His songs of country grew in Arkansas

  När det kommer ut en samling med tidigare opublicerade dikter och som har Paul Muldoon som redaktör, så hajar man till oavsett vem som skrivit alstren. Nu råkar det vara världens mest kända countrysångare som skrivit texterna. Boken innehåller förutom en introduktion av Muldoon även ett förord av Johnnys son, John Carter Cash.
  Jag lägger till en härlig spellista som ackompanjemang till Johnnys opublicerade dikter.

Johnny Horton och Johnny Cash

***

  Johnny Cash föddes som J.R. Cash i Kingsland, Arkansas som Rays och Carrie Cashs näst äldste son och växte upp i Dyess i samma delstat. Vid fem års ålder hade han redan börjat arbeta på bomullsfälten tillsammans med sin familj. Under arbetet sjöng man ofta allsång. Familjens gård översvämmades vid minst ett tillfälle, en händelse som senare skulle inspirera honom till att skriva sången "Five Feet High And Rising". Källa: Wikipedia

***

I have been around, by Johnny Cash (1932-2003)
(From Forever words : the unknown poems. Edinburgh : Canongate, 2016.)

I have been around
I have been on the incoming
And the outward bound
I came up from the fields
And I've been down on my knees
I have been visited by angels
While demons badgered me
And I guess I gave the devil more than his due
But I always come back around to you

I have been around
I have kissed the moonlight
On a priceless pearl I found
I have been a counselor
And I have been a fool
I rode a wild horse
And I rode a Mach 2
I've been loved and I've been bored and I've been blue
But I always come back around to you

I have been around
I have tasted rapture that could not again be found
I felt the power filling up
And I felt the power gone
I've been full but hungry
And abandoned to the bone
In the end I knew one thing to pull me through
I always come back around to you

***

  Den 1 mars 1968 gifte sig June Carter med Johnny Cash efter att han friat till henne på en scen i London, Ontario, Kanada. 1970 föddes deras enda gemensamma barn, sonen John Carter Cash. Hon skrev även Johnny Cashs hitlåt "Ring of Fire". Källa: Wikipedia

If you love me, by Johnny Cash
(From Forever words : the unknown poems. Edinburgh : Canongate, 2016.)

October 1983

The fluctuating worth
Of this very terminal earth
And the satellite that glows at night
Above me

Won't bear upon my mind
But concerning humankind
I won't care if you're there
And if you love me

A seed must die, I know
Before a plant can grow
And so would I
Before I'd let you go

Again the sun may rise
And burn thru yellow skies
But I'll see it through your blue eyes
If you love me

I see it in your eyes
If it's true or if it lies
I feel it if it's real
If you love me

Let the cold wind blow
Let seasons come and go
Let you come to my arms
If you love me

***

  Cash var en man som i mycket tog de utsattas parti, han propagerade för en humanare fängelsevård och han uppträdde vid flera tillfällen på fängelser. En av hans mest sålda skivor är den liveinspelning han gjorde på fängelset i Folsom, Johnny Cash at Folsom Prison, den 13 januari 1968.

  Den 3 oktober 1972 uppträdde han på Österåkeranstalten norr om Stockholm och framträdandet gavs ut på albumet På Österåker (1973).
  Vid Sverigebesöket 1972 bjöd pingstpastorn Lewi Pethrus också in Johnny Cash att sjunga i Filadelfiakyrkan i Stockholm. Källa: Wikipedia

The walking wounded (two stanzas), by Johnny Cash
(From Forever words : the unknown poems. Edinburgh : Canongate, 2016.)

1970's

We're in the church-house kneeling down
We're in the subways underground
We're in the bars and on the street
We drive a truck, we walk a beat
We're in the mills and factories
We make the steel, we cut the trees
A thousand-yard stare, eyes of glass
We will see you when we pass
We are the walking wounded

We lost our homes, we lost our dreams
All our goals turned into schemes
We hurt each other and ourselves
We went through long, traumatic spells
We cried out from the deepest pit
But rise back up each time we're hit
We fell from power and from grace
But resurrection's in our face
We are the walking wounded

(...)

