Kevin Griffin, a songwriter, musician, and force behind the band Better than Ezra (known to Monroe residents) caught my attention recently with a song, “Hey, Love.” You can hear the song on Griffin’s Facebook Fan page. There’s a great Wikipedia article on Griffin as well. After a search on the Web, I found several of his songs (with lyrics) posted, but I did not find, “Hey, Love,” so I decided to transcribe and post the lyrics of this great song. As is common with transcriptions, it’s likely I missed a line or two [especially the ones I put in brackets] due to recording or personal hearing issue hiccups. Send me any corrections and I’ll change the post quickly.

Hey, Love by Kevin Griffin

I haven’t felt you, for a while
II haven’t had much opportunity to smile
I see you in the eyes of couples passing by
A so missed kiss of innocence
Too long I’ve been denied

Hey Love, where you going?
Hey Love, How you been?
I wish you’d stay a little longer
But that’s okay, I understand
Maybe another day.
Hey, Love, Old Friend,
There you go again.

I found a photo and you were there
Captured in our faces just before you disappeared
Was nice to know you
If only for a while
You come and go
With a sweet hello
And a bittersweet goodbye

Hey Love, where you going?
Hey Love, How you been?
I wish you’d stay a little longer
But that’s okay, I understand
Maybe another day.
Hey, Love, Old Friend,
There you go again.

And before the new beginning
It’s just another’s end
Tell me love why I should begin, again,

Can you come back, love?

The moon is alluded to, used as a symbol, and reverenced in mythology, literature, and music. One usage is that of the Blue Moon. According to the Farmer’s Almanac, a Blue moon happens “whenever two full Moons appeared in a single month (which happens on average every 2 1/2 to 3 years), the second has been christened a “Blue Moon.” In our lexicon, we describe an unusual event as happening “Once in a Blue Moon.”  This site has a blue moon calculator if you’d like to know when the next one is. If you’re interested in the folklore associated with the Blue Moon, go to this site.

Once again, my Americana cable station caused me to latch onto a new song. This is by Nanci Griffith, and the beautiful song is entitled, “Once in a Very Blue Moon.” I’ve posted it with the lyrics and chords. You can purchase it on iTunes (and I just heard that iTunes is lowering prices on many songs!). Nanci Griffith’s Web page is here:

Once in a Very Blue Moon written by Patrick Alger & Gene Levine

D            A        G
I found your letter in my mailbox today
D            A        G    A
You were just checkin’ if I was okay
D        A
And if I still miss you
G
Well you know what they say
G        A     D(walk to Bm)
Just once in a very blue moon
G        A            D
Just once in a very blue moon
G        A    Gbm        Bm
Just once in a very blue moon
G            A        D
And I feel one comin’ on soon

No need to tell me you’d like to be friends
And help me get back on my feet again n
And do I still miss you?
Well it’s just now and then

Just once in a very blue moon
Just once in a very blue moon
Just once in a very blue moon
And I feel one comin’ on soon

G            Gbm    Bm
There’s a blue moon shinin’
G            A
When I’m reminded
G                A

Of all we’ve been through
G        A    Gbm        Bm
Such a blue moon shinin’
E                        A
Does it ever shine down on you?

Oh, ’cause you act like
It never even hurt you at all
And I’m the only one
Gettin’ up from a fall
Tell me you dont feel it
Oh can’t you recall

Just once in a very blue moon
Just once in a very blue moon
Just once in a very blue moon
And I feel one comin’ on soon

Just once in a very blue moon.

