During my recent drive to the DFW area to do book signings at 4 Sam’s Club stores, I listened to my favorite radio station there, The Range, and as usual, I heard a song that I couldn’t live without learning. It was another one by Guy Clark, one of the finest songwriters that has ever lived. As I am working hard on writing my own songs, I thought this one had good application to my own life and mind. I personally transcribed these. I know they are more accurate than other versions on the Net.

“Some Days You Write the Song” by Guy Clark

It’s just one of those days you can’t explain

When nothing’s right or wrong

Too much wine or not enough

So you just play along.

There’s no rhyme or reason

Ain’t a damn thing you can do

Some days you write the song

Some days the song writes you.

Searching for a melody

To sing my soul to sleep

Reaching for some harmony

Down inside of me

Some days you know just how it goes

Some days you have no clue.

Some days you write the song

Some days the song writes you.

You can fall

You can fly

Get low down or get high

You can try or just leave it alone.

You can search for the way

You can curse, you can pray

But the words have a way of their own.

It don’t matter how much it hurts

You’ve got to tell the truth.

Some days you write the song

Some days the song writes you.

Now you may think I just made this up

But I would not lie, that’s true

Some days you write the song

Some days the song writes you.

The Brendan Voyage: A Review by Rickey E. Pittman

I’ve had few books pique my interests and hold my attention as much as The Brendan Voyage by Tim Severin. First published in May of 1978, it’s one of those books that after reading you ask, “Why didn’t I find out about this book years ago?” This book is the story of “how a crew of five, later reduced to four, sailed a medieval boat, [curragh] made of leather, across the [North] Atlantic . . . .”  The author and crew were determined to prove that the legendary voyage of St. Brendan as related in the medieval text of the Navigatio was “not a legend at all, but a fairly factual record of a voyage to North American hundreds of years before the Vikings and nearly a thousand before Columbus.

If you are as intrigued by Celtic history as I am, you will find this an exciting read, and you will delightfully learn more than you intended or expected.  Severin’s prose is rich in historical and modern allusions and details, providing insight after insight into the minds of the medieval monks and what it means and meant to sail on the ocean in an ancient boat.

The author so details the making and sailing of the Brendan, that I felt I was there with him on the cold northern seas every step of the way. I learned facts about the North Atlantic, its fantastic beauties and its savage dangers that I never would have imagined. The accounts and details related of the whales, the ice, the strange lands, the birds of his historical reenactment of Brendan’s voyage that I learned are too numerous to mention.  About the title of this review–it’s not quite accurate. Actually, it seems that other Irishmen had found the Americas even before Brendan.  But that’s another story

I was so impressed by this book that I’ve decided to incorporate St. Brendan and his voyage into my Scots-Irish program that I do for schools.  Here are a few quotations I found interesting in The Brendan Voyage (Hutchinson Publishers):

“The seventh wave is said to be the worst, the one that does the damage in the turmoil of an ocean gale” (1).

The Navigatio is said by many to be an Immram, an Irish voyage story. “It is the main surviving record of a Christian seagoing culture which sent boat after boat into the North Atlantic or regular voyages of communication and exploration . . . What sort of men, then, were these monks who deliberately launched out into the Atlantic in small open boats? Many must never have returned, but perished at sea” (259).

Here is a photo of the Brendan, the curragh that Severin sailed to America.

The Brendan: A Curragh that sailed from Ireland to America

This past Friday, I presented my Scots-Irish program to the first and second graders at Forest Ridge Elementary. The kids and staff were wonderful. I’ll try to post some more photos of the day soon. This was my first visit to College Station, but I’m sure it won’t be my last. As I’ve said before, I love going to Texas. Here in the photo with me is Christy Rhodes, the librarian who scheduled the program.  I now have another “favorite librarian”  to add to that growing list.

Christy Rhodes, Forest Ridge Elementary, College Station, TX

On the way back to Louisiana, I had Sam’s Club signings scheduled in Longview, Tyler, and in Shreveport.  Longview came through, but the other two will have to be rescheduled due to my books not arriving.

Two Leprechaun’s Go into a Bar–A Very Short Story . . .

Two leprechauns, Seamus and Angus, go into the Rainbow Lounge, an American bar in Fort Worth, intending to have some fun with the locals. They put on cowboy hats and boots, and enter singing, “Somewhere, over the rainbow,” for that is a leprechaun’s favorite American song. They climb up the barstools having sung their little hearts out. The jukebox is now playing Randy Newman’s song, “Short People.” One pounds on the counter with his shillelagh. “We’ll have a pint and a half,” he said. “For each of us.” The bartender evidently knew something about Irish pubs because he brought each of them a pint of Guinness and a glass of whiskey on the side. “Here you are. Pints for you half-pints.”