Bring it on, Kevin!

  Två gånger har jag vittjat antologin Blues poems som Kevin Young är ansvarig redaktör för. I afton får han eget spelrum med den återutgivna Jelly Roll. Boken publicerades första gången 2003.

  Kevin Young föddes 1970 i Lincoln, Nebraska. Han studerade under Seamus Heaney och Lucie Brock-Broido vid Harvard University och medan han var student där blev en medlem av Dark Room Collective, en gemenskap av afro-amerikanska författare. Han tilldelades ett Stegner Fellowship från Stanford University och senare tog han en MFA från Brown University. Han är författare till många böcker av poesi, inklusive de senaste samlingarna Blue Laws: Selected & Uncollected Poems 1995-2015, Book of Hours (2014). Källa: Poetry Foundation

  Boken Jelly Roll är fylld med musikanspelningar. Första dikten som jag har valt heter "Ditty". Ditty är detsamma som en kort, enkel visa.

Ditty, by Kevin Young
(From Jelly roll : a blues. New York : Alfred A. Knopf, 2015, ©2003.)

You, rare as Georgia
snow. Falling

hard. Quick.
Candle shadow.

            The cold
spell that catches

us by surprise.
The too-early blooms,

tricked, gardenias blown about,
circling wind. Green figs.

     Nothing stays. I want
to watch you walk

the hall to the cold tile
bathroom - all

            night, a lifetime.

***

  Innan jag går vidare med Kevin Youngs texter kan jag inte låta bli att bifoga en låt via Spotify. Det finns ju ett jazzsmycke titulerat "Jelly Roll" men jag väljer att fredagsstånka till John Fogertys "Bring it down to Jelly Roll". I själva verket är Jelly Roll ('swiss roll med jelly') ett bakverk.

Jelly Roll

***

Funk, by Kevin Young
(From Jelly roll : a blues. New York : Alfred A. Knopf, 2015, ©2003.)

It finally forms - the stank
of days without you,

unwashed & unwanted
hours. This whistling

I at last can place
my lips around. Wah,

wah - guitar
riffs, rips open

my heart's tourniquet
- a prison stint

without conjugal
visits. No chance parole -

what the devil am I
without you to do?

Back-
sliding, off-bass,

shaking hands with Satan.
Get a grip! this

is such slight cross-
roads to bear

left on, to lurch
& lunge. Girl, you still send

me to moon, to Seas
of Vapors, Crises,

Ingenuity, Lake of Dreams -

***

  Samlingens bästa "flow" finner vi i dikten "Pastorale". Men den sträcker sig över nio sidor så det får bli ett utdrag.

Pastorale (extract), by Kevin Young
(From Jelly roll : a blues. New York : Alfred A. Knopf, 2015, ©2003.)

...

By April the camellias
have let go

lie in a halfhearted halo
around the bush I never

trim, though always
think of before sleep

as if past
loves, that drifting -

Day brings a beauty
unbidden - rain, a bee

building flowers
with its wings -

what I never
noticed till the endless

rain that indeed ends.

--

Ice turns even
the trees heavy

& helpless, all
morning falling -

a song of breaking -
winter & plunder.

I wonder we're next

--

If there's a way
to save the sick trees

which in my yard sway

I don't know.
One day the lie

prone across the drive
where I find them dressed

in vines, or ice,
or ivy that grows

full foot a day.

--

Afternoon & no thaw -
cold still covers the pines

snapping them in half.
Only the oak still stands.

We go out & drag
the limbs & trunks

out of the slick drive
like a drunken uncle, awkward,

carried home smelling
of Christmas -

cursing the needles & branches
we sweep.

(...)

"The eagle flies on friday"

  Till fredagens blues poems har jag läst in mig på ordboken The language of the blues from Alcorub to Zuzu. Ur den har jag valt tre ord och kompletterat med tre låtar som innehåller dessa ord. Den första sången "Stormy Monday Blues" har en rätt torftig text så den får ni enbart lyssna till.

The language of the blues from Alcorub to Zuzu
by Debra DeSalvo
Jersey City : True Nature, 2006.