Recently, I’ve been meeting Scots who aren’t from the Highland Clans, but rather from the “districts” of Scotland. Some of them have referred to themselves as Border Scots. That made me think of this song performed by Ed Miller that is part of my Scots-Irish show. I’ll have a special interview and article about the District Scots in the near future

ROLLING HILLS OF THE BORDER performed by Ed Miller
(Matt McGinn)

Chorus:
When I die, bury me low
Where I can here the bonny Tweed flow
A sweeter place I never will know
Than the rolling hills of the Borders

I traveled far and wandered wide
I’ve seen the Hudson and the Clyde
I wandered by Loch Lomond side
But I dearly love the Borders

Chorus:

Oft do I remember the day
When wi’ my love I strolled by the Tay
But all its beauty fades away
Among the hills of the Borders

Chorus:
There’s a certain peace of mind
Bonny lassies there you will find
Men so strong and men so kind
Among the hills of the Borders

Chorus:
When I die, bury me low
Where I can here the bonny Tweed flow
A sweeter place I never will know
Than the rolling hills of the Borders
The rolling hills of the Borders

BOOK/PROGRAM NEWS:

Last night, I was able to personally meet Jill Conner Brown at her book signing here in Monroe at the Books-A-Million. What a wonderful, warm lady! I also met her husband, Kyle. I hope to be a part of their St. Patrick Parade in Jackson this year. The rest of this week is filled with meetings and class preparation for the colleges I work with. Preparing a college class (land based or online) is tedious and very time consuming.

My schedule (so far) for January:

Thursday, Jan. 15 A program at Brock, Texas ISD

Sat. Jan. 17, Speaking and performing at the Lee-Jackson Banquet in Abbeville, LA for the Sons of Confederate Veterans

Sat. Jan. 24: Performing at the Burns Supper for the Celtic Society of Northeast Louisiana.

With this post, I’m returning to the topic of the noted songwriter, Kieran Kane, with a song entitled “Rosie’s Gone,” about a woman “emotionally and psychologically devastated by the loss of a loved one” in Vietnam.  You can read a fine article about Kane’s album, The Blue Chair here.  I recently purchased it and have enjoyed the music greatly. For years, I’ve taught “A Rose for Emily” by Faulkner in freshman composition. Somehow the song “Rosie’s Gone” made me think of that story and the circumstances of life that alienate us or drive us inward and away from others.  I transcribed the lyrics from the CD.

ROSIE’S GONE by Kieran Kane

Rosie lives inside a house
Whose paint is cracked and dry
The fence outside is falling down
The grass is three feet high.

Children in the neighborhood
Knock on her door and run
Then want to see who answers it
But no one ever comes.

Rosie’s gone
Where nothing can reach her
Rose’s gone
Away in her mind
To a sweet yesterday when love was alive
So long, Rosie’s gone.

Dust has gathered everywhere
The shades are pulled down
Everything is still arranged
As if he were around.

A letter from the president
Still lays there on the floor
Praising a young man’s courage
In a southeast Asian war

Rosie’s gone
Where noting can reach her
Rosie’s gone
Away in her mind
To a sweet yesterday when love was a live
So long, Rosie’s gone.

I decided to make one more post based on Condrescu’s book, New Orleans, Mon Amour. For this post, I want to simply list some quotations and “did you know” phrases that caught my attention. Codrescu does have a way with words. I didn’t know:

1. That New Orleans had two German langauge daily newspapers in the mid-1800’s.

2. About the book, The Mysteries of New Orleans by Baron Ludwig von Reizenstein. Quite a colorful book and character. Codescu calls the author a “skinny eccentric who frequented seedy bars in the French Quarter” (3).

3. About the Nag Hammadi, Gnostic gospels. There is a whole story line he develops from a phrase from them, “Our sister Sophia, she who is a whore.”

4. About several festivals there. I did know about the Faulkner Festival, but not

5. Codrescu gives details I didn’t know about Molly’s and Jim Monaghan, all kinds of foods/recipes I’ve never tried, (like dishwater fish. It’s for real. Google it)  I learned of the turtle soup at Commanders that is over 100 years old, i.e., the turtle soup pot  has never gone out since it was opened in 1888. About writers I was unfamiliar with, whom I must look up soon.

6. About Katrina. He says the residents of New Orleans wondered “at the huge gaps between the reports of the media and the stories of our friends still on the ground.”

