Promises

Little known fact:  I own every Cranberries album.  Don’t know exactly why, as I’ve never been a die-hard Cranberries fan, and I’ve also never been one to frivolously purchase music.  I’ve always been extremely selective with the records I’ve purchased over the years, and yet, whenever the Cranberries came out with a new album, I always managed to rush out and buy it post haste.

So today I’m sharing my favorite Cranberries track, Promises, in memory of Dolores O’Riordan.  It’s not the best Cranberries song (that nod should probably go to “Dreams” or “Ode to My Family” or “Zombie” or hell, even “Linger”) yet it’s still a kick-ass tune with brutally humanistic lyrics (this time about divorce) in keeping with the best Cranberries tunes.  R.I.P., Dolores.

You better believe I’m coming–
You better believe what I say…
You better hold on to your promises,
Because you bet you’ll get what you deserve.
She’s going to leave him over,
She’s gonna take her love away–
So much for your eternal vows, well,
It does not matter anyway.

Why can’t you stay here awhile?
Stay here awhile?
Stay with me?

Oh, all the promises we made,
All the meaningless and empty words
I prayed, prayed, prayed!
Oh, all the promises we broke…
All the meaningless and empty words
I spoke, spoke, spoke!

Do-do-do, do-do-do,
Do-do-do, do-do-do

What of all the things that you taught me?
What of all the things that you’d say?
What of all your prophetic preaching?
You’re just throwing it all away.
Maybe we should burn the house down,
Have ourselves another fight,
Leave the cobwebs in the closet,
‘Cause tearing them out is just not right.

Why can’t you stay here awhile?
Stay here awhile?
Stay with me, oh oh!

Oh, all the promises we made,
All the meaningless and empty words
I prayed, prayed, prayed!
Oh, all the promises we broke…
All the meaningless and empty words
I spoke, spoke, spoke!

Oh eh, oh eh, oh eh,
Oh eh, oh eh [Repeat]

Do-do-do
Do-do-do
Do-do-do
Do-do-do

(apologies to Dolores and The Cranberries)

Time to Move On

My favorite Tom Petty song from my favorite Tom Petty album. Enjoy.

It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going
 
Broken skyline, movin’ through the airport
She’s an honest defector
Conscientious objector
Now her own protector
 
Broken skyline, which way to love land
Which way to something better
Which way to forgiveness
Which way do I go
 
It’s time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going

Sometime later, getting the words wrong
Wasting the meaning and losing the rhyme
Nauseous adrenalin
Like breakin’ up a dogfight
Like a deer in the headlights
Frozen in real time
I’m losing my mind
 
It’s time to move on, time to get going
What lies ahead, I have no way of knowing
But under my feet, baby, grass is growing
It’s time to move on, it’s time to get going

(R.I.P. Tom Petty)

The Emperor of Ice-Cream

Boy Crying With Ice Cream Cone

Just felt like sharing a poem.  No particular reason.

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The Emperor of Ice-Cream

Call the roller of big cigars,
The muscular one, and bid him whip
In kitchen cups concupiscent curds.
Let the wenches dawdle in such dress
As they are used to wear, and let the boys
Bring flowers in last month’s newspapers.
Let be be finale of seem.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

Take from the dresser of deal.
Lacking the three glass knobs, that sheet
On which she embroidered fantails once
And spread it so as to cover her face.
If her horny feet protrude, they come
To show how cold she is, and dumb.
Let the lamp affix its beam.
The only emperor is the emperor of ice-cream.

-Wallace Stevens

 

Storming the Bastille

LibertyEqualityorDeath

Happy Bastille Day to all the Francophiles and other freedom lovers out there.  Bastille Day 2016 marked a banner day for the Closser clan.  I am wallowing in my own misery, per usual, while damn near everyone I love is going through something terrible.  My mother is lying in bed in a nursing home with pneumonia.  My brother’s life “got flipped turned upside down,” as the Fresh Prince would say.  And my father had to put down his dog of nearly sixteen years, a black Dachshund named “Nietzsche” who was in such poor health that there was really no other course of action but to put him to sleep.

It’s always a sad affair when one loses an animal, but as the poet Mark Doty once noted, to have a pet is to make a “pact with grief.”  Unless you own a tortoise, odds are that you will inevitably outlive the creature you’ve agreed to love and nurture, and one day you will have to deal with the grief that comes with its loss.

It’s not a Mark Doty poem I’m choosing to share below, but rather it’s a poem from Billy Collins.  I had forgotten about this particular poem, but my father mentioned it in our phone conversation this afternoon, and now I feel the need to share it.  (Apologies to Billy Collins.)

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The Revenant

I am the dog you put to sleep,
as you like to call the needle of oblivion,
come back to tell you this simple thing:
I never liked you–not one bit.

When I licked your face,
I thought of biting off your nose.
When I watched you toweling yourself dry,
I wanted to leap and unman you with a snap.

I resented the way you moved,
your lack of animal grace,
the way you would sit in a chair to eat,
a napkin on your lap, knife in your hand.

I would have run away,
but I was too weak, a trick you taught me
while I was learning to sit and heel,
and–greatest of insults–shake hands without a hand.

I admit the sight of the leash
would excite me
but only because it meant I was about
to smell things you had never touched.

You do not want to believe this,
but I have no reason to lie.
I hated the car, the rubber toys,
disliked your friends and, worse, your relatives.

The jingling of my tags drove me mad.
You always scratched me in the wrong place.
All I ever wanted from you
was food and fresh water in my metal bowls.

While you slept, I watched you breathe
as the moon rose in the sky.
It took all of my strength
not to raise my head and howl.

Now I am free of the collar,
the yellow raincoat, monogrammed sweater,
the absurdity of your lawn,
and that is all you need to know about this place

except what you already supposed
and are glad it did not happen sooner–
that everyone here can read and write,
the dogs in poetry, the cats and the others in prose.

-Billy Collins