***

  Ordet eagle som förekommer i "Stormy Monday Blues" är ett slanguttryck för dollar. I låten sjungs det: "Yes the eagle flies on friday", vilket betyder att delar av veckolönen spenderas på fredagskvällen.




***

  Ordet gate, eller gatemouth ('gator-faced'), betyder jazzmusiker eller helt enkelt en hipp man.

You run your mouth i'll run my business, performed by Louis Jordan (1908-1975)
(Lyrics & Music: Lil Armstrong (1898-1971). Decca, 1940.)

You catch me beatin' up your chops?
I ought to turn you over to the cops, 
But dig this spiel I'm going to lay on you, gate, 
Don't cop your broom, park the body and wait.

You run your mouth and I'll run my business, brother, 
You run your mouth and I'll run my business, brother, 
You tell everybody I'm busted, 
You talk so much you got me disgusted.
But you run your mouth and I'll run my business, 
Brother.

You run your mouth and I'll run my business, brother, 
You run your mouth and I'll run my business, brother, 
You start in tellin' me you're my pal, 
And end up tellin' me how to handle my gal, 
You run your mouth and I'll run my business, brother.

You run your juicy mouth and I'll run my business, 
Brother, 
Just run your juicy mouth and I'll run my business, 
Brother, 
You always tellin' me what to do, 
Sayin', "I wouldn't do that if I was you!"
You run your mouth and I'll run my business, brother.

Just clap your liver lips and I'll run my business, 
Brother, 
Clap your liver lips and I'll run my business, brother, 
If I'd followed your advice on how to make dough, 
I'd been in the jailhouse long ago.
You run your mouth and I'll run my business, brother.

Do you dig me, Jack?

***

  Enligt Willie Dixon så avsåg han med ordet spoonful att beskriva hur lite det behövs för att något ska bli bra. Tyvärr har många människor tolkat in drogromantik och sexuella anspelningar i texten genom åren.

Spoonful, performed by Howlin' Wolf (1910-1976)
(Lyrics & Music: Willie Dixon (1915-1992). Chess Records, 1962.)

It could be a spoonful of diamond
It could be a spoonful of gold
Just a little spoon of your precious love
Satisfy my soul

[Chorus]
Men lies about little
Some of them cries about little
Some of them dies about littles
Everything fight about a spoonful
That spoon, That spoon, that

It could be a spoonful of coffee
Could be a spoonful of tea
But a little spoon of your precious love
Good enough for me

[Chorus]
Men lies about that
Some of them dies about that
Some of them cries about that
But everything fight about a spoonful
That spoon, that spoon, that ...

It could be a spoonful of water
Save you from the desert sand
But one spoon of lead from my 45
Save you from another man

[Chorus]
Men lies about that
Some of them cries about that
Some of them dies about that
Everybody fightin' about a spoonful
That spoon, that spoon, that ..

They know how to write (and sing) a blues

  Musikfredagen har ännu en gång bläddrat i Kevin Youngs urvalsantologi Blues poems. Om två veckor får ni prov på hans egen produktion då jag väljer texter ur hans Jelly Roll.

***

  Jayne Cortez (1934-2012) var en afrikansk-amerikansk poet, aktivist, förläggare och Spoken word-performancekonstnär vars verk firas för sina politiska, surrealistiska och dynamiska innovationer i lyricism och intuitiva ljudbilder. Hennes verk är en betydande del av Black Arts Movement. Källa. Wikipedia

  I dikten/sången "You know" omnämns två av de stora rösterna inom blues- och soulmusiken. Jag fyller upp inlägget med en spellista i vilken såväl Big Mama Thorntons originalversion av "Hound Dog" som Aretha Franklins "Respect" ingår. 
  Värt att notera: Aretha Franklin fyller 75 år den 25:e mars.

***

You know (extract), by Jayne Cortez
(From Blues poems. Selected and edited by Kevin Young. New York : Knopf, 2003.)

