Monastery Musings Redux

the letters that you sent me sit there on the table like the pages from a book I’d write if I were able

the book of us I’d call it each page would serve to show that in this life that we have lived there is much that we don’t know

Yes much that we  don’t know and more we never knew that is what I’d try to show in this book of you (of us)

and I would tell the reasons as I knew them to be true for all the things I never did because I never knew

I whispered your name

I did

I did

time sings its songs in dream specific keys as midnight breezes blow through limbs of barren trees

that reflect upon my window with a sadness all their own and augur up remembrances of a wistful heartfelt moan

Saturday night live as Kevin Gordon shares his epic, unreleased (at the time) song “Colfax” during his Music Fog session in Nashville. Filmed at Marathon Recorders during the 2011 Americana Music Festival & Conference. Kevin is accompanied by Joe McMahan (guitar), Paul Griffith (drums), and Ron Eoff (bass). If you appreciate good songwriting, good poetry, good music and a good narrative, you cannot help but love this song. I don’t know about y’all, but in my universe, this is fuckin’ brilliant!

http://americansongwriter.com/2012/01/kevin-gordon-colfax/

“Colfax,”  tells the story of Gordon’s African-American music teacher, Mr. Minifield, who stoically faces down the Ku Klux Klan while leading the band at a football game in Colfax, Louisiana. Gordon describes his childhood in a hypnotic narrative of vivid, plainspoken images, such as this description of a high school crush: “Valerie/ Played clarinet/ 13 going on 35, sexy/ In a hard way, like a 1st cigarette,/ Bourbon spilled on a bare thigh.” “‘Colfax’ is based on an event I remember from seventh grade,” explains Gordon. The song’s focal point is Gordon’s spoken narrative, which unravels the action. The vocals are rhythmic and methodical behind a laid-back drum beat, a plodding banjo, and distant guitar echoes. As the story unfolds, there’s humor along with poignancy in the lyrics. When the KKK is first viewed by the band members, a boy named Donald Lovelady says he thought they only came out at night. Then Gordon compares the red cross on the Klansmen’s white robes to “an image of the suffering Christ/ Airbrushed on the side of a missile.” For some reason it felt important to use actual first and last names of some of the people who were there that day–a kind of factual grounding, I guess, more documentary; plus, I just liked the way it sounded.”

The song’s chorus is actually a second song title (“Step In Time”), a way of retaining the poetic purity of “Colfax,” leaving the main narrative a powerful and stand-alone thing all it’s own. The lyrical climax is, of course, Minifield as he marches on, “Like there was somewhere better/ He was going/ But this was the only goddamned way to get there.” The “step in time” may be a literal reference to the marching band, but it’s also Minifield as he looks “straight ahead” and walks on in the face of racism and prejudice. He’s moving forward, just like history–and just like Gordon’s song.

“Colfax/Step in Time”

I played trumpet in the band In 7th grade, blasting out songs At football games and fall parades We’d ride the bus To the small towns like Winfield, Downsville, and Colfax— In purple jackets and white slacks We were the Braves— We were the Jack Hayes Braves Named after a dead administrator And the noble ideal Of the young Native American male– School ambassadors Of popular song and good will

Mr. Minifield Was our director, skin the color Of a brown paper sack, he was black Trying to teach us white kids to play But confronted every baton-breaking day By juvenile delinquents, like Danny Amos Who locked himself into Minifield’s office, With my Ted Nugent double album; Playing “Wang Dang Sweet Poontang” Full-blast over the bandroom speakers And I remember Minifield, just sitting there Staring out into the air From the podium, smoking a camel Looking straight ahead Imagining himself Somewhere else, I’d guess Where he’d be getting paid More for less B.S.

Tomorrow morning We’d be marching through What’s ahead from what’s behind Just another step in time

Valerie Played clarinet 13 going on 35, sexy In a hard way, like a 1st cigarette, Bourbon spilled on a bare thigh– (you could say she was ahead of the game) She’d barely speak to me So that 2-hour ride Felt like an all-day tense erotic dream, Staring out at the pine trees and red clay, And the country stores where inevitably An old dough-faced man would be standing outside– Staring at us like his life going by And was that her leg, was that her leg Just brushing against mine?

Riding on the bus Sitting next to Valerie Thrash Between what’s ahead, what’s behind Just another step in time

The morning was cold The silver bell of my horn shining back Convex reflections of faces and hands And the yellow smear of the bus While I blew out my spit valve, Put the wax on my braces– We were getting ready to play, Standing in line, moving in formation. First up, a Stevie Wonder song called Sir Duke, About Ellington (I didn’t know that then), Chameleon by Herbie Hancock– Jungle Boogie by Kool and the Gang, K.C. and the Sunshine Band— Get Down Tonight– That’s when I saw them at the end of the block Imperial Knights of the Ku Klux Klan In their white dunce caps And robes with red crosses Embroidered on Like gilded leaves on an automatic rifle Or an image of the suffering Christ Airbrushed on the side of a missile In broad daylight; Donald Lovelady said He thought they only came out at night—

Like an apparition, Blood-real in the silver sun— Between what’s ahead, what’s behind Just another step in time

They were handing out tracts To the Caucasian mothers and daughters And fathers and sons of Colfax– Laughing and joking, kneeling down, Placing a gentle hand on a child’s blonde head Like santa claus, or the pope Like this was normal, like this was okay Another doo-dah day down in dixieland He didn’t say a word, Minifield didn’t turn his head– Just kept marching Looking straight ahead Looking straight ahead Like there was somewhere better He was going But this was the only goddamned way to get there Today, with his baton in the air Looking straight ahead Straight ahead…

Thursday with Stephen Kellogg and a touchingly beautiful song appropriate for any day. Thank You Stephen…

Oh thanksgiving, the harvest draws to a close Pride of man will swallow him, for he reaps what he sows Oh living, it’s harder every day Only in the darkness can you see you’ve lost your way I recollect the Rose of Sharon had come back again The trees were blowing in the breeze all high above my head When a cavalcade of memories appeared to me in words I wished I’d said From that point on a song stayed in my thoughts most of the time But when I tried to sing it out loud it would always leave my mind Like the things you know are true, but never can explain when you get asked A melody floating just within your grasp, it goes… When I was a child I always remember The way I would feel, 4th Thursday November My uncles would play, there would be music And I was taking it in Only much later, I noticed the drinking The feeling my family was growing and sinking St. Petersburg Palace stain glass in sun They were well on their way I had only begun So boy meets a girl, Venus and Adonis Friendship on fire, adulthood upon us They teach you to fly, then spend all of their time Standing over you, clipping your wings Where there was a me, there could be an us I dreamt about money, she talked about trust She is my axis, death is by foxes And we were well on our way, in America, this is home Stories, everybody’s got one This is mine, you will have your own Nothing like the real thing, nothing like it Cleaner than Christmas or our wedding day I knew her father was pissed, though he wouldn’t say it I would be too and someday I will be No kid could be good enough Taking on Sunday, taking on owls Catching a glimpse of the wolf as it howls Got a lot of nice things, got a really nice house Done is so beautiful On Father’s Day, I’m thinking of mothers I can only suppose they’re thinking of others Insurance is up, it came in the mail Yeah it kills me what they’re charging for little white pills I blow through the years like a mother defending its own And I fear, I’m driving on spare tires