"God is the horizon," said Vaclav Havel, a Czech playwright who became a dissident and was imprisoned, only to become his nation's leader after his release. I only learned that Vega wrote this song about him because she said so when introducing the song in a concert.
I had thought it was about South Africa's Nelson Mandela, but it also could have been about Poland's Lech Walesa India's Gandhi, or Israel's Natan Sharansky, imprisoned by the Soviets (OK, so he hasn't been made head of state in Israel... yet), or even Joseph from the Bible. It's also the story of some women, including Myanmar's Aung San Suu Kyi (she was under house arrest, not jail, but still) and Pakistan's Benazir Bhutto. Even Martin Luther King, Jr. was jailed and then led his country, after a fashion.
The relevant verse comes later in the song, however. It starts simply: "There is a road/ Beyond this one/ ...the path/ We don't yet take." It could be the afterlife, or simply the future.
"I can feel how it longs/ To be entered upon," she continues, "It calls to me with a cry/ And an ache." She feels pulled toward it, compelled to travel its length.
What powers its attraction? "Love pulls us on to that/ Distant horizon so true."
Now we get to the biography: "I knew a man/ He lived in jail... When he was free/ He led his country."
What allows someone to rise from a prison cot to a president's chair? "He dreamed of a line/ That we call the Divine." The line being, as we now know, the horizon itself.
How do these rulers tend to lead their countries? "He taught the way of love/ And he lived in that way, too/ Love pulled him on to that distant horizon so true."
What makes us go forward, onto the next path, and the next after that? What allows us to enter the realm beyond the horizon of this life? Love.
Love of country, of self, of principles and values, of one's fellow humans. Love, even, of love itself.
Next Song: Carson's Blues
Showing posts with label longing. Show all posts
Showing posts with label longing. Show all posts
Monday, December 19, 2016
Monday, June 6, 2016
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
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
Monday, February 29, 2016
My Favorite Plum
This waltz is about the deliciousness of wanting and waiting and not-yet-having. It is the last song on Vega's Nine Objects of Desire, on which they are, um, 12 songs. So it is unclear how, among the other songs, these nine objects are distributed; some songs must have none, while others have one-- and maybe more-- apiece.
What is clear is that this song is about one object, a plum, and the desire for that object. Another object of desire is the "tombstone" from the previous song, most likely. She never outright says she wants a tombstone, though, just that she "likes" tombstones.
This plum, however, she clearly desires. The entire song is about wanting it-- or whatever it represents. I mean, could a whole song just be about wanting this one plum?
One of the reasons the plum might be so desirable is outlined right off: it "hangs so far from me." Distance, like absence, can make the heart grow fonder. Also, it "sleeps," and "lays/ languid." The inner flesh presses the outer skin, indicating that it is "bursting with secrets." And all while "never noticing me here below." How temptingly coy!
Its appearance? "See how it shines." Its flavor? "It will be so sweet." It is luscious? "I've been so dry/ It would make my heart complete."
How does it... sound? It "calls" to her. It wants her to consume it, she just knows. And all this lying about? "It lies in wait for me."
She knows she wants this one and none else: "This is the one for me." This refrain will be repeated. She has "seen," even "had," the "rest"... and also the "best"-- this one-- which "is the one for me."
However, the course of true love never did run smooth. There exists the possibility that she may not achieve this plum: "Maybe a girl will take it/ Maybe a boy will steal it/ Maybe a shake of the bough/ Will wake it and make it fall." And so, "You say that I'm foolish to trust."
Yet, her faith is unshaken: "It will be mine, and I know it must." How can she be so certain? She is "right here/ Longing endlessly." When it falls, she will be there to catch it.
In many ways, the singer is in the same position as the figures on Keats' Grecian urn: "Fair youth... thou canst not leave thy song... Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss/ Though winning near the goal."
Does this sound frustrating? Keats says no: "Do not grieve... For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!.. For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd/ For ever panting, and for ever young."
So too, in this song, we find a moment frozen in time-- the wanting of the ripe, succulent plum, the imagining its smooth rind giving way to the teeth, the longing for the shock of sweet wetness as the pulp caresses the tongue, the dreaming of the sticky juice running rivulets down the chin...
You know, this song may not be about a plum, after all.
Next Song: Lightning
What is clear is that this song is about one object, a plum, and the desire for that object. Another object of desire is the "tombstone" from the previous song, most likely. She never outright says she wants a tombstone, though, just that she "likes" tombstones.
This plum, however, she clearly desires. The entire song is about wanting it-- or whatever it represents. I mean, could a whole song just be about wanting this one plum?
One of the reasons the plum might be so desirable is outlined right off: it "hangs so far from me." Distance, like absence, can make the heart grow fonder. Also, it "sleeps," and "lays/ languid." The inner flesh presses the outer skin, indicating that it is "bursting with secrets." And all while "never noticing me here below." How temptingly coy!
Its appearance? "See how it shines." Its flavor? "It will be so sweet." It is luscious? "I've been so dry/ It would make my heart complete."
How does it... sound? It "calls" to her. It wants her to consume it, she just knows. And all this lying about? "It lies in wait for me."
She knows she wants this one and none else: "This is the one for me." This refrain will be repeated. She has "seen," even "had," the "rest"... and also the "best"-- this one-- which "is the one for me."
However, the course of true love never did run smooth. There exists the possibility that she may not achieve this plum: "Maybe a girl will take it/ Maybe a boy will steal it/ Maybe a shake of the bough/ Will wake it and make it fall." And so, "You say that I'm foolish to trust."