(For the people who speak the you know language)

You know
i sure would like to write a blues
you know
a nice long blues
you know
a good feeling piece to my writing hand
you know my hand that can bring two pieces of life together in your ear
you know
one drop of blues turning a paper clip into three wings and a bone into a revolt
you know
a blues passing up the stereotype symbols
you know
go into the dark meat of a crocodile and pin point the process
you know
into a solo a hundred times like the first line of Aretha Franklin
you know
like Big Mama Thornton
you know
i sure would like to write a blues
(...)

***

Sonia Sanchez

  Sonia Sanchez (född Wilsonia Benita Driver, 1934) är en afrikansk-amerikansk poet oftast förknippad med Black Arts Movement. Hon har gett ut över ett dussin diktsamlingar, samt noveller, kritiska essäer, pjäser och barnböcker. Källa: Wikipedia

Blues, by Sonia Sanchez
(From Blues poems. Selected and edited by Kevin Young. New York : Knopf, 2003.)

in the night
in my half hour
negro dreams
i hear voices knocking at the door
i see walls dripping screams up
and down the halls
                                   won't someone open
the door for me? won't some
one schedule my sleep
and don't ask no questions?
noise.
            like when he took me to his
home away from home place
and i died the long sought after
death he'd planned for me.
Yeah, bessie he put in the bacon
and it overflowed the pot.
and two days later
when i was talking
i started to grin.
as everyone knows
i am still grinnning.

***

  A. Van Jordan (f. 1965) har gett ut fyra diktsamlingar. Han har tilldelats ett Whiting Writers Award, en Anisfield-Wolf Book Award och ett Pushcart Prize. Han är också mottagare av John Simon Guggenheim Fellowship och United States Artists Fellowship. Källa: Wikipedia

Cheating woman blues haiku, by A. van Jordan
(From Blues poems. Selected and edited by Kevin Young. New York : Knopf, 2003.)

In whipping noon sun,
a black snake dances through grass
to warm milk in bowls.

In biting noon sun,
a black snake dances through grass
to warm milk in bowls.

Daisies in her hair,
my woman crosses the tracks
to another man.

Cuttin' trees all day,
sweat and sawdust in my eyes;
she thinks I can't see.

Cuttin' trees all day,
sweat and sawdust in my eyes;
she thinks I can't see.

In a field of grass,
she lays her head down to dream
of muddy waters.

Elegies for the Sixties

  Till veckans fredagsinlägg har jag hämtat två texter ur boken The Portable Sixties Reader, som är en fullspäckad tidkapsel med olika litterära texter om sextiotalets händelser och fenomen. Det avslutande kapitlet innehåller dikter till minne av några kändisar som dog under decenniet eller snart därefter. Jag har valt en dikt om John F. Kennedy och en om Janis Joplin. Till dessa har jag lagt sånglyriken till Kozmic Blues, av och med Janis Joplin.

***

Kennedy blues, by Eric Von Schmidt (1931-2007)
(From The portable sixties reader / edited by Ann Charters. New York : Penguin Books, 2003.)

Lay down, lay down, lay down about midday.
I lay down, lay down, lay down about midday.
When I woke up they'd stole a man away.

Could not believe, believewhat my friend said.
Could not believe, believewhat my friend said.
He said, "The President's been shot," said "The President's dead.

Then George turned to me, tears all in his eyes.
Well, George turned to me, tears all in his eyes.
Sayin', "I ain't puttin' you on man, the President's dyin'."

"The President's dyin'."

Mountain run to the river, river run to the , run to the, run to the sea.
Mountain run to the river, river runnin' to the sea.
When I heard the news I said I'd lost a part of me.

Well, I'd heard about Dallas, about how it was so great.
I'd heard about Dallas, about how it was so great.
Now I know about your Dallas, your city full of hate.

Had your opera down in Dallas when the President was dead and cold,
Had your opera down in Dallas when the President was dead and cold.
I colud not hear the music, the blues was cryin' in my soul.
I lay down, I lay down, lay down about midday.
I lay down, lay down, lay down about midday.
When I woke up they'd stole a man away.

