My mood and my thoughts today.
Southern trees bear strange fruit
Blood on the leaves and blood at the root
Black bodies swinging in the southern breeze
Strange fruit hanging from the poplar trees
Pastoral scene of the gallant South
The bulging eyes and the twisted mouth
Scent of magnolias, sweet and fresh
Then the sudden smell of burning flesh
Here is fruit for the crows to pluck
For the rain to gather, for the wind to suck
For the sun to rot, for the trees to drop
Here is a strange and bitter crop
Written by Lewis Allan, Maurice Pearl, Dwayne P Wiggins • Copyright © Warner/Chappell Music, Inc
If I knew more about music I might be able to convey what makes the piano and acoustic guitar interplay here move me so much. I don't have the language.
Seen the arrow on the doorpost
Saying, "This land is condemned
All the way from New Orleans
To Jerusalem."
I traveled through East Texas
Where many martyrs fell
And I know no one can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
Well, I heard the hoot owl singing
As they were taking down the tents
The stars above the barren trees
Were his only audience
Them charcoal gypsy maidens
Can strut their feathers well
But nobody can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
See them big plantations burning
Hear the cracking of the whips
Smell that sweet magnolia blooming
(And) see the ghosts of slavery ships
I can hear them tribes a-moaning
(I can) hear the undertaker's bell
(Yeah), nobody can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
There's a woman by the river
With some fine young handsome man
He's dressed up like a squire
Bootlegged whiskey in his hand
There's a chain gang on the highway
I can hear them rebels yell
And I know no one can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
Well, God is in heaven
And we all want what's his
But power and greed and corruptible seed
Seem to be all that there is
I'm gazing out the window
Of the St. James Hotel
And I know no one can sing the blues
Like Blind Willie McTell
Songwriter: Bob Dylan
Blind Willie McTell lyrics © Bob Dylan Music Co.
With each listen of the track below, I've unfolded something new about reckoning and dignified acquiescence. This album was released on Cohen's final birthday. He died on election night. This is the second song on the album and its reprise bookends the album. The final recorded words and recorded breath. An album I've listened to every week this year. A warm blanket in the winter, a cool sip of water in summer.
I've seen you change the water into wine
I've seen you change it back to water, too
I sit at your table every night
I try but I just don't get high with you
I wish there was a treaty we could sign
I do not care who takes this bloody hill
I'm angry and I'm tired all the time
I wish there was a treaty, I wish there was a treaty
Between your love and mine
Ah, they're dancing in the street—it's Jubilee
We sold ourselves for love but now we're free
I'm so sorry for that ghost I made you be
Only one of us was real and that was me
I haven't said a word since you been gone
That any liar couldn't say as well
I just can't believe the static coming on
You were my ground, my safe and sound
You were my Ariel
Ah, the fields are crying out—it's Jubilee
We sold ourselves for love but now we're free
I'm so sorry for that ghost I made you be
Only one of us was real and that was me
I heard the snake was baffled by his sin
He shed his scales to find the snake within
But born again is born without a skin
The poison enters into everything
And I wish there was a treaty we could sign
I do not care who takes this bloody hill
I'm angry and I'm tired all the time
I wish there was a treaty, I wish there was a treaty
Between your love and mine
Leonard Cohen, 2016.
Ah, Leonard Cohen, a particular favourite of mine.