The idea of dying being a "crossing over" into another land or place is a universal one. So is the idea of that other land being across a body of water that has to be rowed across... or perhaps spanned with a bridge.
This song is about watching someone standing on that bridge cross over it. In other words, it's about someone dying.
The song starts with the end of the story, that it is about a "recently departed" individual who went into "that land uncharted."
There is foreshadowing in the "old man" going up to his room by "the stairway he ascended" after a goodnight kiss. The speaker reports him "struggle" all night to live, yet also reaching out to "Saturn," the king of the mythical gods.
The speaker enters the room, not sure what to do and "frozen" with indecision and "wonder." She simply "stared upon his body" in the "silver" moonlight. This moonbeam she images as the "silver bridge" in the title, between here and the hereafter.
Yet, she does nothing, having "witnessed all there was to see." She doesn't "move to him," since he "wasn't [hers] for claiming." Instead, she "withdrew."
Then she realizes he is, in fact, dead, "so much more than sleeping." She stays with him as a "vigil" the rest of the night and morning and even into the "afternoon." (Why she does not alert the authorities-- or the party for which he was "for claiming"-- much sooner is not mentioned, but highly irregular. Most would call as soon as they realized the person had died, or even if they thought he might be dying.)
The experience has had a profound impact on the speaker. She wonders about sleepless nights, and if they represent a form of "standing on that bridge." And, if so, "which way are you facing?" Is it the Land of the Living, or the "land uncharted"?
The lines are thin between sleep, unconsciousness, coma, brain death, death itself, and even animal and plant states like stasis and hibernation. It is understandable that a person with no medical training might not be able to tell the difference, certainly not by simple observation from several feet away.
The speaker seems to understand this and does not berate herself for not getting help sooner. She sincerely thought he was asleep.
But now, it seems, she is having trouble sleeping herself. And more troubled, in that she feels troubled by her inability to sleep... and worried about what that means, and what it portends.
Next Song: Song of the Stoic
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sleep. Show all posts
Monday, November 28, 2016
Monday, July 20, 2015
Book of Dreams
As befits a song about dreams, this song is surreal, full of non-sequiturs, and stream of conscious-- or, more accurately, subconscious-- imagery and sound.
It is constructed to feel unconstructed, yet to deconstruct it is our task.
The song begins with the repeated line that contains the title: "In my book of dreams." This repetition serves to flash a warning: dream-imagery ahead! It also mimics the rhythm of someone drifting off, or the repetitious movements made to induce hypnotic slumber.
The wind that pushes us into the waters of the subconscious is an "urgent whisper." This is not given, but taken for this purpose, and from the "you," perhaps the listener (whom we shall consider a man for clarity's sake alone, to be able to use a different pronoun).
We know these are waters we travel because of the next series of images. The "arc of a white wing," which was not just taken this time but stolen, could be that of a seagull, or perhaps a sail looks like a white wing . Then she "rode like foam on the river... turned its tide..." So yes, the dreamworld is more an waterway, in which there are no roads, barriers or borders, than a land-bound place.
However, this is not a river of water. It is a "river of pity." She does not sink into it, but rides like foam on its surface. This recalls the expression "to wallow in pity," which this speaker decidedly does not do. Instead, she turns pity's tide to "strength." In doing so, she "heals" a "hole" than had been "ripped" in... not the sailcloth, but in "living."
So the dreamer has undergone some recent trauma, a hole that was ripped in her life. But rather than succumb to pity, she responded with fortitude. This is reflected in the active, forceful verbs that start each line: "took," "stole," "turned" "healed."
Even "rode" is not passive here. We car passengers think to "ride" is passive while to "drive" is active, but here she "rode the foam," like a horse or bicycle, so the verb reflects an actor, not one acted upon or along for the ride.
Evidently, she records her dreams in a journal or book, and a hardy one, too: "The spine is bound to last for life/ Tough enough to take the pounding." This could also refer to her own backbone, which we have just seen is formidable.
The pages of the book are "made of days of open hand" (whence the album's title). This expression implies that her days are spent in opening her hand, a gesture of both generosity and acceptance, as well as honesty.
Further, we see that the book is considered important, as the pages are numbered in "silver." This could also be a reference to money; this book also has elements of a ledger of accounts.