***

Elegy (three verses), by Marilyn Hacker
(From The portable sixties reader / edited by Ann Charters. New York : Penguin Books, 2003.)

for Janis Joplin

Crying from exile, I
mourn you, dead singer, crooning and palming
your cold cheeks, calling you: You.
A man told me you died; he was
foreign, I felt for the first time, drunk, in his car, my
throat choked: You won't sing for me
now. Later, I laughed in the hair between
his shoulder blades, well enough
loved in a narrow
bed; it was
your Southern Comfort
grin stretching my
mouth. You were in me
all night,

shouting our pain, sucking off
the mike, telling a strong-headed
woman's daily beads to dumb kids
creaming on your high
notes. Some morning at wolf hour
they'll know.
Stay in my
gut, woman lover I never
touched, tongued, or sang to; stay
in back of my
throat, sandpaper
velvet, Janis, you
overpaid your
dues, damn it, why are you dead?

Cough up your whiskey gut
demon, send him home howling
to Texas, to every
fat bristle-chinned
white motel keeper on
Route 66, every half-
Seminole waitress with a
crane's neck, lantern-jawed
truck driver missing a
finger joint, dirt farmer's
blond boy with asthma and sea dreams,
twenty-one-year-old
mother of three who got far
as Albuquerque once.

(...)

***



***

Kozmic blues, performed by Janis Joplin (1943-1970)
(Lyrics & Music: Janis Joplin, Gabriel Mekler. Album: I Got Dem Ol' Kozmic Blues Again Mama! ; Columbia Records, 1969.)

Time keeps moving on,
Friends they turn away,
Well, I keep moving on
But I never found out why
I keep pushing so hard a dream,
I keep trying to make it right
Through another lonely day

Whoa don't discover it lasts
Twenty-five years, uh honey just one night, oh yeah
Well I'm twenty-five years older now
So I know it can't be right
And I'm no better baby and I can't help you no more
Than I did when just a girl

But it don't make no difference babe, no, no,
'Cause I know that I could always try
It don't make no difference baby, yeah
I'm gonna hold it now,
I'm gonna need it yeah,
I'm gonna use it till the day I die

Don't, expect any answers, dear,
Well, I know that they don't come with age, no, no,
I ain't never gonna love you any better baby
I'm never gonna love you right
So you better take it now, right now, ohh

It don't make no difference baby,
I know that I could always try
There's a fire inside of every one of us
You'd better need it now,
I get to hold it yeah,
I'm gonna use it till the day I die

Don't make no difference, babe, no, no, no,
And it never ever will, eh,
I wanna talk about a little bit of loving, yeah,
I get to hold it, baby,
I'm gonna need it now,
I'm gonna use it, say, aaaah

Don't make no difference, babe, yeah,
Ah honey, I'd hate to be the one
I said you're gonna live your life
And you're better love your life
Or babe, someday you're gonna have to cry.
Yes indeed, yes indeed, yes indeed,
Ah baby, yes indeed.

I said you, you're always gonna hurt me,
I said you're always gonna let me down,
I said everywhere, every day, every day
And every way, every way
Ah honey won't you hold on to what's gonna move
I said it's gonna disappear when you turn your back
I said you know it ain't gonna be there
When you wanna reach out and grab on

Whoa babe,
Whoa babe,
Whoa babe,
Oh but keep truckin' on
Whoa yeah,
Whoa yeah,
Whoa yeah,
Whoa,
Whoa,
Whoa,
Whoa,
Whoa

The Blues went from club to Broadway

  Kevin Young har omtalats tre gånger förut i bloggen. Men senast var jag fel ute när jag trodde att han skulle ha chans på förra årets National Book Award för boken Blue laws. Den kom inte ens med bland de fem finalisterna. I rollen som bluesälskare har han publicerat flera artiklar och kvällens huvudattraktion, urvalsantologin Blues poems.
  Eftersom förra fredagen ägnades åt 1930-talets bluesmusik passar det väl bra att följa upp med bluespoem från samma tidsperiod.

***

  Jag börjar med the Man himself, Langston Hughes. Alla som vill ha ett hum om bluesens stämningar måste uppleva hans verk. Jag gillar hans raka, uppstudsiga knockout-attityd.

