Showing posts with label Bob Dylan. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bob Dylan. Show all posts

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Dinkytown



Dinkytown

            when all seems lost
I recall another time when I
dressed in vintage t-shirts &
courderoy flares
wore my hair long & straight
& the scent of sandalwood
curled through the air
                        accidental days gone
by
when I wore floral blouses to greasy
spoons for strong coffee w/ a sugar-
coated bare chested bearded man &
a time when I
brazenly turned to the Dylans both
Bob & Thomas
            for mild mischief
when all seems lost
                        time travel is possible
do not go gentle into that Dinkytown …

***

My bud came along with a prompt this morning, Bob Dylan. Ironically, ‘Subterranean Homesick Blues’ shuffled on while I was deep in thought.  I considered writing a poem about throwing heavily markered cue cards in an alley but that seemed lazy, no? Where this little ditty came from, I’ve no idea except to note the correlation between the two Dylans and a specific time and place I wish I had witnessed.

In propinquity,
Nic




Friday, October 14, 2016

Je Est Un Autre



Je Est Un Autre

I am another
willfully opaque
unable to choose
between
an Olivetti typewriter or
a leopard skin pillbox hat
I am another
where you are not
                between
the present moment or
a place of grave vacancy
I am another
better than words
more lovely than
                a dream of
                serene wiles
I am another
a minute vertical line
counterpoint
to the void of course
I am another
here only to
translate the surge
                of           
arbitrary signs
               
**

There are nods in this poem to men I greatly admire: a recent Nobel Prize winner, the Senior Cohen, and someone who this summer, united a Canada I believe in and love, through music and compassion. Poetry, for me, is my outlet, it’s my vehicle, it’s my happy place - where today I have encapsulated three venerable human beings in the medium we each call home.

In propinquity,

Nic

Tuesday, May 24, 2016

Twenty-fourth May, Two Thousand Sixteen


Twenty-fourth May, Two Thousand Sixteen

tin angel troubadour ages
intrepid bar-stool bard weakens

tambourine tackle
                dolefully downcast

this the news
twenty-fourth may, two thousand sixteen

**

Bleary-eyed, I took my work station this morning, booted up my PC, logged into my email, and then promptly tuned into Tom Power on CBC Radio 2. It’s my morning ritual. No deviating unless I’ve got something to pop in the toaster or I need to set the kettle to boil for tea. It was a few minutes before 7am, the news was on when I heard in two separate breaths, today was Bob Dylan’s 75th birthday (I smiled as I put myself to work) and Gord Downie had brain cancer (I stopped smiling).  It took a second for me to absorb what had just blasted me through my rutty speakers. I burst into tears and sent a text to my best bud, in shock, in horror, gut-wrenching heartsickness spreading all through me. It has lasted all day. It will last forever. My poet love, my literary comrade, my rock ‘n’ roll sweetheart: brain cancer. Incurable. Unbelievable.

The Hip are set to tour this summer, for Gord, for themselves, for us. It was hard to keep the tears in listening to their music peppered through Power’s show this morning, a show is going to be both extremely joyful and painful all at once; knowing it will likely be the very last time any of us will encounter he and his microphone.

A beautiful mind is being taken from us. Not today, not tomorrow, not even next month: but when they say incurable, well … it is an injustice to the world. I can’t understand in these instances, what kind of God robs the world of a person who delights with their talents and doesn’t steal the evil-doers.

It is difficult to imagine a world without him in it and for now we don’t have to. We give him our love, our prayers, our courage, our voices. For as long as we are able.

Courage, for Gord.

In propinquity,
Nic

Sunday, February 7, 2016

Speak Low


Speak Low

at eventide
inside the café
I remove my
frayed pashmina
& shake out my
dark hewed hair
my reflection exploits
the impaired window
slender & pastel
safely fortified in a
heavy black turtleneck
& an old rosary rubbed
smooth & worn thin
a secret deep in pocket
I am served hot cocoa
& freshly baked brioche
I have a headache
& am heartsick
He is gone again
dancing is mourning
I take long languid
poems as companions
& speak low when asked
if I am incomplete


**

While everyone else in the free world was amping up for the Super Bowl today, I stayed confined to my cozy blankets and consumed a whole book. I couldn't put it down and today I didn't have to. I spent the better part of my Sunday lounging next to a sunny open window with my kitty, lost in the story of Patti Smith and Robert Mapplethorpe. 

I sobbed through the last pages and peeled myself out of my slumber and got to doing the usual Sunday chores: laundry, cook and then write. I made a mess of Chinese food and ate with my Mom before slipping to something more comfortable, my headphones and into my head, ready to write. While everyone else is anticipating touch-downs and re-filling their beer nut during the half-time show, I worked on this poem. I did it with the help of a decent dose of Doors, Dylan and Stones music. Seemed fitting considering the reading I spent my day doing.

Word on the street has it we're in for some rather nasty weather tomorrow and into Tuesday. Hoping for the best and preparing for the worst. Seems surreal that it's the first week of February and we have been reaching above zero temperatures to know we'll be deep freezing with -17 windchills in mere hours. Dang winter.

Five more work days and it'll be a three day weekend. Maybe I'll read another whole book then too. I am determined to read Ulysses. It's en route from Amazon as we speak, Praying the storm doesn't hinder its arrival.

