April 12, 2005

From A Lonely Wooden Tower . . .

This is another thing that happened. I was in Burlington, VT the other night. I met several wonderful people, but one stood out. She made such an impression I think because she was so inconsiderate. She totally ignored the rules. She talked during my set. She hurled insults at people and laughed about it. She caught us all off guard. She was a young poet! Though she didn't seem threatening or pathetic, like most young poets. She was obviously out of her mind. On some level, for sure, she was completely out of her head and totally unreasonable. I really didn't know what to do about her. I didn't know what to do at all. It was awkward. Though I sort of enjoyed it in a kind of absurd and horrible way.

I dedicated a song to her but it bounced off.

The bartender was able to soothe her for a couple of minutes, but she had other things to do, drinks to pour and what not. It's not like there was a bouncer there or security or anything. This was a really small place. I sing in really small places. And honestly it seemed, like it often does, that things might be OK. Like maybe she just had too much to drink and the wrong medication or something, or she was going to run out of gas soon and just go home, or lay down, or something. We were trying to work it out. And I'm, you know, still singing. Still doing my show.

I decided to play the quietest, most haunting and gentle version of a the best song that I could think of: "Aloud". I thought, why not?

Halfway into the second verse this beautiful little insane person starts singing "Suzanne" by Leonard Cohen, at the top of her lungs. It's amazing. And unreal. And suddenly I know how to reach her. Because I know this song. I love this song. She is beginning to sing the best verse when I look her directly in her massively dilated eyes, and join in, blending the chords of my song "Aloud", the lyrics of "Suzanne", and a new melody that we agree on naturally. For 30 odd seconds or so we sail along:

Jesus was a sailor when he walked across the water
And he spent a long time watching from his lonely wooden tower
And when he knew for certain only drowning men could see him
He said all men will be sailors then until the sea shall free them
But he himself was broken long before the sky would open
Forsaken, almost human
He sank beneath your wisdom like a stone.

That's for you, I told her. That one is yours. Now I'm going to finish mine, OK? And I did. I finished it in absolute silence. And for several minutes we all knew something special had happened, and we understood how complex things can get, and we were grateful, and gratitude is good, isn't it?

So we agreed that we were all together then. And some of us left, like this brilliant girl, she up and left just like it was the most natural thing in the world for her to do. And some other friends arrived. I played the rest of my set, thanked everyone, had a glass of wine and talked some. Then I packed up my stuff, called Rose, and went to sleep.

This is just something that happened.