Showing posts with label Lewis Carroll. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lewis Carroll. Show all posts

Sunday, October 28, 2012

China Cat Sunflower: Issa's Sunday Service, #141

Photograph by gira4

China Cat Sunflower by Grateful Dead on Grooveshark

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China Cat Sunflower

Look for awhile at the China Cat Sunflower
proud-walking jingle in the midnight sun
Copper-dome Bodhi drip a silver kimono
like a crazy-quilt stargown
through a dream night wind

Krazy Kat peeking through a lace bandana
like a one-eyed Cheshire
like a diamond-eye Jack
A leaf of all colors plays
a golden string fiddle
to a double-e waterfall over my back

Comic book colors on a violin river
crying Leonardo words
from out a silk trombone
I rang a silent bell
beneath a shower of pearls
in the eagle wing palace
of the Queen Chinee


[Editor's note: Usually, the Sunday Service is good old fashioned, light weight rock n' roll fun. Inadvertently,  today's posting unearthed a serious topic, serious beyond the usual "literary" serious, and what results below was something of a struggle. It is neither meant to offend nor to preach - more than likely, it's come up short in its intent. Just sayin'.]

You can find more information than you could ever want, on this song or any other in their repertoire, at the Grateful Annotated Lyrics site, one of the most amazing sites dedicated to the works of a particular rock group or personality.  Among the many things pointed out there is the somewhat oblique inspiration of the work of Edith Sitwell on "China Cat Sunflower." The song makes it on this list because of the obvious reference to Lewis Carroll (the one-eyed Cheshire) but for the Sitwell, one must dig a bit deeper.

According to the Dead lyric site, Robert Hunter, the Dead's lyricist, mentions Sitwell's influence on the lyrics, with a special mention of the following poem, "Polka":

Polka   Dame Edith Sitwell

'Tra la la la la la la la
La
La!
    See me dance the polka,'
Said Mr. Wagg like a bear,
With my top hat
And my whiskers that--
(Tra la la la) trap the Fair.

Where the waves eem chiming haycocks
I dance the polka; there
Stand Venus' children in their gay frocks--
Maroon and marine--and stare

To see me fire my pistol
Through the distances blue as my coat;
Like Wellington, Byron, the Marquis of Bristol,
Buzbied great trees float.

While the wheezing hurdy-gurdy
 Of the marine wind blows me
 To the tune of Annie Rooney, sturdy,
 Over the sheafs of sea;

And bright as a seedsman's packet
With zinnias, candytufts chill,
Is Mrs. Marigold's jacket
As she gapes at the inn door still,

Where at dawn in the box of the sailor,
Blue as the decks of the sea,
Nelson awoke, crowed like the cocks,
Then back to dust sank he.

And Robinson Crusoe
Rues so

The bright and foxy beer--
But he finds fresh isles in a Negress' smiles--
The poxy doxy dear,

As they watch me dance the polka,'
Said Mr. Wagg like a bear,
'In my top hat and my whiskers that--
Tra la la la, trap the Fair.

Tra la la la la--
Tra la la la la--
Tra la la la la la la la

    La
    La
    La!'


In addition to the oblique references, it would seem that pacing and style were perhaps more influential than the actual lyrics themselves.

Another quote which Hunter mentions is from the Dame Edith Sitwell poem "Trio for Two Cats and a Trombone," which has a little more direct connection:


  "To the jade 'Come kiss me harder'
    He called across the battlements as she
    Heard our voices thin and shrill
    As the steely grasses' thrill,
    Or the sound of the onycha
    When the phoca has the pica
    In the palace of the Queen Chinee!"


Hunter quotes Sitwell directly with "palace of the Queen Chinee," so I attempted to run down the term "Chinee," which gives off a vague sense of the derogatory, though I'm not sure about it in the context of either the poem or song. Still, it should be noted; even if not meant offensively, ignorance, on anyone's part, is no legitimate defense.

A couple of databases of racial slurs listed the term as offensive, a couple of others did not; it evidently originated as a back formed singular for Chinese in the plural sense, but probably found bigoted popularity in the inability of Chinese people to speak English well, thereby mimicking their pronunciation of English in a derogatory way. Another source defined the term as a Chinese person living in England.