Yet, the book is also mundane, as the highlights are not done in gold or diamonds, say, but in ho-hum "magic marker"-- which sounds "magical" but which everyone knows is not.
We have been working, to this point, under the assumption that the book is a record of her dreams. Yet, we now she she uses it to "take the name of every prisoner." This is a somewhat shocking revelation! Does she really feel that those who have relationships with her are trapped by her, captured and kept, with no freedom to leave? Or is it that this idea applies to those in her dreams?
Perhaps he is not the victim... but she is. She may want to let people, thoughts, images, go-- but cannot. They are trapped in her memory, and they stalk the prison yards and dungeon passages of her dreams. Therefore, their names are in her book.
She promises that "yours is there," meaning the name of whomever is being addressed. He hopes that he is trapped only in her memory and subconscious, not her clutches...
The first verse was about active dreaming. She says she "stole [his] urgent whisper," and then proceeds to ignore it, and the pity that came with it. Instead, she actively turns the tide and heals the hole in her life. Then she describes her dream journal as being strong as well, and both special and approachable.
She concludes by telling the listener-- the ones that whispered pity before-- that he is part of her dreams, even though she rejected his sympathy. She still recalls the fact of it, and seems to even use it as a pushing-off point. Her rejection of the pity is part of what drives her to heal herself.
She doesn't thank him for this. But she doesn't forget him, either.
Next Song: Institution Green
It is constructed to feel unconstructed, yet to deconstruct it is our task.
The song begins with the repeated line that contains the title: "In my book of dreams." This repetition serves to flash a warning: dream-imagery ahead! It also mimics the rhythm of someone drifting off, or the repetitious movements made to induce hypnotic slumber.
The wind that pushes us into the waters of the subconscious is an "urgent whisper." This is not given, but taken for this purpose, and from the "you," perhaps the listener (whom we shall consider a man for clarity's sake alone, to be able to use a different pronoun).
We know these are waters we travel because of the next series of images. The "arc of a white wing," which was not just taken this time but stolen, could be that of a seagull, or perhaps a sail looks like a white wing . Then she "rode like foam on the river... turned its tide..." So yes, the dreamworld is more an waterway, in which there are no roads, barriers or borders, than a land-bound place.
However, this is not a river of water. It is a "river of pity." She does not sink into it, but rides like foam on its surface. This recalls the expression "to wallow in pity," which this speaker decidedly does not do. Instead, she turns pity's tide to "strength." In doing so, she "heals" a "hole" than had been "ripped" in... not the sailcloth, but in "living."
So the dreamer has undergone some recent trauma, a hole that was ripped in her life. But rather than succumb to pity, she responded with fortitude. This is reflected in the active, forceful verbs that start each line: "took," "stole," "turned" "healed."
Even "rode" is not passive here. We car passengers think to "ride" is passive while to "drive" is active, but here she "rode the foam," like a horse or bicycle, so the verb reflects an actor, not one acted upon or along for the ride.
Evidently, she records her dreams in a journal or book, and a hardy one, too: "The spine is bound to last for life/ Tough enough to take the pounding." This could also refer to her own backbone, which we have just seen is formidable.
The pages of the book are "made of days of open hand" (whence the album's title). This expression implies that her days are spent in opening her hand, a gesture of both generosity and acceptance, as well as honesty.
Further, we see that the book is considered important, as the pages are numbered in "silver." This could also be a reference to money; this book also has elements of a ledger of accounts.
Yet, the book is also mundane, as the highlights are not done in gold or diamonds, say, but in ho-hum "magic marker"-- which sounds "magical" but which everyone knows is not.
We have been working, to this point, under the assumption that the book is a record of her dreams. Yet, we now she she uses it to "take the name of every prisoner." This is a somewhat shocking revelation! Does she really feel that those who have relationships with her are trapped by her, captured and kept, with no freedom to leave? Or is it that this idea applies to those in her dreams?
Perhaps he is not the victim... but she is. She may want to let people, thoughts, images, go-- but cannot. They are trapped in her memory, and they stalk the prison yards and dungeon passages of her dreams. Therefore, their names are in her book.
She promises that "yours is there," meaning the name of whomever is being addressed. He hopes that he is trapped only in her memory and subconscious, not her clutches...