Langston Hughes (1902-1967)

Note on commercial theatre, by Langston Hughes
(From Blues poems. Selected and edited by Kevin Young. New York : Knopf, 2003.)

You've taken my blues and gone —
You sing 'em on Broadway
And you sing 'em in Hollywood Bowl,
And you mixed 'em up with symphonies
And you fixed 'em
So they don't sound like me.
Yep, you done taken my blues and gone.

You also took my spirituals and gone.
You put me in Macbeth and Carmen Jones
And all kinds of Swing Mikados
And in everything but what's about me —
But someday somebody'll
Stand up and talk about me,
And write about me —
Black and beautiful —
And sing about me,
And put on plays about me!
I reckon it'll be
Me myself!

Yes, it'll be me.

***

  Ett besök i minnenas allé.

  "Nancy Cunard (1896-1965) var ättling till rederiet Cunard, men kom att revoltera mot sin förmögna familj, och föra en kamp mot konventionerna. Hon började med att kasta sig ut i Londons societet 1914, i början av första världskriget, med utropet : ”sprit, cynism och obegränsad promiskuitet”. Men med åren kom Nancy Cunard att aktivt kämpa mot sociala orättvisor och rasism. Hon skaffade egen tryckpress  och publicerade 1934 en banbrytande bok om svart kultur, Negro.   Hon var även den första att publicera den blivande Nobelpristagaren i litteratur, Samuel Beckett, som prisade hennes ”mod och kraft”. Författaren Pablo Neruda, en annan Nobelpristagare i litteratur som hon stöttade, hyllade hennes ”underbara himmelsblå ögon”." 
  Citat ur "Nancy Cunard – rik arvtagerska, konstnärlig musa, politisk aktivist och stilförebild", Sveriges Radio, 2008.

*

Memory blues, by Nancy Cunard
(From Blues poems. Selected and edited by Kevin Young. New York : Knopf, 2003.)

Back again between the odds and ends -
Back again between the odds and ends -
What once was gay's now sad,
What was unknown's now friends.

Each capital's not more than one café
Wherein you lose
yourself in what you have and have had . . .
Why worry choose?

The waiter waits, he'll wail all night -
And when you're tight he'll set you right
Back in tomorrow - or even yesterday . . .
Time plays the piper but what do we pay?

O Bœuf-sur-le-Toit, you had one song -
But when I look in the mirrors it all goes wrong -
Memory blues - and only back today!
I'm a miserable travelin' man.

***

  Två av de största kvinnliga afroamerikanska författarna är Gwendolyn Brooks och Maya Angelou. Det finns naturligtvis flera. Jag tycker det är sorgligt att engelskundervisningen i svenska gymnasieskolor på sin höjd nämner Toni Morrison, nobelpristagerskan. 
  Gwendolyn Brooks tilldelades Pulitzerpriset för poesi 1950 och blev därmed den första afroamerikanen att ta emot priset.

Queen of the blues (extract), Gwendolyn Brooks (1917-2000)
(From Blues poems. Selected and edited by Kevin Young. New York : Knopf, 2003.)

Mary Lou Williams (1910-1981)

Mame was singing
At the Midnight Club.
And the place was red
With blues.
She could shake her body
Across the floor.
For what did she have
To lose?

She put her mama
Under the ground
Two years ago.
(Was it three?)
She covered that grave
With roses and tears.
(A handsome thing
To see.)

She did'nt have any
Legal pa
To glare at her,
To shame
Her off the floor
Of the Midnight Club.
Poor Mame.

She didn't have any
Big brother
To shout
"No sister of mine! . . ."
She didn't have any
Small brother
To think she was everything
Fine.

She didn't have any
Baby girl
With velvet
Pop-open eyes.
She didn't have any
Sonny boy
To tell sweet
Sonny boy lies.

"Show me a man
What will love me
Till I die.
Now show me a man
What will love me
Till I die.
Can't find no such a man
No matter how hard
You try.

(...)

