and television. (Also: good weather, eye disease, and laundry. Obviously, it was eye disease first, then TV; one wonders if this wasn't a wry commentary on TV itself.)

Evidently, the song is about a woman who has left where she is to visit her home. To "keep her safe/ until she returns", a candle is lit and "that saint"-- which we only learn is Clare from the title-- is called upon for sacred protection.

We see "plaster and paint/ holding the fire." Perhaps this is a candlestick cast to resemble Clare, whose hands are positioned to hold the candle itself. She is described as "a poor woman's saint."

Yet, she "holds all man's desire." Well, she is holding a candle. Perhaps it symbolizes what people want-- light, warmth, tranquility. "Desire" doesn't have to mean sexual desire, does it?

Then why say she is a "woman's" saint, and then discuss a "man's" wants? Why not say "all our desire," meaning all of humanity's wants? Something about this woman-- this sacred, silent Clare-- is desirable, it seems.

The woman who left is now called a "bold little bird." She is told to "fly away home." This is a reference to the nursery rhyme "Ladybug, ladybug/ Fly away home." As ladybugs are also called "ladybird beetles," some have misheard the rhyme to be about an actual bird, not a bug.

In any case, she left here, and is going "away" there. But there is "home," so she is returning there, yes? And then she will "return" to here, we hope, where our candle burns for her.

The speaker wishes she could have accompanied her to smooth the way: "Could I but ride herd/ On the wind and the foam." From "foam," we know the woman is traveling over the sea (as in "oceans/ White with foam" from "God Bless America.") The speaker wishes she could have ridden herd, or been in control of, the waves on that sea, so as to make this woman's sea-path as smooth as possible. 


It is this travelling woman's willingness to travel that makes her desirable. After all, the "souls/ That curl by the fire" like a bunch of homebodies will "never know/ All man's desire." But she travels away from the hearth.

Now it is "spring," which implies the earlier part of the song took place in the winter, a bad time for sea travel. This explains why they were so worried about her, and why they were curled by the fire themselves.

It is early enough for the "snow" to "melt," the "stream" to unfreeze and run, and even "green" things like the water-dwelling vegetable "watercress" to grow. But it is still "cold."

Evidently, out travelling woman made it to dry land. She is shown "barefoot" and "cold," and standing or sitting "by the side of the road" now. She is "holding" both "a lyre," or small harp, and "all man's desire."

Why she had to go "home" to do this is unclear. Is she waiting for a ride to take her to her family's house? Is she lost? Or even shipwrecked on the wrong shore? We aren't told.

The lyre is obviously a symbol of music itself, and of poetry. It is associated with poets like King David and the god Apollo.

So, before, it was a "fire," and now a "lyre" that can "hold all man's desire." Perhaps this shows evolution. Early people craved the heat and protection of the fire, and learned of its ability to help cook food and make pots and tools. Later, when these basic needs were conquered, man could turn his desire to finer things, like the arts.

The song ends as it began. The implication is that the woman has not yet returned. The speaker awaits her still, praying for the saint's intervention and keeping the candle lit for her. (The only difference is that we now know it is a "white" candle, if that is significant.)

People go home to visit all the time, then come back to the place they now dwell. They usually travel in good weather if it can be helped, so we may assume that this woman's need to go "home" was urgent. Yet, once she has arrived on her native shore, she seems in no hurry to make it all the way from the port to her destination point. Or has she been home, and is now on her way back to us?

While it is difficult to even understand the sequence of events being described, it is harder still to understand what is being said here.

It seems odd to talk about saints, and women too poor to afford shoes, being ones who hold "all man's desire." Whether "man" means male people or all people, surely many people desire more-- or at least other-- than what it is these women offer, which is enlightenment and piety.

What about the things Clare herself is patron of? Don't people "desire" gold, and fine embroidery, and television? I'm sorry, but the statistics are pretty clear-- people want good reception as much as they want godly redemption.

Perhaps we are reading too much into the song. Perhaps the imagery is merely impressionistic. It is very pretty, sparse in its arrangements as an Order of the Poor Ladies' cloister.

Or perhaps one needs to know more about Suzanne Vega, or Saint Clare, to truly understand it.


Next Song: Zephyr and I

Solitaire

Before we discuss the lyrics, it should be noted that the skittish shuffle of the rhythm track is one of Vega's finest.

The song is about, as it says, "playing solitaire." It may seem like an odd choice for a song, but recall this is a breakup album, and someone who is recently separated might not be ready to go out just yet, or even want to watch TV (all the shows and movies are about relationships anyway) before going to bed. So, out come the cards.

It's also a great thing to do to focus on something other that that thing you are avoiding, without also having to really focus on it, either. In fact, you can do it while "tired." It will help you "unwind" and relax, too.

Aside from the rules, there are certain strategies and "superstitions" that could help: "Otherwise, you're going to lose." So let's begin... shuffle and deal...

But first, we should note that there are two sides to the game. Finding and making patterns can be fulfilling-- "black on the red, and the red on the black... Jack on the Queen and the 10 on the Jack/ it's a happy repetition."

It can even be empowering: "Take what's wrong and make it go right." Who doesn't yearn for that kind of control (especially when enduring the end of a relationship)?

And then, once you really get into it, "Compulsion makes you listen."

What was that? Oh, just the other side of the coin-- success is addictive, and make you want to try again. Failure makes you try again, too-- no one wants to stop on a down note. So, a compulsion is bred: "Do it again, when you find you're all done... You see, you almost won." Oh, c'mon... one more game!