Still determined to mess with the bartender’s mind, the other leprechaun said, “I’m in desperate need of a job. Would you hire me?”

“What kind of job do you want? A short-order cook?” the bartender said. “Or you might make a good secretary, writing in short hand in all.”

“Can you turn on that TV above your head there. Maybe there’s a futbol game on.” Angus elbows the other leprechaun, “He probably doesn’t know the difference between American football and soccer.”

The bartender hits the remote and a soccer game came on. The Irish were playing the Swiss.

“I used to be quite the soccer player,” Seamus said.
The bartender smiled. “I would have thought your sport would have been baseball–you know, playing short-stop or something.”
Angus had taken all he could from the smart-ass bartender. “Would you stop the short jokes? I’m getting worked up.”
The bartender wiped the counter, then flipped the towel across Angus’ face. “I always heard leprechauns were short-tempered. Pay for your drinks and get out. You owe me twenty dollars. In gold of course.”
“Well,” Angus said. “You know how this is going to end up. Our gold is buried in Ireland. We’re a little short on funds, so we’re going to have to short-change you.”

*For those of you who haven’t ever heard the song “Short People” by Randy Newman, here are the lyrics:
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
To live

They got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin’ great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feet

Well, I don’t want no short people
Don’t want no short people
Don’t want no short people
`Round here

Short people are just the same
As you and I
(A fool such as I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(It’s a wonderful world)

Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
To love

They got little baby legs
That stand so low
You got to pick em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That go beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin’ peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
They’re gonna get you every time
Well, I don’t want no short people
Don’t want no short people
Don’t want no short people
‘Round here

Last week I presented a program at the SCV camp in Sherman, Texas. They were a great group. One thing I will say about members of such historically focussed groups is that they are readers.  Because of them, I’ve added three new books to my library:

Requiem by W.J. Tancig (1968) An epic poem that I can’t wait to read and contemplate.

Battle Pieces: Civil War Poems of Herman Melville – I’ve had my eye on this book for a few years, and after passing up purchasing it twice before, I finally obtained it.

A History in Brief of the 11th Texas Cavalry prepared by members of the Colonel George R. Reeves Camp – This is my prize acquisition of the trip.

I will attempt to post reviews of these and others works on my blog in the near future.

SCENES FROM JACKSON, MS CELTIC FEST

Here are a couple of photos from the Celtic-rain Fest in Jackson this year. The first is of Shawndi Holton, a creative writing teacher in Mississippi. The second is of the Guinness Girls touring the grounds.  They were fine representatives of a fine beer!

At Jackson Celtic Fest

Guinness Girls

I hardly ever watch television, but I love movies. However, my schedule is now so incredibly busy and packed with college and writing business that I don’t often get to watch a movie or read a book. However, a couple of weeks ago, I managed to do both. I had a small window of time and on one of the movie channels caught Love Song for Bobby Long with John Travolta and Scarlett Johansson. I found the film moving, and I checked to see if it were based on a book. It was–the novel by Ronald E. Capps entitled, Off Magazine Street.  I ordered it right away.  Then I ordered the CD with the theme song of the movie.

Off Magazine Street Capps’ first novel. Good Reads says he has two more. He is a graduate of Auburn and an Alabama resident. In addition to being what I consider a fine writer, he is also a visual artist, painting and sculpting.  He has the attitude of a writer. I found a quote of his that I really liked. He said:

You can find the plot of Off Magazine Street in many places, so I won’t repeat that here, but I would like to make some observations of this novel. I found the movie good, the book better, the song by Grayson Capps (not sure if he is related to the author) a fair capsule of the novel.  The story is a moving one, so full of sadness, the characters so realistically portrayed, the dialogue so natural, that I knew it had to be true (not in the literal sense, but as in “truth”–reflecting life accurately). I understood the characters–Bobby Long, the fallen from grace professor; Byron Burns, the struggling writer and friend, and Hanna, the girl from the wrong side of the tracks, indeed the wrong side of life, whom they help get into college.  I learned about drunks, about writing, about seeing life, about New Orleans. The many allusions are rich and instructive, the narrative effective. This was a novel I could not put down until I finished it.

However, the novel is still not finished with me.

“Bobby got an overdose of some things and an underdose of others. His mind ran too fast. He could not slow it down. He was like a gazelle in a toy store at times, and a moth to a flame at others” (192).

“Bobby knew nothing about occasions, timing, he only knew what he lived. That was the way he had lived his whole life. To him things were simple. You reached out and took, and if you felt like it, you gave, with intensity you wanted to give with” (237).