Blues women realize the truth

  Ikväll återgår jag till sånglyriken men flyttar fram tidsaxeln ett knappt decennium. Jag har besökt Musik- och teaterbiblioteket för första gången och lånat boken Write me a few of your lines. Boken var dessvärre inte så bra som jag hoppats. Den innehåller ett antal essäer om bluesgenren men flera av texterna tycks föra rätt grunda resonemang, på gränsen till lösryckta. Dessutom hade den intressantaste texten drabbats av bladomkastningar vid tryckningen.

  Jag försökte bena ut S.I. Hayakawas analys av kärlekens roll i bluestexterna, men gav upp. Jag kunde väl konstatera att slutsatsen han drar är att kärleken beskrivs på ett mer realistiskt sätt inom bluesen än inom "the popular song genre".

***

"Why Don't You Do Right?" (Ursprungligen inspelad som "Weed Smoker's Dream") är en amerikansk blues- och jazzinfluerad popsång skriven av Joseph "Kansas Joe" McCoy 1936. Den anses vara en sångklassiker för kvinnliga bluessångerskor och har blivit en standard.

Why don't you do right, performed by Peggy Lee
(Lyrics & Music: Kansas Joe McCoy. Single by Benny Goodman & Peggy Lee. Columbia, 1942.)

You had a plenty money 1922
You let other women make a fool of you

Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?

You're sitting down wondering what it's all about
You ain't got no money they will put you out

Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?

If you had prepared twenty years ago
You wouldn't be a-wanderin' now from door to door

Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?

I fell for you jiving and I took you in
Now all you've got to offer me is a drink of gin

Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Get out of here and get me some money too?

Why don't you do right
Like some other men do?
Like some other men do?

***

  Det går så långt att tre år senare skriver Ruth Lowe en låt om en kvinna som är beredd att ge upp kärleken helt.

  Den mest framgångsrika och mest kända versionen av den låten spelades in av Tommy Dorsey och hans orkester, med sång av Frank Sinatra och The Pied Pipers. I nedanstående spellista är det Rebecca Ferguson som är vokalissa.

I'll never smile again, performed by Tommy Dorsey and His Orchestra
(Lyrics & Music: Ruth Lowe. Victor Company, 1940.)

I'll never smile again
Until I smile at you
I'll never laugh again
What good would it do
For tears would fill my eyes
My heart would realize
That our romance is true
I'll never love again
I'm so in love with you
I'll never thrill again
To somebody new
Within my heart
I know I will never start
To smile again
Until I smile at you

Within my heart
I know I will never start
To smile again
Until I smile at you

***

An American Noir

  Ikväll blir det dystert i överkant, inga musikslingor i bakgrunden - bara Charles Simic gråskaliga bluesdikter.

***

At the night court, by Charles Simic (f. 1938)
(From Unending blues : poems. San Diego : Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1986.)

You've combed yourself carefully, 
Your Honor, with a small fine-tooth comb 
You then cleverly concealed 
Before making your entrance 
In the splendor of your black robes. 

The comb tucked inside a handkerchief 
Scented with the extract of dead roses - 
While you took your high seat 
Sternly eyeing each of the accused 
In the hush of the empty courtroom.

The dark curly hairs in the comb 
Did not come from your graying head. 
One of the cleaning women used it on herself 
While you dozed off in your chambers 
Half undressed because of the heat. 

The black comb in the pocket over the heart, 
You feel it tremble just as ours do 
When they ready themselves to make music 
Lacking only the paper you're signing, 
By the looks of it, with eyes closed.

***

The fly, by Charles Simic
(From Unending blues : poems. San Diego : Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1986.)

He was writing the History of Optimism
In Time of Madness. It was raining.
One of the local butcher's largest
Carrion fanciers kept pestering him.

There was a cat too watching the fly,
And a gouty-footed old woman
In a dirty bathrobe and frayed slippers
Bringing in a cup of pale tea.

With many sighs and long pauses
He found a bit of blue sky on the day of the
         Massacre of the Innocents.
He found a couple of lovers,
A meadow strewn with yellow flowers.  .  .  .

But he couldn't go on.  .  .  . O blue-winged,
         shivering one, he whispered.
Some days it's like using a white cane
And seeing mostly shadows
As one gropes for the words that come next!