In propinquity,
Nic 

Monday, September 24, 2012

Careful Abandon


I am firm believer in music, a devoted patron.  Last night my best friend Erica and I spent a peaceful evening stationed at The Carleton (in Halifax, Nova Scotia) to see my creative comrade Matt Epp play a one-man, acoustic show, part of his ‘Careful Abandon’ tour in support of his new acoustic record of the same name.

It’s always a happy occasion when Matt comes to town and that this time he was playing Mike & Mike’s premiere ‘listening room’ was a coo (that’s Mike Campbell and Mike Rhodes of Much Music fame).  The Carleton, for those of you who haven’t been, is a spectacular venue for intimate and interactive shows between artists and their audiences.  You are required to arrive, seat yourself, hydrate and heed the one rule of the room, ‘reserve quiet chatter for between songs’.  I am a BIG fan of this concept (like that of The Company House where I’ve also seen Matt perform).  I appreciate it because so often I’ve gone to shows and miss some of the power and the essence because senseless nattering is interrupting my intake.  I want to ‘listen’, absorb what an artist is sharing, not what so-and-so did on summer vacation.  I’m sure the stories are wonderful but I paid admission to see someone play, we can all talk later.  And, with someone like Matt, who shares straight from the deepest part of himself; it’s a privilege to be able to be still, be content and just listen.

Matt Epp is charismatic, a gentleman who makes music with a grateful heart.  His shoes are well-worn, touring and exploring the world, collecting stories, accumulating experiences and setting them to gorgeous music, always excited to be able to share them with others.  His extensive travels and expert story-telling ability make him an artist to be excited about, one to watch, follow and admire.  He is prosperous with the natural ability to communicate with others in earnest felicity through his unique soul-inspiring songwriting.  The songs he composes are rife with temperate ardor, kind-hearted humanity, spiritual reflection, tender in their goodness and always touch me.  His particular brand of artistic integrity, his effervescence and his soothing, angelic voice are only a few of the wonderful characteristics that make up the awesome-ness that is Matt Epp.

Erica and I sat ourselves at a cozy table next to the window overlooking a Halifax city street.  We shared a few delectable items from the menu, talking quietly until Matt took the stage, draped with two red heart red flags of ‘Amoria’ and set with a microphone stand, his guitars and simple stool holding his harmonica and a glass of water.  Every person present was there to see Matt.  They anticipated his arrival and welcomed him with a warm Nova Scotia reception. 

(performing a gorgeous Ryan Adams cover)

As usual, his show (of two sets and a short intermission) filled my heart to the point where it started to overflow.  I sat most of the time listeing, dangerously close to spilling tears.  It isn’t uncommon for me because his voice moves me.  He played two beautiful sets of songs both old and new, shared clever and silly stories in between with ease, audience participation included.  Particularly poignant was the story he shared about trip to Berlin where he was playing a show at the embassy.  He witnessed a tragic accident involving a young man on a scooter and a larger vehicle. He started his show with ‘Love Is Forever’ and talked about how the lyrics of the love song started to take on a whole new meaning to him because he watched the injured man’s clothes being cut away by paramedics.  It’s stories like these that bring his audience so close to the songs he shares.  It’s what I love the most about his shows.  My favorite moment though was when he played his last song of the night and realized he had nowhere to go when the room demanded an encore.  Being the cheeky guy he is, he hid behind the curtain on the stage.  For his encore, he asked what we’d like him to play.  Someone suggested more Bob Dylan (he shared a cover earlier along with a Sam Cooke tune and a lush Ryan Adams tribute after talking about working with his producer on his up-coming record with his full band due out next year).  After the Bob Dylan mention, someone else asked for ‘Orphan Horse’ followed by the suggestion he do ‘Orphan Horse’ AS Bob Dylan.  This struck Matt’s funny-bone and got everyone giggling.

It’s safe to say, after some quality time with Erica, taking in Matt’s show, talking with him a bit and two generous, bone crushing hugs later, my soul was well fed with kinship, music and laughter.  I really appreciate Matt’s generous spirit. He’s such a lovely human being and an exceptional artist.  I wish the whole world could sing in harmony with him because he understands the human heart, human decency and he believes in love, life and the whole crazy thing.

With careful abandon, I lost myself in his calming presence and his meaningful music.  I was touched by sincerity as he humbly thanked each of us for the accolades and for sharing the evening with him.  As with any event so anticipated, it went by so fast.  For now, I have a new acoustic record to enjoy until be passes through town again.  That and I snuck the gig poster from the front door of the bar as I left. But shhhh, don’t tell anyone.  It’s proudly displayed on my rock wall along with our ‘gangsta’ photograph we took together at the back of the bar.  If you want to see it, you’ll have come visit.  It’s pretty rad.

I strongly encourage you all to acquaint yourselves with Matt’s music.  You’ll be happy you did.

My next musical adventure:  The Stanfields this Saturday at the Sea King Cub.  I’ve been looking forward to that since August!

Heads are sure to roll.

In Propinquity,
Nic

PS - Matt recorded a song with Serena Ryder that I am SO pumped for!  I LOVE her.  And to have two of my favorite Canadians singing together is just solid gold.