Archive for the ‘Song’ Category

As a maker of short films, I definitely consider it cheating to take brilliant film making that was already done, slow it down, add music to it and call it something new. So, I’m not calling this something new, but a study, a close reading of the experience of the macabre.

And what better way to honor Halloween than with a slowed down look at Tim Burton’s masterpiece The Nightmare Before Christmas played to equally beautiful song “The Grand Parade,” by my hometown friend Evan Goodberry. To hear and buy Evan’s music, go to his Evan Goodberry myspace page.


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Today’s submission is by the photographer and poet Rick Wright.

The Song

The song
wouldn’t come out
from under
the soul’s wall

Notes have lept over
some nights

But, it is held
and down

And those notes I heard
brief words
those nights
writing life

Make me think it will.

-Rick Wright

And the why:

I love the poem for its sense of longing and optimism. That we might
see our loved ones become fully conscioius of their own power. The
child about to walk. We watch and root them on.

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Another submitted poem. Enjoy!

Songbird Still, March 13, 2007

On winter’s eve I carved a lark
From ancient grain
Woven and dark

I carefully emptied its wings
As my mind filled
With strange cold things

On winter’s eve my eyes shut tight
I left low limbs
And fell to flight

I starved my legs, my arms, and core
Inside my body
My organs tore

On winter’s eve the leaves dropped dead
Frail and fleeting
Drifting to bed.

I stared at shock, bathed in dull pain
Still and meek,
The Lark remained.

© 2007 Jason Keath

And the why:
Above is one of my favorite poems of my own. It was written about a night I went into the hospital, came close to death. It brings back some powerful emotions when I read it, but mainly inspires me to be true to myself.


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Go and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devil’s foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envy’s stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.

If thou be’st born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou return’st, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true, and fair.

If thou find’st one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet;
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.

– John Donne

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Listen: there was a goat’s head hanging by ropes in a tree.
All night it hung there and sang. And those who heard it

-Brigit Pegeen Kelly

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