{"id":4146,"date":"2009-04-17T11:09:31","date_gmt":"2009-04-17T15:09:31","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/?p=4146"},"modified":"2019-11-15T10:04:14","modified_gmt":"2019-11-15T15:04:14","slug":"there-is-no-next-time-round","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/2009\/04\/there-is-no-next-time-round\/","title":{"rendered":"“There Is No Next-Time-Round”"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Leaping<\/a><\/p>\n

From whiskey river<\/em><\/a>:<\/p>\n

Shifting brilliancies. Then winter light
\nIn a doorway, and on the stone doorstep
\nA beggar shivering in silhouette.<\/p>\n

So the particular judgement might be set:
\nBare wallstead and a cold hearth rained into —
\nBright puddle where the soul-free cloud-life roams.<\/p>\n

And after the commanded journey, what?
\nNothing magnificent, nothing unknown.
\nA gazing out from far away, alone.<\/p>\n

And it is not particular at all,
\nJust old truth dawning: there is no next-time-round.
\nUnroofed scope. Knowledge-freshening wind.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Seamus Heaney, Lightenings: i<\/em>)<\/p>\n

Not from whiskey river<\/em>; I just liked the soft chime it makes when paired with the above:<\/p>\n

The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise<\/a>
\nWere all at prayers inside the oratory
\nA ship appeared above them in the air.<\/p>\n

The anchor dragged along behind so deep
\nIt hooked itself into the altar rails
\nAnd then, as the big hull rocked to a standstill,<\/p>\n

A crewman shinned and grappled down the rope
\nAnd struggled to release it. But in vain.
\n‘This man can’t bear our life here and will drown,’<\/p>\n

The abbot said, ‘unless we help him.’ So
\nThey did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back
\nOut of the marvellous as he had known it.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Seamus Heaney, Lightenings: viii<\/em> [source<\/a>])<\/p>\n

…and:<\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

Outing<\/strong><\/p>\n

I went out because there was no fire in my head
\nTo where I knew black horses grazed and had seen
\nIn summer a red fox flare like sunrise in the field.<\/p>\n

The cold air stunned my face. I felt my age,
\nLeaning against a weathered post
\nAnd clenching with one gloved hand<\/p>\n

A strand of barbed-wire fence. The horses
\nShook their manes and bent long necks
\nTo browse the winter grass. Gray<\/p>\n

Clouds clustered overhead. The field
\nFluttered like a blanket in the wind,
\nA billowing of soft, worn hills. Snow<\/p>\n

Nuzzled into crevices. Wan light came and went.
\nI lit a cigarette. The largest horse struck down
\nWith one front hoof upon the hard earth hard<\/p>\n

Three times. And that was that. No fox
\nTo lend its matchless spark to that drab scene.
\nNo crows to weight it with their gravity<\/p>\n

Like fistfuls of leaden gravel flung
\nAgainst an ashen sky. No storm.
\nNo taut suspense of imminent arrival.<\/p>\n

A few (i counted five) black horses grazing.
\nAnd one man staring out at them, for all the world
\nLike some lost traveler stopped to ask his way.<\/p>\n

And after a while the horses edged off. I drove
\nThe lake road back. Through barren trees i saw
\nWaves whipped to froth by the wind that had stung<\/p>\n

My eyes when i had stood beside that fence,
\nThe wire humming like a harp, and had hoped — for what?
\nSome sign? Some signal wild as that absent fox.<\/p>\n

A flame, however small, to follow out
\nAcross the widening marshlands of our losses.
\nA beckoning fire, a target moving forward<\/p>\n

Through the night. The horse’s great hoof striking
\nDown upon the frozen ground three times: love this,
\nLove this, love this. The stars appeared<\/p>\n

In spaces between clouds, their constellated order
\nFragmented, dimmed: wreckage adrift on the milky way.
\nThough the evening deepened around me, i drove<\/p>\n

Without lights, my eyes adapting to the darkness,
\nTo the world as it was, i thought, and will be: blind.
\nNo guides, no signs, no beacon fires.<\/p>\n

The horse’s hoof struck down three times.
\nThe barbed-wire whined. The fox stayed out of sight.
\nI drove along the lake, the stars above in disarray.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

(Nick Bozanick, from This Once: Collected Poems, 1976-1996<\/em> [source<\/a>])<\/p>\n

Finally: The four lads performed this version of “Till There Was You” (lyrics below) at the Royal Variety Performance show at Prince Of Wales Theatre on November 4th, 1963; they’d go on to play it as their second number in their first appearance on the US Ed Sullivan Show. Says Wikipedia:<\/p>\n