[More on the Sitwell, after a bit of investigation. "Trio for Cats and a Trombone" was part of a larger musical piece called Façade, which was something of a scandal when initially performed. You can find a great deal of background on it here. Evidently, after being variously condemned on its initial performance (with Sitwell reciting the poems, through a megaphone protruding from a curtain, to musical accompaniment), it became quite popular, going through a number of reworkings and even being the basis for a ballet. Interestingly, Wikipedia, which goes into a great deal of detail, does not mention her use of ethnic terms.]

The All Music Guide, in reviewing Façade, says

"Furthermore, either because she was satirizing the upper crust's casual racism or because she shared it, Sitwell's verse does have some mildly racist lines that are somewhat disturbing today. "

I thought about excluding the song because of all this, but it seemed more honest to face up to it and recognize it for what it is and put it out there to consider. Obviously, the Sitwell piece achieved fame in its own way. Certainly, "China Cat Sunflower" has long been one of the Dead's most popular tunes. I leave it to you to make what you will of Hunter's quote of Sitwell. From the Dead site, it appears to be pure homage. Perhaps, too, something is to be gleaned about late 60s America, around the time the Dead song was composed.

Here is the whole piece, Façade, which runs some 32 minutes in length:


Facade by Dame Edith Sitwell and Chamber Orchestra conducted by Frederik Prausnitz on Grooveshark
If above link is wonky, you can listen here


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Besides these references to Sitwell poems, there is the Alice in Wonderland reference, plus the song is jammed packed with other things - allusions to Buddhism (Bodhi), Leonardo da Vinci, maybe Ginsberg and Kerouac's sunflower in the train yard (to say nothing of Blake's sunflower), and maybe even Dylan's waiting on the Double-E.

For Cheshire Cat fans, here's a little something that might be taken as advice for the current, ahem, election season:


 

For traditionalists, here's a collection of Cheshire Cat scenes, voiced by the incomparable Sterling Holloway:


 
 
 
 
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Photo by Umberto Salvagnin



heat shimmers--
how the cat talks
in her sleep!
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue





best,
Don 

Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature. Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 140 songs

Sunday, September 25, 2011

Cooksferry Queen: Issa's Sunday Service, #120


Cooksferry Queen by Richard Thompson on Grooveshark

This past week, a friend insisted I keep at it with two things: John Keats' poetry and Richard Thompson's music. I'm happy to say that both clicked and, in the later case, after a few years of insistence.

A tip of the hat to Che for his insistence and always spot-on taste.

The album that won me over was Mock Tudor and what was to be discovered there? Not one, not two, but three songs that qualify for the Sunday Service and today's is a beauty: "Cooksferry Queen." The litrock connection comes from a line that has been referenced in a previous selection. The Alice books seem to be an endless source for rock bands; along with the Bible, they have by far have provided the most tunes for this regular feature.

I got a bit of a charge out of the description of the song on Songfacts:

"The song is about a thug who gets dosed with acid and adopts the paisley."


There are a number of different videos of this song floating around; here's one I like a lot.





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This week's archival poem comes from Lilliput Review #68, April 1995, by the esteemed small press legend, A. D. Winans. Enjoy.




Coffee Gallery Blues
I don't care how god
damn smart they are
I'm bored with their writing
for each other

Just the other day
one of them said
poetry isn't for
the masses

It's been raining
intellectual snobs
all day
long
A. D. Winans









the masses wait
but all in vain...
cuckoo
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue









best,
Don



Send a single haiku for the Wednesday Haiku feature. Here's how.

Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 120 songs

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Utterly Simple: Issa's Sunday Service, #80







Today's Sunday selection is another chosen this week "at random" by the mp3 player: Traffic's "Utterly Simple."   This song is a Dave Mason composition, one of his earliest according to the All Music Guide, and an early version of it first appeared on the soundtrack of the movie, Here We Go Round the Mulberry Bush.   As to its literary aspirations, here's the first verse:

Everything really is stupidly simple
And yet all around is utter confusion
Fairy tales written may help you to see it
Do you understand about Lewis's Alice?
We fit all our lives into regular patterns
All that we really know is that we're really living


The Alice books, along with the Bible, are among literature subjects most referred to in rock lyrics.  I listened to this song hundreds of times and never caught the reference (till this week's Ipod playing) and so it goes for mp3 listening being such a sonically degrading experience.  I've always been a big fan of Traffic, their handful of early albums being some of the finest music to come out of the 60s pop/rock experience.   This one is an old fav and their first single:






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In the regular featured archive poems, we seem to be at a spot where there is a lot of Albert Huffstickler (and here's a whole bunch).  What a fine spot to be!  Here are two short poems from #124 from March 2002 - enjoy.


She wants so much
to be like the others.
I understand.
How could I not?
But it's the wanting
that defeats her.
The wanting
defeats us all.





Everyone leaves
a different silence
on departing:
it's like a signature.
Albert Huffstickler







butterfly flits
as if wanting nothing
in this world
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue







best,
Don


Go to the LitRock web site for a list of all 80 songs
Hear all 80 at once on the the LitRock Jukebox

Sunday, November 1, 2009

White Rabbit: Issa's Sunday Service, #27







This past week was the birthday of rock great, Grace Slick, from one of my favorite 60's bands, Jefferson Airplane (a choice for which I took much flack from close friends). This week's selection is "White Rabbit," which is the second Grace Slick number to land on the Litrock list (here's the first, in case you missed it). Whether it's James Joyce or Lewis Carroll, Slick was always on the, umm, high end of things and this is a classic that just keeps on giving. It's presentation by the band is unusual for a song that hit the charts with staying power; the music builds dramatically, centered around the words and Slick's voice, in a style almost perfect for poetic presentation.


*****************************

Heading back to March 1993 and dipping into Lilliput Review #41, I found a couple of poems not previously featured. Enjoy.





The Center Of Evolution
the silence of a field
that points through the depth of a leaf
that formed all that potato
frying in your face
Stacey Sollfrey





this
isness of monarch
on lantana bloom,

two horny toads spied
in one week, late heat ...;

a sprinkle of rain
to prove the phenomenon

is all there is,
and is enough
Sylvia Manning




And one from the master:





eyeing the potato
on the banked fire...
crow
Issa
translated by David G. Lanoue



best,
Don

Sunday, June 28, 2009

Issa's Sunday Service, #10






This week's LitRock number on Issa's Sunday Service is the Beatles's I Am the Walrus, which takes the title character from Lewis Carroll's "The Walrus and the Carpenter" poem from the Alice book Through The Looking Glass. There is also the reference to Poe and the infamous fadeout ending with a recitation of King Lear courtesy of a BBC broadcast that happened to be on sometime during the recording sessions . Lennon was hitting all the stops on this one. Here's the lyrics.

This week's featured poem on the count up from Lilliput Review #1 comes from issue #16, October 1990. Enjoy.





A Short Poem
A short poem
should reach
at least
the left hand of God.

Daniel McCaffrey











from this year on
in my left hand, umbrella-hat
in the right, knapsack

Issa
translated by David Lanoue






best,
Don

Friday, May 29, 2009

Huff Lives: the Life and Work of Albert Huffstickler


Photo by Tracy Gordy


There have been two postings in recent days about Lilliput Review favorite, Albert Huffstickler, at the Feel Free to Read blog. The first is a general overview of Huff's life and career and the second is, entitled "The Bard of Hyde Park," a reprint of an article from The Austin American Statesman by Chuck Lindell on his passing and his influence on the local community and area poets.

I've spoken often of Huff here. He had a profound affect on me and Lilliput Review. It continues to be a point of delight and amazement that a small press poet, who never hit it big, continues to be revered, remembered, and discussed 7 years after his passing. For many years he was regular as rain in LR (and those of you who know his work well know, too, that the metaphor was not selected randomly); he continues to grab people via this blog and, whenever his work is posted, to be commented on. He has a popularity with regular folk that is analogous in affect, if not immensity, akin to Bukowski and Collins, without the commensurate baggage of either.



