Tag Archive > Poetry

Perfection in a Song

With all the crap you hear on the radio these days–what is it she wants to have, “groupies” or “boobies”??–it can be hard to imagine that there’s new music out there that’s smart, melodic, and the whole heartstring-tugging shebang. But there is. Listen to this:

This is “The Luckiest”, by the piano artist Ben Folds. I’ve been checking out his music a lot lately, and I’ve liked a lot of what I’ve heard. But this song takes the cake. It was released in 2001, so it’s not that new.

I got this song on my computer yesterday or so, and in those 24 hours (a lot of which I’ve spent at school), I’ve somehow managed to listen to the song 28 times. I’m on the 29th right now.

What a beautiful song. The instrumentation, a quiet and subtle mix of piano, strings, and Folds’s own voice is moving. Those three sounds are all there is. No guitars, no percussion, no fake synth-sounds, no backup singers. And yet, I can listen to this 29 times in a row without experiencing anything close to boredom.

The lyrics are like poetry…

What if I’d been born fifty years before you
In a house on a street where you lived?
Maybe I’d be outside as you passed on your bike
Would I know?

And in a wide sea of eyes
I see one pair that I recognize
And I know

That I am
I am
I am
The luckiest

But it’s the details that I’m still noticing and falling in love with. All the piano chords and arpeggios, which are often soothingly predictable, but sometimes unusual and unexpected. The way Folds’s voice cracks as he begins the refrain for the last time.

Every once in a while I find a song like this that reassures me that, even as the people around me begin accepting more and more bullshitty things as “music” and give up poetic lyrics for pornographic descriptions of people having sex in a dance club, music like “The Luckiest” will continue to exist, thrive, and maybe even change the world.

And where was I before the day
That I first saw your lovely face?
Now I see it everyday
And I know
.

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A Little Night Music

The night air flapping in the breeze,
The stars a quilt upon the sky
The jazz that flips and flows with ease
Your words, like careless sparrows, fly

You toss them lightly, one by one:
A glowing light, a shining sun
A ladybug, a butterfly
A symphony, a lullaby.

But I’m attentive and alert,
And much more kind than you deserve
Your glance alone is worth the hurt;
I’m here to listen and to serve.

Your music takes my breath away
And brings me close to you at last
But now night flees to welcome day;
My love is fading, fading fast.

The music sings on broken strings;
A trumpet’s voice cries to the skies
The final note is struck and rings,
And wavers gently as it dies.

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The Golden Child

I wrote this ages ago and then forgot about it. I was cleaning out my flash drive and found it…so here it is.

My mind tells itself to think of something
You might ever want to hear,
Yet fails to heed its own advice
And leaves me speechless, dumb and mute

My eyes must seem too searching
And my hands, too quick to reassure
Do my fingertips betray me?
Or does my quiet voice give me away?

You, in a crowd, the golden child
I see you there from miles away
Your eyes, your lips, your hands, your eyes again;
It’s true I have an eagle’s sight

You, in a crowd, the lonely child
So many strive to breathe for you
You’ve had so many ghosts and memories
Yet only I have ever known your truth.

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Wanderlust

A stillness settles in the town
The world is gray and drab and smooth
No chains are here to hold me down,
And yet today I cannot move.

But this must end and this must go
Withdraw I will and move I must
For clearly this is nothing but
A deathly case of wanderlust.

I walk alone amid a crowd
Of people I know nothing of
You fill your lives with happiness
But me, I search for broken love.

So have your cookie-cutter houses
Empty books and plastic rings
Someday maybe I’ll be brave
And judge my life by lifeless things.

You act so sure, but I cannot
I cannot bear to see, it seems,
The sad and pretty landscape of
Your shyly hopeful, shattered dreams.

I’d love to stay right here with you
But I must tell you, I cannot
For truth is, darling, I have caught
A deathly case of wanderlust.

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