It starts with "try your luck," and ends with "shuffle up your luck." The game itself is tied to superstition-- how will the thing you are about to attempt turn out? Play solitaire and see-- the game's outcome will predict yours.

This leaves "you and your fate in a kind of check-mate." Who is in control-- your will or random chance? Maybe you can tip the balance with some Divine aid: "weave it like a prayer." Maybe the game itself can help you tap into that chaos and subvert it to your will with Heavenly help.

In basic solitaire, 79% of the time, the game is winnable... but no one wins 79% of the time: "You are your only competition." You could win... but can you? Can you muster the insight, the focus? Can you see the way through the maze of numbers and colors? Or will you run smack into a dead end (that you'll never know if you could have avoided)?

Perhaps the question is a matter of intent. If you don't care, you will most likely lose simply because you aren't mentally present. You have to "wrestle down what you want."

If you don't care, you will lose... but then, you didn't care, so did it matter? Yet, if it didn't matter, why did you bother at all?

On the other hand, you could care a whole lot... and still lose. But then, you'll be crushed. You really tried, and still failed. What does that say about you?

"Wonder if you'll spend the night... playing solitaire." The song's repeated question is a tease, a cruel joke. Before the pause, it's an invitation to a night of "romance." After the pause... oh, for crying out loud, what's on TV?

Sitting all alone with a pack of cards was supposed to help us forget the break-up. Now it's just another metaphor for it: What could I have done to make it work? What chances did I miss? Was the failure in the cards, or was it me?

OK, come one... just one more game.


Next Song: St. Claire

Machine Ballerina

In Goodfellas, Tommy DeVito (Joe Pesci) has a famous scene. He tells a funny story, and someone replies, appropriately enough, "You're funny!" Instead of accepting the compliment, he flies off right off the umbrage handle: "Funny like I'm a clown, I amuse you? I make you laugh?"

Here, the speaker asks a similar question of her, we presume, boyfriend: "Am I an afternoon's pastime?" But her question is about being used as, well, as sex toy, a "skin trampoline."

And... that's the song. Just her asking, in various ways, if he thinks of her as a plaything. The rest of it is more plaything metaphors-- she even uses Pesci's words, "amuse" and "clown"-- but also: "A thing on a string," "a toy," "a soft piece of clay," "machine ballerina," "soldier of tin," "a puppet," "MAD magazine," "pinball machine," and "puzzle."

Also, a "birthday phone call" and... more to the point, a "pin-up" and "fantasy girl."

Does she only exist for his "royal... approval... perusal... and possible refusal"? Well? Does she? No answer is recorded.

One clever turn of phrase is a pun on the cliche "in fits and starts." She says she, in his eyes, is made of "puzzling parts/ but none fits or starts."

It's not all physical-- there is some banter or repartee-- "We match wits," she allows... "but not hearts." Even when it's intellectual, it's not emotional.

What the song asks is not an unimportant question, or even a bad metaphor for the experience of being a strung along in a merely physical relationship.

But the song never gets beyond that question, only asking it again and again. She never says, "Well, it seems that way to me, and here's what I think about it," let alone "... and here's what I am going to do about it."

Until she climbs out of the toybox and stalks out the playroom door, it seems she is stuck repeating the same phrases over and over. Like one of those "talking" dolls with a pull-string.


Next Song: Solitaire

Harbor Song

An imagined/remembered relationship with an actual person, not unlike "Some Journey" or other of her works.

In this story, the man is "rich," and lives in a home with "golden curtains."' The woman (the speaker herself) is desperate and has "no place to go." She asks for shelter, and he is... ambiguous.

Once he does take her in, she realizes that, wealth aside, her host is no prize. He is a huge drinker and a huge-er smoker, plus he cannot "be true" in the sense of romantic fidelity. In fact, he actively pursues other... pursuits.

"But still I feel the wind in from the harbor," she says, and longs for him. Wind is aimless and boundless. A harbor is a place of shelter for ships, but temporary shelter by design and designation. This harbor wind recalls her unstable life before.

So the thought of returning to her meandering life is frightening, and she longs for the stability her rich boor of a host provides, which she confuses with an attraction with the man himself... who is, ironically, a free spirit who is often absent from his palatial manse, leaving her behind.

She imagines him lying in state, next. She is not standing beside his casket, as a wife would, but as just another figure "in line" to pay her respects. She still finds him "handsome" and calls him "dear." But even physical attraction, "longing" and "dear" fall short of "love."

It's possible that the funeral is a memory, not a dream like the rich-man scenario. We learn this from the last verse, in which the woman travels-- with direction and purpose, not aimless, fearful wandering-- she comes upon "harbors." There, she smells the "salt" of the sea and the "bay rum" (a concoction used in men's grooming, made from actual rum)...

...and also smells his "ghost." Which implies he really did live, and then really did die.

The last line is telling. In her dream of him being wealthy and her hopeless, he pursued business and pleasure-- leaving from the harbor without her-- while she stayed home, "longing" for him.

But in her memory, he is "beside" her, walking along the harbor shore of various lands. Which implies she has memories of accompanying each other to different ports of call. Travelling together... probably more, since she recalls his scent so clearly.

It is interesting that she did spend time with him, remembers him as an equal, and misses him... but fantasizes about missing him in an entirely different context... with he being powerful and emotionally, financially, and physically distant.

Maybe if he were already distant while he was alive, he would be easier to live without, now.


Next Song: Machine Ballerina