Something random
in the morning air.
Something not
to be named.
Something that starts
where the music ends.
Albert Huffstickler (LR #105)



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Though a bit lengthy, especially for this blog/mag's focus, I found the following poem to be of interest and, old school though it is, to be as modern, in both its subject and point of view, as can be. The title is a variation of the Latin phrase "poeta nascitur, non fit," meaning "a poet is born, not made." Carroll's reversal in his title says it all. From that title on, the playfulness for which the author of the Alice books was well-known is admirably displayed.



Poeta Fit, Non Nascitur by Lewis Carroll
"How shall I be a poet?
How shall I write in rhyme?
You told me once 'the very wish
Partook of the sublime.'
Then tell me how! Don't put me off
With your 'another time'!"

The old man smiled to see him,
To hear his sudden sally;
He liked the lad to speak his mind
Enthusiastically;
And thought "There's no hum-drum in him,
Nor any shilly-shally."

"And would you be a poet
Before you've been to school?
Ah, well! I hardly thought you
So absolute a fool.
First learn to be spasmodic --
A very simple rule.

"For first you write a sentence,
And then you chop it small;
Then mix the bits, and sort them out
Just as they chance to fall:
The order of the phrases makes
No difference at all.

'Then, if you'd be impressive,
Remember what I say,
That abstract qualities begin
With capitals alway:
The True, the Good, the Beautiful --
Those are the things that pay!

"Next, when you are describing
A shape, or sound, or tint;
Don't state the matter plainly,
But put it in a hint;
And learn to look at all things
With a sort of mental squint."

"For instance, if I wished, Sir,
Of mutton-pies to tell,
Should I say 'dreams of fleecy flocks
Pent in a wheaten cell'?"
"Why, yes," the old man said: "that phrase
Would answer very well.

"Then fourthly, there are epithets
That suit with any word --
As well as Harvey's Reading Sauce
With fish, or flesh, or bird --
Of these, 'wild,' 'lonely,' 'weary,' 'strange,'
Are much to be preferred. "

"And will it do, O will it do
To take them in a lump --
As 'the wild man went his weary way
To a strange and lonely pump'?"
"Nay, nay! You must not hastily
To such conclusions jump.

"Such epithets, like pepper,
Give zest to what you write;
And, if you strew them sparely,
They whet the appetite:
But if you lay them on too thick,
You spoil the matter quite!

"Last, as to the arrangement:
Your reader, you should show him,
Must take what information he
Can get, and look for no im-
mature disclosure of the drift
And purpose of your poem.

"Therefore, to test his patience --
How much he can endure --
Mention no places, names, or dates,
And evermore be sure
Throughout the poem to be found
Consistently obscure.

"First fix upon the limit
To which it shall extend:
Then fill it up with 'Padding'
(Beg some of any friend):
Your great SENSATION-STANZA
You place towards the end."

"And what is a Sensation,
Grandfather, tell me, pray?
I think I never heard the word
So used before to-day:
Be kind enough to mention one
'EXEMPLI GRATIA.'"

And the old man, looking sadly
Across the garden-lawn,
Where here and there a dew-drop
Yet glittered in the dawn,
Said "Go to the Adelphi,
And see the 'Colleen Bawn.'

'The word is due to Boucicault --
The theory is his,
Where Life becomes a Spasm,
And History a Whiz:
If that is not Sensation,
I don't know what it is.

"Now try your hand, ere Fancy
Have lost its present glow -- "
"And then," his grandson added,
"We'll publish it, you know:
Green cloth-gold-lettered at the back --
In duodecimo!"

Then proudly smiled that old man
To see the eager lad
Rush madly for his pen and ink
And for his blotting-pad --
But, when he thought of PUBLISHING,
His face grew stern and sad.




Today is the anniversary of the passing of Jeff Buckley. Here he takes Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah" to a place only he could.






loneliness--
that song the shrike
is singing!
Issa
translated by David Lanoue


best,
Don