a little more Tagore.. and a little Ahab and a tad on Neil Young and Mr. Bush

[Guest guest]

My poet's vanity dies in shame before thy sight. O master poet, I

have sat down at thy feet. Only let me make my life simple and

straight, like a flute of reed for thee to fill with music.

 

My song has put off her adornments. She has no pride of dress and

decoration. Ornaments would mar our union; they would come between

thee and me; their jingling would drown thy whispers.

 

Away from the sight of thy face my heart knows no rest nor respite,

and my work becomes an endless toil in a shoreless sea of toil.

 

Today the summer has come at my window with its sighs and murmurs;

and the bees are plying their minstrelsy at the court of the

flowering grove.

 

Now it is time to sit quite, face to face with thee, and to sing

dedication of live in this silent and overflowing leisure.

 

I know not how thou singest, my master! I ever listen in silent

amazement.

 

The light of thy music illumines the world. The life breath of thy

music runs from sky to sky. The holy stream of thy music breaks

through all stony obstacles and rushes on.

 

My heart longs to join in thy song, but vainly struggles for a voice.

I would speak, but speech breaks not into song, and I cry out

baffled. Ah, thou hast made my heart captive in the endless meshes of

thy music, my master!

 

When thou commandest me to sing it seems that my heart would break

with pride; and I look to thy face, and tears come to my eyes.

 

All that is harsh and dissonant in my life melts into one sweet

harmony---and my adoration spreads wings like a glad bird on its

flight across the sea.

 

O Fool, try to carry thyself upon thy own shoulders! O beggar, to

come beg at thy own door!

Leave all thy burdens on his hands who can bear all, and never look

behind in regret.

Thy desire at once puts out the light from the lamp it touches with

its breath. It is unholy---take not thy gifts through its unclean

hands. Accept only what is offered by sacred love.

 

 

I have spent my days in stringing and in unstringing my instrument.

The time has not come true, the words have not been rightly set; only

there is the agony of wishing in my heart.

The blossom has not opened; only the wind is sighing by.

I have not seen his face, nor have I listened to his voice; only I

have heard his gentle footsteps from the road before my house.

The livelong day has passed in spreading his seat on the floor; but

the lamp has not been lit and I cannot ask him into my house.

I live in the hope of meeting with him; but this meeting is not yet.

 

----

----------------------

 

A day in the Life /A Life in the Day.......which is it? Sometimes I

feel like a motherless child and at other times I feel comparable to

a clanging, clinging, bell. A bell that tolls for nobody. And in dark

times of clelebratory madness I feel like Ahab's Fatima, with rings

on her fingers, bells on her toes and a bone in her nose ho ho.....or

even Ahab himself with emeralds and rubies just a-dripping off a him

and a ring on every finger of his hand. But who's the dancer? Why the

dance?.......never mind...let's just DANCE!

 

..........bob

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addendum:

 

from Ray Stevens tune by Kinky Friedman (Richard F. " Kinky " Friedman)

 

Let me tell you bout Ahab the Arab, the Sheik of the burning sand,

He had emeralds and rubies just a-dripping off a him and a ring on

every finger of his hand.

He wore a big old turban wrapped around his head, a scimitar by his

side

And every evening about midnight he'd jump on his camel named Clyde.

And ride silently through the night to the sultans tent

Where he would secretly meet up with Fatima of the seven veils.

She was the swinginest number one dancer in the sultans whole harem.

It was like him and her they had a little Adam going, you see,

Behind the old buggers back.

And you could hear him talking to his camel

And as he rode out across the dunes past the oil wells

His voice would cut through the still night desert air

And hed say, maaaaaaa oyy oyy oyy !!!

Which is arabic for oh, baby ...

And Clyde would say, yewrah raaaoww uh uh uh uh uh!

 

Well, he brought his camel to a screeching halt at the rear of

Fatimas tent,

Jumped off Clyde, snuck around the corner and into the tent he went.

There he saw Fatima laying on a, on a zebra skin rug,

With rings on her fingers, bells on her toes and a bone in her nose,

eeeeyye.

 

There she was friends and neighbors, laying there in all her radiant

beauty,

She was eating on a raisin, had a grape, and an apricot, and a

pomegranate,

A bowl of chitterlings, two bananas, three hershey bars, four

burritos,

Sipping on a frozen margarita, listening to a transistor radio,

Watching the grand ole opry, reading rolling stone magazine and

singing rocky mountain high.

And Ahab walked up to her and he said, yeeeiiaaaahowowhidehowdihi!

Which is arabic for, lets boogie again like we did last summer, baby.

And she said, oh, ahab, ah ha uh, ahab. crazy, baby.

 

And thats the story about Ahab the Arab, the Sheik of the burning

sand,

He had emeralds and rubies just a-dripping off a him and a ring on

every finger of his hand.

He wore a big old turban wrapped around his head, a scimitar by his

side,

And every evening about midnight hed jump on his camel named clyde

------ ------ ----- ----- ----- ---- --- ---

remember.....remember........remember......remember....... ......... .

......(bn)

 

this was all from a 'Land Before the Time of Political

Correctness'..the Fun Times...the Good Times.

a little note on the author of the tune (not the Gitanjali!):

 

Kinky Friedman...born October 31, 1944 in Chicago, Illinois) is an

American singer, songwriter, novelist and, currently, a candidate for

the office of Governor of the State of Texas, United States.Personal

Life Born in Chicago to Jewish parents, Friedman's family moved to a

ranch in central Texas during his childhood. He had a keen interest

in both music and chess at an early age. Hey the Georgie's home

State. Maybe Kinky is in cahoots with Neil Young Patricia!

 

..........bob(encore)