(no subject)
Scrape your knee; it is only skin.
Makes the sound of violins.
When I cut your hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings,
I am the happiest woman among all women.
And the shallow water
Stretches as far as I can see
Knee-deep, trudging along --
A seagull weeps "so long" --
I'm humming a threshing song --
Until the night is over,
Hold on, hold on;
Hold your horses back from the fickle dawn.
I have got some business out at the edge of town,
Candy weighing both of my pockets down
'Til I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
(and knowing how the common-folk condemn
What it is I do, to you, to keep you warm:
Being a woman, being a woman).
But always up the mountainside you're clambering
Groping blindly, hungry for anything:
Picking through your pocket linings - well, what is this?
Scrap of sassafras, eh, Sisyphus?
I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain.
Little sister, he will be back again.
I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain.
Spiders' ghosts hang soaked and dangelin'
Silently from all the blooming cherry trees,
In tiny nooses, safe from everyone --
nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done --
Be a woman! Be a woman!
.....
All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone.
Take my bones, I don't need none.
Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on!
Suck all day on a cherry stone.
Dig a little hole, not three inches round --
Spit your pit in the hole in the ground.
Weep upon the spot for the starving of me!
Till up grow a fine young cherry tree.
When the bough breaks, what'll you make for me?
A little willow cabin to rest on your knee.
What'll I do with a trinket such as this?
Think of your woman, who's gone to the west.
But I'm starving and freezing in my measly old bed!
Then I'll crawl across the salt flats to stroke your sweet head.
Come across the desert with no shoes on!
I love you truly, or I love no-one.
Fire moves away.
Fire moves away, son.
Why would you say I was the last one?
Clear the room! There's a fire, a fire, a fire,
Get going, and I'm going to be right behind you.
And if the love of a woman or two, dear,
Could move you to such heights,
Then all I can do
Is do, my darling, right by you.
_____________________________________________
I didn't use an LJ cut for this because I think that these lyrics are too amazing to be hidden. I've been listening to Joanna Newsom's Ys album a lot lately, particularly the above song, "Only Skin." It's been providing me a lot of inspiration for my novel because of the rich, emotional, pastoral images she uses. I'm just enthralled to have discovered her music. Her singing voice took me some time to get used to, but she's quickly climbing higher up my "favorite musicians" list because of how talented and ambitious she is and how moving her music and lyrics are. I look at what she's done on this album -- write 5 songs, but all of them at least 7 minutes long (and "Only Skin" is nearly 17 minutes long), and all of them deeply layered, painstakingly crafted, and just amazing. Her lyrics are like epic poems compared to the drivel that gets passed off as song lyrics today; I enjoy reading the words on the page almost as much as I enjoy listening to the songs. And I think to myself, "God, she was only 24 when she wrote and recorded this album. That's so young." And then I think: "That's my age. I could do something like this, in my own way, if I just put mind to it."
I may have to thank her in the acknowledgments section of my novel, whenever it gets finished.
ETA: I should probably take this time to add that I'm still working on the novel pretty steadily. I do some work on it every day, even if sometimes all I do is add a single sentence or edit a paragraph. And I'm actually trying to do less editing as I go along, since that actually slows me down and stifles my creativity instead of helping to get the first chapter finished. I try to remind myself that it's okay to write badly when you're first starting out a new story, because that's what first drafts are for.
Makes the sound of violins.
When I cut your hair, and leave the birds all the trimmings,
I am the happiest woman among all women.
And the shallow water
Stretches as far as I can see
Knee-deep, trudging along --
A seagull weeps "so long" --
I'm humming a threshing song --
Until the night is over,
Hold on, hold on;
Hold your horses back from the fickle dawn.
I have got some business out at the edge of town,
Candy weighing both of my pockets down
'Til I can hardly stay afloat, from the weight of them
(and knowing how the common-folk condemn
What it is I do, to you, to keep you warm:
Being a woman, being a woman).
But always up the mountainside you're clambering
Groping blindly, hungry for anything:
Picking through your pocket linings - well, what is this?
Scrap of sassafras, eh, Sisyphus?
I see the blossoms broke and wet after the rain.
Little sister, he will be back again.
I have washed a thousand spiders down the drain.
Spiders' ghosts hang soaked and dangelin'
Silently from all the blooming cherry trees,
In tiny nooses, safe from everyone --
nothing but a nuisance; gone now, dead and done --
Be a woman! Be a woman!
.....
All my bones, they are gone, gone, gone.
Take my bones, I don't need none.
Cold, cold cupboard, lord, nothing to chew on!
Suck all day on a cherry stone.
Dig a little hole, not three inches round --
Spit your pit in the hole in the ground.
Weep upon the spot for the starving of me!
Till up grow a fine young cherry tree.
When the bough breaks, what'll you make for me?
A little willow cabin to rest on your knee.
What'll I do with a trinket such as this?
Think of your woman, who's gone to the west.
But I'm starving and freezing in my measly old bed!
Then I'll crawl across the salt flats to stroke your sweet head.
Come across the desert with no shoes on!
I love you truly, or I love no-one.
Fire moves away.
Fire moves away, son.
Why would you say I was the last one?
Clear the room! There's a fire, a fire, a fire,
Get going, and I'm going to be right behind you.
And if the love of a woman or two, dear,
Could move you to such heights,
Then all I can do
Is do, my darling, right by you.
_____________________________________________
I didn't use an LJ cut for this because I think that these lyrics are too amazing to be hidden. I've been listening to Joanna Newsom's Ys album a lot lately, particularly the above song, "Only Skin." It's been providing me a lot of inspiration for my novel because of the rich, emotional, pastoral images she uses. I'm just enthralled to have discovered her music. Her singing voice took me some time to get used to, but she's quickly climbing higher up my "favorite musicians" list because of how talented and ambitious she is and how moving her music and lyrics are. I look at what she's done on this album -- write 5 songs, but all of them at least 7 minutes long (and "Only Skin" is nearly 17 minutes long), and all of them deeply layered, painstakingly crafted, and just amazing. Her lyrics are like epic poems compared to the drivel that gets passed off as song lyrics today; I enjoy reading the words on the page almost as much as I enjoy listening to the songs. And I think to myself, "God, she was only 24 when she wrote and recorded this album. That's so young." And then I think: "That's my age. I could do something like this, in my own way, if I just put mind to it."
I may have to thank her in the acknowledgments section of my novel, whenever it gets finished.
ETA: I should probably take this time to add that I'm still working on the novel pretty steadily. I do some work on it every day, even if sometimes all I do is add a single sentence or edit a paragraph. And I'm actually trying to do less editing as I go along, since that actually slows me down and stifles my creativity instead of helping to get the first chapter finished. I try to remind myself that it's okay to write badly when you're first starting out a new story, because that's what first drafts are for.