Still, I can do a pretty mean rendition of Blackbird, and it's a good thing to start off with as long as I am confident I won't then be asked to play a full set. It's worked well so far.
A few years back, my mum and I were waiting outside our hostel in one of the most forlorn corners of Ireland for it to open. It was on the far western edge of the Dingle peninsula, in sight of the Blasket Islands (abandoned 1957 because it was just too difficult to live out there) and about an hour or two from anywhere. As we were waiting two strangers approached, two young guys, Americans. They had just walked from Ventry, about 15 km away, and were shaggy, rugged looking, carrying packs--and a small travel guitar.
The one of them offered me his guitar. "Blackbird singing in the dead of night...."
We ended up, me mum and I, taking these two strangers to the grocery store because we had a car and they didn't. And we took them to the beach, and we walked for hours and hours along one of the most beautiful beaches I have ever seen. In the evening we sat, and I debated American cultural imperialism and Noam Chomsky. I won't say that we made friends because of that guitar, but it helped.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Black bird singing in the dead of night
Take these sunken eyes and learn to see
all your life
you were only waiting for this moment to be free
Blackbird fly, Blackbird fly
Into the light of the dark black night.
Blackbird singing in the dead of night
Take these broken wings and learn to fly
All your life
You were only waiting for this moment to arise,oh
You were only waiting for this moment to arise, oh
You were only waiting for this moment to arise
Posts
2 comments:
You should check out this movie "The Glamourous Life of Saicho Hanai" (I may have spelled Saicho Hanai wrong, but I'm sure you'll find it), if you like Noam Chomsky.
Oh, the memories of Ireland, and the remote and spectacular places we visited. Yes, the guitar certainly built a bridge, as it does across languages, as well. Thanks for reminding me of that encounter. To further the story, it was because we took those guys to the grocery store, and they left a rear window open a crack, that we were heralded by the car alarm in the middle of the night, as the wind bumped the car and set off the motion detector. So I had the wonderful experience of padding barefoot through and outside the hostel at some wee hour of the dark night to unlock the car so that the siren would quit. Ah, the memories. mom
Post a Comment