The Beatles’ version was included on their albums With the Beatles<\/em> (UK Release, 1963) and Meet the Beatles<\/em> (US Release, 1964). The song was the only Broadway tune the Beatles ever recorded.<\/p>\n

“Till There Was You” was a minor hit in the UK for Peggy Lee in March 1961. Paul McCartney was introduced to her music by his older cousin, Bett Robbins, who would occasionally baby-sit the two McCartney brothers. McCartney said: “I had no idea until much later that it was from The Music Man<\/em>.” “Till There Was You” was part of the Beatles repertoire in 1962 and performed at the Star Club in Hamburg. It became illustrative of the Beatles versatility, proving they could appeal to all sections of an audience, moving easily from ballads to rock and roll, as in their live 1963 Royal Command Performance when they followed this song with “Twist and Shout”.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

McCartney seems to be straining pretty hard here (ditto in the Ed Sullivan appearance, also viewable on YouTube<\/a>). His joke when introducing the song — “by our favorite American group, Sophie Tucker” — referred to the popular entertainer<\/a> who was famous for (among many other things) her… generous proportions.<\/p>\n

<\/object><\/p>\n

Lyrics:<\/p>\n

Till There Was You<\/strong>
\n(words and music by Meredith Wilson)<\/em><\/p>\n

There were bells on a hill
\nBut I never heard them ringing
\nNo I never heard them at all
\nTill there was you<\/p>\n

There were birds in the sky
\nBut I never saw them winging
\nNo I never saw them at all
\nTill there was you<\/p>\n

Then there was music and wonderful roses
\nThey tell me in sweet fragrant meadows of dawn and dew<\/p>\n

There was love all around
\nBut I never heard it singing
\nNo I never heard it at all
\nTill there was you<\/p>\n

Then there was music and wonderful roses
\nThey tell me in sweet fragrant meadows of dawn and dew<\/p>\n

There was love all around
\nBut I never heard it singing
\nNo I never heard it at all
\nTill there was you<\/p>\n

Till there was you<\/p><\/blockquote>\n

___________________________<\/p>\n

\"\"Off-topic addendum:<\/strong> Kate Lord Brown, of the thought-provoking and sometimes hilarious What Kate Did Next<\/em> blog, has flattered me by awarding Running After My Hat<\/em> (and several other blogs) something called the Noblesse Oblige Award. (That’s the logo\/badge at the left.)<\/p>\n

If you strip away some of the trappings of the aristocratic society in which the phrase was first used, the French phrase noblesse oblige<\/em> means, roughly, a sense in someone in a place of privilege that s\/he has an obligation to those who don’t have the same privilege. Which is as nice a description as I can imagine of what a blogger (or a writer in general) aspires to — so yeah, I’m flattered.<\/p>\n

Kate’s post<\/a> lays out various terms and conditions of the award, which I probably won’t get around to posting in full until Monday. In the meantime: thanks, Kate.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

From whiskey river: Shifting brilliancies. Then winter light In a doorway, and on the stone doorstep A beggar shivering in silhouette. So the particular judgement might be set: Bare wallstead and a cold hearth rained into — Bright puddle where the soul-free cloud-life roams. And after the commanded journey, what? Nothing magnificent, nothing unknown. A […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_genesis_hide_title":false,"_genesis_hide_breadcrumbs":false,"_genesis_hide_singular_image":false,"_genesis_hide_footer_widgets":false,"_genesis_custom_body_class":"","_genesis_custom_post_class":"","_genesis_layout":"","h5ap_radio_sources":[],"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"activitypub_content_warning":"","activitypub_content_visibility":"","activitypub_max_image_attachments":3,"activitypub_interaction_policy_quote":"anyone","activitypub_status":"","footnotes":"","jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":{"image_generator_settings":{"template":"highway","default_image_id":0,"font":"","enabled":false},"version":2}},"categories":[247,74,251],"tags":[418,1151,1152,1153,1154,1155,1156],"class_list":{"0":"post-4146","1":"post","2":"type-post","3":"status-publish","4":"format-standard","6":"category-ruminations","7":"category-music","8":"category-poetry-writing_cat","9":"tag-beatles","10":"tag-the-unexpected","11":"tag-seamus-heaney","12":"tag-lightenings","13":"tag-nick-bozanick","14":"tag-this-once","15":"tag-till-there-was-you","16":"entry"},"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6kZSG-14S","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_likes_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=4146"}],"version-history":[{"count":11,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":21837,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/4146\/revisions\/21837"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=4146"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=4146"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/johnesimpson.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=4146"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}