“Byran wished he could have blamed it all on a war; a broken home during childhood, some terrible handicap, and make the reader of the book he would probably never finish believe that there was some good in Bobby. But the truth was more likely that, his friend, with all his sins and faults, with his unusual mind–enhyanced or diluted with years of alcohol and too many thoughts–was neither good or bad, just a conglomeration called Bobby Long” (238).

There are many other quotes, but you need to find them yourself.

Here are some quotations I liked:

This weekend will be busy. Tonight, I have a presentation for the Sherman, Texas, SCV. Then tomorrow, a signing at Waldenbooks at the mall in Sherman, and an Americana music show at the Java Stop Coffee House beginning at 7:00 p.m. Saturday, I’ll have signings at the Sherman Sam’s Club and the Books A Million. Monday, I’m presenting a program at Region VIII Media & Library Services in Mt. Pleasant, Texas. I’ll then return home Monday night and get ready for the next cycle of author events. Here is a flyer for my weekend. If you’re in the area, come and see me.

Sherman Author & Music Events

Seamus the Leprechaun took a few days off from his cobbler business to attend the Jackson, Mississippi Celtic Fest. A full report of his adventures there will be forthcoming. On his return he stopped at the sign welcoming visitors to Monroe, Louisiana. After wading through water up to the soft mound of dirt the sign is built on, he posed for this photo. When asked why this sign was important to him, he said:

“I’m looking for a pot of gold! I heard that  Monroe’s Mayor Mayo constructed this sign for $75,000.00. Look at it. It’s a pile of dirt and a bunch of bricks. There’s no way it could have cost that much. So I decided he must have buried some of that money here, and I’ve come to find it.  With a name like Mayo, do you think the mayor is Irish?”

Seamus the Leprechaun can be seen in the bottom left corner of the photo.

Seamus Searches for Mayo Gold

Here are the lyrics to a song I wrote based on the myths and legends regarding the Red River. I wrote a novel based on the fever legend. You can check it out on the sidebar. I’m working on the song structure. I’m sure it will be in a minor key.

Red River Fever by Rickey E. Pittman

On the edge of the Indian nations,

Once a violent no man’s land,

Spirits move along the river’s banks,

Ghosts of lost and desperate men.

Whores and Comancheros

Wanted men and half-breeds,

Jayhawkers, scalpers, and outlaws,

They once made this valley bleed.

Hidden by the thickets,

Logjams, quicksand, and flood,

They killed and thieved and raged,

Until the river flowed with blood.

And the river whispered secrets

Into their souls each night,

Dark and cruel and blood things,

And they listened with delight.

Infected with a fever that

Boiled their blood and brains

The demons of the valley

Made men violent and insane.

The demons only set them free,

When the river’s work was done,

The fever’s only cure was death,

By rope or knife or gun.

The fever’s gone they say,

But still the blood-red waters flow

And whispers yet its secrets,

To the dark and lost in soul.

Here are the song lyrics to two songs by Jeff Talmadge. If you don’t have his CD True, you should get it! I’ll do a review on the whole CD soon. These are songs I’m going to add to my own Americana show.

Train from Amsterdam by Jeff Talmadge

Verse 1:

We used to talk about tomorrow

like we had all kinds of time

And sometimes this life is like

Some shirt I borrowed

but tonight it fits me like it’s mine

CHORUS:

And I’m near some border

on this train from Amsterdam

knowing what’s been left along the way

And it’s hard giving up a thing you never had

And my heart’s a million miles away

Verse 2:

I took this train across the lowlands

The stars were setting in the sea

And I’ll take these lowlands as a sign tonight

While the rails are whispering to me

CHORUS:

Verse 3:

Did you ever stop and wonder

What it took to put you in this place

Every careful plan you made got torn asunder

Then every broken piece fell into place.

White Crosses by Jeff Talmadge

Verse 1:

White crosses by the side of the road

Plastic flowers and sunburnt bows,

All lit up like a desert rose

As I drive away from you

Memories float in the twilight air

And it feels like sadness everywhere,

I wish I could say I didn’t care,

But that just isn’t true,

CHORUS:

Some things last forever,

That’s what you used to say,

Stars can burn white hot or fade away,

You’re in the stars tonight

And every breath I breathe,

I guess it’s true nobody gets to stay

Verse 2:

There’s a faded name on that cross

Somebody, somebody lost,

A reminder of what’s the cost

And how nothing stays the same

It’s like the faded name on your heart

And the road out of town takes us apart

Is it the end or just the start,

When there’s no one left to blame.

CHORUS:

Verse 3:

And in the faded desert light

There’s no clear picture of who’s wrong or right,

I could turn around and I think I might,

But I hit the gas and go,

For every cross and city limit’s sign

There’s one who goes and one who stays behind,

I don’t know which I am this time,

Or if I’ll ever know

CHORUS:

I guess it’s true nobody gets away . . .w