Greetings and Salutations virtuous readers of the blog,
First up is a public service announcement, My friend DeAnna Browne has released her first novel. Demon Rising. Here’s what people are saying.
“An enthralling new voice gives us a magical world where love leads to dark decisions.” ~ Jami Gray, award winning author “
…extremely well written, filled with wonderful characters, strange happenings, and fast paced action. I, for one, found it very hard to put down. I can’t wait for the next book in the series.” ~Taylor Jones, reviewer. Available in e-book at
You can reach DeAnna direct at www.deannabrowne.com
Back to work. Monday we talked about the art of the short story. Today let’s hit on something even shorter. Poetry and Song lyrics.
As a writer, I crave that perfect turn-of-phrase. I yearn to write that one memorable line that will stop a reader for the second it takes to sigh or chuckle. In a novel of 80,000 words that will occur. The law of averages almost guarantee it.
When I read poetry or listen to music, I’m ashamed. Poets and song writers do this at regular intervals. In a page or two they brush against a sensitive nerve evoking joy, shame, grief, anger, and more. Without further ado, I will pay homage to these word smiths today. We’ll start with song writers.
Bruce Springsteen, from Thunder Road
There were ghosts in the eyes
Of all the boys you sent away
They haunt this dusty beach road
In the skeleton frames of burned out Chevrolets
Bob Dylan, from A Simple Twist Of Fate
A saxophone someplace far off played
As she was walking on by the arcade
As the light bust through a beat up shade
Where he was waking up. She dropped a coin into the cup of a blind man at the gate
And forgot about a simple twist of fate.
Gordon Lightfoot, from The Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald
The wind in the wires made a tattle-tale sound
and a wave broke over the bow
And every man knew
As the captain did too
T’was the witch of November come stealin’
Tom Waits, from A New Coat Of Paint
All your scribbled love dreams, are lost or thrown away,
Here amidst the shuffle of an overflowing day
Tom Waits, from Mr. Siegal
you got to tell me brave captain,
why are the wicked so strong,
how do the angels get to sleep, when the
devil leaves the porch light on.
David Whyte, form Self-Portrait
I want to know if you are willing
to live day by day, with the consequence of love
and the bitter unwanted passion of your sure defeat.
I have heard even the gods speak of God
Mary Oliver, from Have You Ever Tried To Enter The Long Black Branches?
Listen, are you breathing just a little, and calling it life
While the soul, after all, is only a window,
and the opening of the window no more difficult
than wakening from a little sleep
Billy Collins, from In The Moment
I could feel the day offering itself to me,
and I wanted nothing more
than to be in the moment–but which moment?
Not that one, or that one, or that one,
Charles Bukowski, from Regrets Of Sorts
but I do like the music of language
the curl of the unexpected word
the sensation of a tasty almost never-used
I’m certain you all have your own favorites, and you are surely aghast because I left them out. I urge you to go now and pull that book of poetry off the shelf, or that song from wherever you store your music and enjoy it for the art that it is and the joy it brings you. Send me a verse that speaks to you, or brings back memories. I promise to post your comments next Wednesday.
As for me, I’m going to continue to hone my craft in the hopes that gems such as these flow from my pores. It is a lofty goal, but a worthy one.
Digger will return on Friday with another interview from the grave, in case anyone is feeling like they need abuse.
As always I’ll leave you with a quote which may seem ridiculous at this point, but there are so many.
“An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.”
― Charles Bukowski
Thanks For tuning in,