7. Though I had read Confederacy of Dunces in 1993, I did not know that “John Kennedy Toole . . . committed suicide here when no big eastern publisher would touch his novel. The small press of the state university finally did the book, and posthumously Toole was award the Pulitzer Prize” (48).

8. About Barkus, the dog parade

Codrescus says that New Orleans still has enough material to give “future readers a slimpse of what is was to be alive, a poet, in New Orleans at the end of the twentieth century and the very beginning of the twenty-first” (6). Other phrases:

“the rapture of legend and rumor” (15) Calls for dead people and that there is “a telephonic voodoo cult in the city” (17).

“New Orleans is a pirate city, in both legend and fact” (19)

*There are so many other good quotations, but perhaps these are sufficient food for thought.

This week, I viewed a movie, Catch and Release and in the background of one of the scenes heard a song. I hastily scratched down some of the lyrics, googled them, found the song, and purchased it from iTunes. It is “What If You” by Josh Radin. His music is acoustic guitar, the lyrics touching, and his talent obvious. (He is also an artist and actor). You’ve likely heard his music on the sitcom, Scrubs. There are tons of sites and Youtube links devoted to him, but his official site is here if you’d like to know more about this songwriter.

Joshua Radin – What If You

What if you
Could wish me away
What if you
Spoke those words today

I wonder if you’d miss me
When I’m gone
It’s come to this, release me
I’ll leave before the dawn

But for tonight
I’ll stay here with you
Yes, for tonight
I’ll lay here with you

But when the sun
Hits your eyes
Through your window
There’ll be nothing you can do

What if you
Could hear this song
What if I
Felt like I belong

I might not be leaving
Oh so soon
Began the night believing
I loved you in the moonlight

So, for tonight
I’ll stay here with you
Yes, for tonight
I’ll lay here with you

But when the sun
Hits your eyes
Through your window
There’ll be nothing you can do

I could’ve treated you better
Better than this
Well, I’m gone, this song’s your letter
Can’t stay in one place

So, for tonight
I’ll stay here with you
Yes, for tonight
I’ll lay here with you

But when the sun
Hits your eyes
Through your window
There’ll be nothing you can do

Kate Cumming’s Thoughts on Scotland and the South

There is so much that could be said about Kate Cumming, nurse with the Army of Tennessee during the War Between the States,  but this will be my last post on her for a while.  Her thoughts on Scotland and the South are particular relevant to this blog.  I believe s he expresses some of the real issues of the War Between the States. If you enjoy researching the Civil War, you should find a copy of her journal somewhere. In Kate: A Journal of A Confederate Nurse (LSU Press), she says, beginning on p. 4ff:

About the trial of Wirz and Andersonville, she says, “We begged, time and again, for an [prisoner] exchange, but none was granted.  We starved their prisoners! But who laid waste our corn and wheat fields? And did not we all starve?  Have the southern men who were in northern prisons no tales to tell–of being frozen in their beds, and seeing their comrades freeze to death for want of proper clothing? Is there no Wirz for us to bring to trial? But I must stop; the old feeling comes back; these things are hard to bear. People of the North, the southerners have their faults. Cruelty is not one of them. If your prisoners suffered, it was from force of circumstances, and not with design.

About the cause of the war and the comparison of the South to Scotland, she says,  “When the war broke out, I looked around for a parallel, and naturally my native country and her struggle came up first.  Since I have been mingling with the southern people, I have found that I was far from being the only one who was claiming that land of romance and chivalry.  It was impossible to go any place without meeting her descendants; and thanks to Walter Scott and Burns, they had any other wish but that of disclaiming her.

“I have never seen Scotland to remember her, but have read much about her mountains, glens, and lakes, and I can not see how they can surpass in grandeur and beauty those we have here; and had we only the writers, gifted from the fire to sing, as none but Scotia’s bards have done, in her praise, they would find beauties here as boundless as our empire.

