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

Widow's Walk

A "widow's walk" is a small walkway, really more of a platform, above the roof of many coastal homes, from New England to Italy, where they originated. The idea is that the wife of a sailor can watch the water to see if her husband is coming home... or if she has become a widow.

This song owes something to the great, ancient ballad "Sir Patrick Spens," about a ship that went down in a storm. It is safe to say, however, the main inspiration was the break-up of Vega's marriage.

The speaker begins "Consider me a widow, boys." So her husband died-- very sad. Well, no, she continues, "It's not the man, but the marriage that was drowned."

"So I walk the walk," she says, which has a double meaning. One is that she is authentic, she doesn't only "talk the talk," but fulfills it by "walking the walk." The other meaning is that she walks the "widow's walk," the structure described above.

This we know because she already mentioned "drown[ing]" but now continues that she is "wait[ing]" and is "watchful" of the "sky," while "looking for a kind of vessel." She is clearly evoking the image of a sailor's wife on a widow's walk, worried at the weather and gazing hopefully for the safe return of her husband's boat. But, she says, she has "never found" this kind of vessel.

Still, she did find some kind of vessel, because she "saw it splinter" and tear apart when it "hit the rocks." 

She has becomes somewhat obsessed about the incident. She finds that she "keep[s] returning" to "where I did see the thing go down... as if there's something at the site/ I should be learning."

She does "grieve" at the demise of the ship, even though, she says, "I knew the ship was empty by the time" it shattered on the rocks. How did she know this?

"We watch the wind and set the sail," she says, at the beginning of the voyage, "but save ourselves when all omens point to 'fail.'" When they saw the storm was surging, and knew that a crash was imminent, they abandoned ship-- as anyone would.

So she blames no one: "We could not hold on when fate became unruly." She chalks the whole disaster up to "fate."

She has four more things to say. One is to ask, "Does the weather say a better day is nearing?" She does hold out hope for the future, and has not discounted the possibility of future relationships, er, voyages.

The second is that she will "set [her] house in order now." This is a typical response to a loss. For one, it is a practical necessity. Emotionally, it helps distract us from the pain and helps us reclaim a sense of control in a chaotic situation.

The third is that she will "wait upon the Will." This could mean her husband's last will and testament, or in the case of a divorce, the judge's rulings. But the fact that it is capitalized indicates that this refers to the Divine Will. She feels she is bad at controlling her life, so she asks that God take the helm for now.

The last comment relates to that: "It's clear that I need better skill at steering." Oh, God has the wheel for now. But as soon as she regains her confidence, she will switch from "Sir Patrick Spens" to "Invictus," which ends: "I am the master of my fate/ I am the captain of my soul," and take back the helm.

She keeps returning to the site of the wreck, hoping to learn something. I think that, ultimately, she does, and the lesson is:

Ship happens.


Next song: "(I'll Never Be) Your Maggie May"