The first verse was about active dreaming. She says she "stole [his] urgent whisper," and then proceeds to ignore it, and the pity that came with it. Instead, she actively turns the tide and heals the hole in her life. Then she describes her dream journal as being strong as well, and both special and approachable.
She concludes by telling the listener-- the ones that whispered pity before-- that he is part of her dreams, even though she rejected his sympathy. She still recalls the fact of it, and seems to even use it as a pushing-off point. Her rejection of the pity is part of what drives her to heal herself.
She doesn't thank him for this. But she doesn't forget him, either.
Next Song: Institution Green
Monday, June 29, 2015
Tired of Sleeping
This seems to be a song about illness, told from the point of view of the ailing one.
If the idea of "sleeping" is literal, then this person has intense lethargy, such as with chronic fatigue syndrome, or is perhaps in an actual coma. If it is metaphoric, it can be seen as a state of severe depression, in the psychological, clinical sense.
In either case, the person is aware that she is sick and longs for her wakeful energy to return: "I'm tired of sleeping."
Why? She is not having nightmares, at least not insufferable ones: "The dreams are not so bad." Rather, she feels guilty as her lack of productivity, as if she is aware that others are doing everything for her she is usually capable of doing herself: "There's so much to do."
One of the people, perhaps the main person, caring for her is her mother. It is bad enough to have some paid nurse or orderly checking up on you. But to have your own mother continue to have to mother you as adult is heartbreaking.
Next, she becomes aware of an "old man." She realizes that he is trying to communicate with her. However, she "just can't hear what he's saying," either because he is speaking too quietly, or-- since she feels she just can't hear him-- that the fault is her illness'.
Who is he? Her doctor? A priest? We meet him again later for more clues.
First, we switch from an old man to "kids." They are "playing in pennies," that is, gambling with pennies as the stakes. They seem to have plenty to play with, as they are "up to their knees in money."
But they are also up to their knees in "dirt," perhaps the speaker's opinion of what money is worth. "All your money won't another minute buy," sings the rock group Kansas in "Dust in the Wind." So someone near death might see this quest for money as useful as a quest for dirt.
Now, where is this dirt? At the "churchyard steps." This brings religion into the mix. Combined with the pennies, these images together recall the imagery of moneychangers outside the Temple. And we all know how Jesus felt about that.
Further, the kids are at the "steps" of the church, or more at the steps of the "yard" before the "church." Near enough physically to see it. But while gambling, spiritually distant indeed. For the sake of pennies, they forgo the desire to enter the church and find true "riches."
Now, we return to the man. He "ripped out his lining." We are not sure yet why he would do so, but at this point we assume that she means the lining of a coat or suit jacket.
No. He somehow ripped out the lining of his "body"! Yes, "He tore out a piece of his body." Dare we ask which piece? He wanted to show "us"-- the speaker and her mother-- his "clean quilted heart."
This is quite graphic. And also quite impossible. Aside from the anatomical issues, hearts are made of muscle and are not "quilted." We are left to believe this is an hallucination or dream image.
But of what? The most common image of a person holding his own heart is Jesus, with his hands holding the Sacred Heart.
On the other hand... Jesus was not "old." He was only 33 at the time of his death. So this could be a conflation of Jesus and the Father...?
If the old man is a doctor, perhaps she sees him open his lab coat and show her the donor heart she is to receive, but in her illness-addled state, she sees the images she describes.
What is clear is that the image is a subconscious-based one, a dream image or hallucination. Her condition is medical, so it makes sense that her subconscious is showing her anatomical imagery.
The last image is of a "bird" that has been snared. It is "on" a string, but has not landed to perch there, as if on a branch or telephone wire. Rather, it is "hanging" from it. Further, she cannot leave the string, as she would of course be able to if she has simply lighted there. No, she is "twisting," "dancing," and "fighting" to be loose. She knows that "her small life" depends on her breaking free.
This is an apt metaphor for someone in a coma or other such state. The person-- the consciousness that is a person, the self-- is confined in the uncooperative body, like a trapped animal.
She wants to hear what the old man is saying. She wants to do things for herself, and have her mother stop tending her. She is spending all her psychic energy to re-enter the world of interaction and communication, but she is emotionally exhausted. She just wants to be well already!
The lyrics offer no resolution, and leave us with the frustrated invalid. But the music, which repeats the chorus several times, ends with an upward modulation. The entire time, the song has been sung in a low register. The final time, the melody line is noticeably higher, with a shade of echo.
