for the Eye: Photo/video
If the Garden Only Knew
Here's the final song of the night, a piece still in the process of being arranged but that I thought would send us off, maybe in a hopeful mood? Nothing about a song like this and a show like this works without an audience that gives the special kind of attention that makes art work. If mine worked at all on this night, it's because of them. And, now, maybe too, you.
Lyrics
If the Garden Only Knew
If the garden only knew
what we already know
It wouldn’t grow, it wouldn’t grow, it wouldn’t grow
If the garden knew
the weeds to come rising
fighting at its roots
If the garden knew
the fall and the frost,
and the shriveling of leaves
that once kissed the light
and made a whisper of the whipping wind
if the garden knew
the hunch in every brittle branch
that once stood tall
If the garden only knew
what we already know
It wouldn’t grow, it wouldn’t grow, it wouldn’t grow
If the garden knew
the reaping and the threshing
and the quiet choke of bailing wire
If the garden knew
the thieving hands of harvest
the clenching jaws of insect plagues
If the garden knew
the bruisey hue of blight
the parch of drought, the whitefly cloud
the endless drench of rain on rain
If the garden only knew what we already know,
but the garden doesn’t know
what we know right now,
how to hold each other close,
how to read each other’s brow,
to sow the furrows we may find,
how to lay ourselves in bed at night
and rise together, in dark or light.
If the garden only knew
it wouldn’t grow, it wouldn’t grow, it wouldn’t grow
The garden loathes a fallow field,
the garden seeds the naked soil
without toil or trowel.
Then wills its shoots and winds its vines
spindly and fine, spindly and fine
like your life and mine.
If the garden knew
the wilt and the rot
the dying back,
the aftermath
If the garden knew
that nothing warms under
a shroud of snow
What the garden can’t forgive,
we already know
What the garden can’t forgive,
we already know
What the garden can’t forgive
is not to love,
is not to love,
is not to live
(If the garden knew . . .)
Halfheartedly
Here's an opening number--"Halfheartedly"--which is still in the process of being arranged (so far just drums, guitar, a little faux horns, and those all important backing vocals). This is for all of us who put off doing those things we actually want, love, burn to do--maybe out of fear or laziness or other reasons that always seem so important but really aren’t so much. The speaker in the song is mockworthy, but also, I think at times, a little wise. I hope he and the song can breathe new life into the phrase "follow your heart." Our hearts may give the best lesson in how to do just that.
Lyrics
Halfheartedly
He’s the man who follows his heart. Halfheartedly
I am the man who follows his heart.
I am the man who follows his heart, with half his heart
and a thin deck of cards
to pass the time on long train rides
across Americas of possibility
across Europes of what could be
if only, if only, if only
He’s the man who follows his heart. Halfheartedly
I am the singer who answers his calling,
the singer who answers his calling,
pianissimo, ma non troppo,
to save his throat for the opening notes,
slow the tempo and change the key,
chase the god from the machinery,
then I tear it down like scenery,
and curse the stage for what it’s done to me,
but sotto voce, sotto voce, sotto voce.
The heart too must follow its heart
but--unlike the man who in the doorway stands
and is constantly called:
Keep up! Stay focused!--
the heart’s shoes never need tying.
The heart stops for no water or rest.
The man asks “What have I accomplished?”
while the heart follows every beat
with another beat, another beat.
He’s the dreamer living the dream—Yes I am!
He’s the dreamer living the dream— I’m living it, baby!
He’s the dreamer living his dream— Oh, that’s me!
He’s the dreamer living his dream. I’m half awake,
with a whole faith to leap,
Two feet on the lake,
when I walk in my sleep
Across Americas of oooh -Yes I know!
Across Europes of oooh -I got to go!
Along the banks of the oooh -Maybe the banks of the Amazon
or just to walk along the road I’m on!
And hearts shoes, never need tying.
Deep in the chest
there lives a reminder
of how to be of how to be of how to be.