“Many will say that it is impossible that the South can ever prosper in union with the North. For centuries, not four years, England and Scotland, on the same island, a small rivulet dividing them, fought against each other with a ferocity such as no two nations ever exhibited.  In 1603 the throne of England became vacant by the death of Queen Elizabeth.  the next and nearest heir was James VI of Scotland. He ascended the English throne.  The two nations from that time were united in all save the name.  In 1707 the Act of Union was passed, and the two nations formed what is now Great Britain.

“Many years have elapsed since that union. Is a Scotchman today an Englishman? or, vice-versa, an Englishman a Scotchman? All know they are as distinct in nationality as the first day they were united . . .

“Scotland has lost nothing in grandeur or might since then. Her seats of learning can compete with any in the world.  Where is there a nation that can boast of more brilliant lights, both civil and military? Is not her literature spread broadcast over the whole earth . . .

“Many a man, whose name is now a shining light, never would have been heard of had not misfortune come upon him . . . If the southern people ever were a great people they will show it now.  In the whole world there is not such a favored spot as the South . . . That is why the North fought so hard to keep us with her.  We have every climate necessary for the well-being of man . . . Is this fair heritage to become a howling wilderness, because a people we dislike will have us unite with them whether we will or no?

Tempus Fugit

2008 Pittman Facts:

1) Number of books I read in 2008 – 44.

2) Number of book signings, musical performances, libraries, and school programs, Jan. (10), Feb. (14) March (16) April (20) May (11) June (5) July (6) August (5) Sept. (10) Oct. (14) Nov. (8) Dec. (5) TOTAL NUMBER OF PRESENTATIONS IS 124!

Not a bad number, considering I was also teaching college the entire time as well. The number does not include the days I spent driving, traveling when I would be making personal sales or meeting people to set up future programs. Though the writing life is often a brutal life—physically, emotionally and economically—I am totally committed to this nomadic existence.  The business of writing has changed so much. If you’re not willing to work hard on the business end (unless you’re  born with money, just lucky, or have the right “connections”) you won’t make it as an author or musician.

2009 RESOLUTIONS:

1. To write creatively every day.

2. To create two CD’s of songs and stories. One of Civil War content and the other of Scots-Irish.

3. To travel and see new places for research and experience. The past two years I’ve seen so many new places. Most are listed on my blog, and though there too many to list now, my favorites were Gaylord Hotel at Christmas, Catalina Island, and the desert in California, the Texas Civil War Museum.

4. I have a more personal wish-list of items I need and want for my programs and accomplish physically, but I’ll need to mull over those before I publish them.

KATE RUSBY SONG LYRICS:

As I rose with thoughts of making inventory of my past year, I thought of the lyrics of this song by Kate Rusby that I sometimes perform in my Scots-Irish music program.  Kate Rusby is the beautiful Celtic singer with the beautiful voice I discovered a few years ago.  Her website is here: The song is called “Old Man Time.”  If you want the chords, write me and I’ll send them to you. rickeyp@bayou.com.

Old Man Time is a rare old man
For a young man he’ll ever remain.
With his long grey beard and his clothes so plain,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.
As one flower dies, the old man he cries,
The young man he plants the seeds again.
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

This old man has an hourglass,
For every soul on the land.
Oh, Old Man Time, I have seen mine,
It’s the one with the fastest sand.
No sooner is it turned,
back through the glass it’s churned,
I’m wishing I could have each hour again.
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

To me, Old Man, your time is rare.
Did God not give you all my sand?
Or maybe mine I had to share,
Or is there some left in your hand?
They tell me time is gold, well maybe it’s been sold.
Or was it simply washed away in rain?
With a careful hand, he tends the sand,
Oh, Old Man Time is his name.

If I brought him a sack,
Do you think he’d put some back?
I know one day across my path he’ll come,
But as for now, I can’t say how,
I know the old man’s work is far from done.
For, Old Man Time has just begun.