This may be the singer's way of indicating that the soul has left the body and it, at least, is free.
IMPACT:
The song is the first on the album Days of Open Hand. Which won a Grammy. For Best Album Package.
Well, better than nothing.
Next Song: Men in a War
If the idea of "sleeping" is literal, then this person has intense lethargy, such as with chronic fatigue syndrome, or is perhaps in an actual coma. If it is metaphoric, it can be seen as a state of severe depression, in the psychological, clinical sense.
In either case, the person is aware that she is sick and longs for her wakeful energy to return: "I'm tired of sleeping."
Why? She is not having nightmares, at least not insufferable ones: "The dreams are not so bad." Rather, she feels guilty as her lack of productivity, as if she is aware that others are doing everything for her she is usually capable of doing herself: "There's so much to do."
One of the people, perhaps the main person, caring for her is her mother. It is bad enough to have some paid nurse or orderly checking up on you. But to have your own mother continue to have to mother you as adult is heartbreaking.
Next, she becomes aware of an "old man." She realizes that he is trying to communicate with her. However, she "just can't hear what he's saying," either because he is speaking too quietly, or-- since she feels she just can't hear him-- that the fault is her illness'.
Who is he? Her doctor? A priest? We meet him again later for more clues.
First, we switch from an old man to "kids." They are "playing in pennies," that is, gambling with pennies as the stakes. They seem to have plenty to play with, as they are "up to their knees in money."
But they are also up to their knees in "dirt," perhaps the speaker's opinion of what money is worth. "All your money won't another minute buy," sings the rock group Kansas in "Dust in the Wind." So someone near death might see this quest for money as useful as a quest for dirt.
Now, where is this dirt? At the "churchyard steps." This brings religion into the mix. Combined with the pennies, these images together recall the imagery of moneychangers outside the Temple. And we all know how Jesus felt about that.
Further, the kids are at the "steps" of the church, or more at the steps of the "yard" before the "church." Near enough physically to see it. But while gambling, spiritually distant indeed. For the sake of pennies, they forgo the desire to enter the church and find true "riches."
Now, we return to the man. He "ripped out his lining." We are not sure yet why he would do so, but at this point we assume that she means the lining of a coat or suit jacket.
No. He somehow ripped out the lining of his "body"! Yes, "He tore out a piece of his body." Dare we ask which piece? He wanted to show "us"-- the speaker and her mother-- his "clean quilted heart."
This is quite graphic. And also quite impossible. Aside from the anatomical issues, hearts are made of muscle and are not "quilted." We are left to believe this is an hallucination or dream image.
But of what? The most common image of a person holding his own heart is Jesus, with his hands holding the Sacred Heart.
On the other hand... Jesus was not "old." He was only 33 at the time of his death. So this could be a conflation of Jesus and the Father...?
If the old man is a doctor, perhaps she sees him open his lab coat and show her the donor heart she is to receive, but in her illness-addled state, she sees the images she describes.
What is clear is that the image is a subconscious-based one, a dream image or hallucination. Her condition is medical, so it makes sense that her subconscious is showing her anatomical imagery.
The last image is of a "bird" that has been snared. It is "on" a string, but has not landed to perch there, as if on a branch or telephone wire. Rather, it is "hanging" from it. Further, she cannot leave the string, as she would of course be able to if she has simply lighted there. No, she is "twisting," "dancing," and "fighting" to be loose. She knows that "her small life" depends on her breaking free.
This is an apt metaphor for someone in a coma or other such state. The person-- the consciousness that is a person, the self-- is confined in the uncooperative body, like a trapped animal.
She wants to hear what the old man is saying. She wants to do things for herself, and have her mother stop tending her. She is spending all her psychic energy to re-enter the world of interaction and communication, but she is emotionally exhausted. She just wants to be well already!
The lyrics offer no resolution, and leave us with the frustrated invalid. But the music, which repeats the chorus several times, ends with an upward modulation. The entire time, the song has been sung in a low register. The final time, the melody line is noticeably higher, with a shade of echo.
This may be the singer's way of indicating that the soul has left the body and it, at least, is free.
IMPACT:
The song is the first on the album Days of Open Hand. Which won a Grammy. For Best Album Package.
Well, better than nothing.
Next Song: Men in a War
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