Yet, her faith is unshaken: "It will be mine, and I know it must." How can she be so certain? She is "right here/ Longing endlessly." When it falls, she will be there to catch it.
In many ways, the singer is in the same position as the figures on Keats' Grecian urn: "Fair youth... thou canst not leave thy song... Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss/ Though winning near the goal."
Does this sound frustrating? Keats says no: "Do not grieve... For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!.. For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd/ For ever panting, and for ever young."
So too, in this song, we find a moment frozen in time-- the wanting of the ripe, succulent plum, the imagining its smooth rind giving way to the teeth, the longing for the shock of sweet wetness as the pulp caresses the tongue, the dreaming of the sticky juice running rivulets down the chin...
You know, this song may not be about a plum, after all.
Next Song: Lightning
Monday, December 28, 2015
Caramel
This song has a sultry vibe to it. Musically, it is a Brazilian jazz-bossa nova kinda thing.
In it, the speaker tries to convince herself not to dwell on a potential, but impossible, romance. She only halfway succeeds.
It may be that the never-to-be love is of Latin, or other "of color" origin... or perhaps the romance simply took place in a tropical, exotic locale. In any case, "dream(ing) of caramel" and "think(ing) of cinnamon" reminds her of this guy. And such thoughts, she scolds herself, simply "won't do."
No, she repeats, it won't do "to stir a deep desire/ To fan a hidden fire/ That can never burn true." After all, what's the point in frustrating oneself? And, it's simply... improper. Tut tut.
What further indicates that the impossible lover is of a... darker complected sort than herself is the line "I know your skin." Again, this is not to say anything definitive-- most of us have skin, after all. But she says she "knows" it without having said anything else about being intimate. The only other thing she says she knows about him is his "name." So she has been fascinated with, and has studied, his skin more than his other features.
Oh, it would be so easy to just let nature take its course! "I know the way these things begin," she said. If she didn't resist, or he didn't, it would just... happen.
But the consequences are simply too dire, the inevitability of guilt too great: "I don't know how I could live with myself... if you don't go." She doesn't think she could "forgive... (her)self" if he stayed and they gave way to their mutual attraction.
We also don't know why the love is impossible, or morally unforgivable. Is he married? Is she? Most likely at least one of them is. Even if it would be a "shipboard romance" that could never last, two unattached people would still most likely, as Kate Bush put it, "exchange the experience."
In any case, she bids "goodbye." Not to him, though, but to "sweet appetite." What she really misses is less him than the wanting of him, and even this is denied her. It would be one thing if she wanted him but could not have him-- she isn't allowed to even want him.
It's just as well, she concludes, returning to her food metaphor, since "No single bite/ Could satisfy." Smokey Robinson, also using a sweet food in a similar way, had long before concluded that "a taste of honey is worse than none at all." In other words, it's better in their opinion, to not know how great it would have been, and just leave it to imagination, than to know how great this romance is... and can never be again.
This is the opposite idea from Tennyson's assertion that "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." But then, he was talking about a love that was permitted to begin with, not one that was never supposed to happen.
This song is one of Vega's most sensual and languid. Too bad the romance was never allowed to "burn true." Imagine what steamy songs we would have had, then.
IMPACT:
This song was included in the soundtrack to the romantic comedy The Truth About Cats and Dogs.
Next Song: Stockings
In it, the speaker tries to convince herself not to dwell on a potential, but impossible, romance. She only halfway succeeds.
It may be that the never-to-be love is of Latin, or other "of color" origin... or perhaps the romance simply took place in a tropical, exotic locale. In any case, "dream(ing) of caramel" and "think(ing) of cinnamon" reminds her of this guy. And such thoughts, she scolds herself, simply "won't do."
No, she repeats, it won't do "to stir a deep desire/ To fan a hidden fire/ That can never burn true." After all, what's the point in frustrating oneself? And, it's simply... improper. Tut tut.
What further indicates that the impossible lover is of a... darker complected sort than herself is the line "I know your skin." Again, this is not to say anything definitive-- most of us have skin, after all. But she says she "knows" it without having said anything else about being intimate. The only other thing she says she knows about him is his "name." So she has been fascinated with, and has studied, his skin more than his other features.
Oh, it would be so easy to just let nature take its course! "I know the way these things begin," she said. If she didn't resist, or he didn't, it would just... happen.
But the consequences are simply too dire, the inevitability of guilt too great: "I don't know how I could live with myself... if you don't go." She doesn't think she could "forgive... (her)self" if he stayed and they gave way to their mutual attraction.
We also don't know why the love is impossible, or morally unforgivable. Is he married? Is she? Most likely at least one of them is. Even if it would be a "shipboard romance" that could never last, two unattached people would still most likely, as Kate Bush put it, "exchange the experience."
In any case, she bids "goodbye." Not to him, though, but to "sweet appetite." What she really misses is less him than the wanting of him, and even this is denied her. It would be one thing if she wanted him but could not have him-- she isn't allowed to even want him.
It's just as well, she concludes, returning to her food metaphor, since "No single bite/ Could satisfy." Smokey Robinson, also using a sweet food in a similar way, had long before concluded that "a taste of honey is worse than none at all." In other words, it's better in their opinion, to not know how great it would have been, and just leave it to imagination, than to know how great this romance is... and can never be again.
This is the opposite idea from Tennyson's assertion that "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all." But then, he was talking about a love that was permitted to begin with, not one that was never supposed to happen.
This song is one of Vega's most sensual and languid. Too bad the romance was never allowed to "burn true." Imagine what steamy songs we would have had, then.
IMPACT:
This song was included in the soundtrack to the romantic comedy The Truth About Cats and Dogs.
Next Song: Stockings
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