This is my second post made on Kate Cumming, a native of Scotland and resident of Mobile, Alabama. Kate served throughout the war as a nurse attached to the Army of Tennessee. My friend and Celtic musician, Jed Marum, wrote another song about her that I often do in my own Civil War shows. I’ve included the lyrics here. This song is emotive, with a beautiful melody.  You can hear a sample of the song here:

Jed says this about Kate and the song: “Her dedication and sacrifice as a hospital nurse for the Confederates armies inspired me. Her diary is filled with her thoughts about helping so many young men prepare for death – and about being with them as they made that final passage. This song envisions her own final passage.”

Banks of the Mobile
© 2000 Jed Marum

Lay thee down, bonny lassie
Thy burden lay down
And we’ll sit by the Mobile
As her waters roll down

‘neath the shade of an Oak tree
I’ll sing you this song
And we’ll rest for the moment
For your journey’s been long

Now the time has long passed
When with love and with grace
You suffered the hardship
That few dared to face

And there’s many brave soldier
You helped on their way
Or returned to their families
The blue and the grey

CHO: Now it’s many have fallen
And long since their fall
We’ll recall every name
And embrace one an all
By the banks of the Mobile
I’ll sing you this song
And we’ll rest for the moment
For your journey’s been long

We were battle torn wounded
And the sick in your care
You nursed us with kindness
With song and with prayer

There’s a gift you once gave me
Those long years ago
And you stood by my bedside
’til I was ready to go

CHO

Here is a photo of Kate:

Here is a photo I took of her grave when I visited Mobile.

There are certain cities that have always appealed to me: Charleston, S.C.; Mobile, Alabama; Savannah, GA; Dallas, TX: and certainly New Orleans. The writer side of me wants to write in these cities, and about them, to capture the images of their residents with my words.

Here are some quotations from the chapter  of Condrescu’s book New Orleans, Mon Amour: Twenty Years of Writings from the City by Andrei Codrescu (Algonquin, 2006)  The chapter is entitled, “Se Habla Dreams.”

“There are certain cities and certain areas of certain cities where the official language is dreams. Venice is one. And Paris. North Beach in San Francisco. Wenceslaus Square in Prague. And New Orleans, the city that dreams stories. Writers come and eavesdrop and take some of those stories with them.”

“Ghosts and pirates are as thick as the morning fog . . . you dream without touching your coffee. The dead pass casually by: Buddy Bolden the creator of jazz; young Louis Armstrong; Marie Laveau, voodoo queen on whose grave at St. Louis Cemetery there are fresh offerings every night;  Jean Lafitte, the pirate, whose treasure is still buried in the fireplace of the Old Blacksmith Shop on Bourbon Street; beautiful and sad Creole mistresses of French and Spanish aristocrats; old carnival krewes and mobs of others, slaves, sailors, adventurers, writers.”

Besides the above mentioned dream-cities,  the chapter mentions the following places now on my list to see in New Orleans:

1. Lafayette Cemetery on Prytania, founded in 1833,  where Anne Rice’s vampire, Lestat resides. (2,000 people who died of yellow fever were buried in this cemetery in 1852. I found out the last case of yellow fever in America was in New Orleans in 1905).

2. Apartment where Fitzgerald wrote This Side of Paradise. 2900 Prytania Street ( I think)

3. Faulkner’s house on Pirate’s Alley

4. Audobon’s house, which I think is also in the Garden District.

5. The facade of the old United Fruit Company building (Pablo Neruda the poet cursed the company)

The city has long appealed to writers. Condrescu says, “Rarely do writers come here to meet other writers. The life about them suffices. Now and then I hear of other writers moving quietly in . . .  I had the fleeting thought that everyone, dead or alive, returns to New Orleans. If people can’t come back in their lifetime, they come back when they are dead. And everyone who ever lived here, the costumed Spanish and French dandies, the Victorian ladies of Kate Chopin’s age, the whores and ruffians, and the poets are all still here . . . The city can drive a sober-minded person insane, but it feeds the dreamer.”

And as long as New Orleans feeds dreamers, I’ll be going there.