Monday, May 23, 2011

Shiver Me timbers

For Roland




I'm leavin' my fam'ly and leavin' my friends
My body's at home and my heart's in the wind
Where the clouds are like headlines on a new front page sky
My tears are salt water and the moon's full and high

And I know Martin Eden(2) is gonna be proud of me
And many before me who've been called by the sea
To be up in the crow's nest and singin' my say
And shiver me timbers I'm a-sailin' away

The fog's liftin' and the sand's shiftin' and I'm driftin' on out
And Ol' Captain Ahab(3) he ain't got nothin' on me
So come on and swallow me, don't follow me I travel alone
Blue water's(4) my daughter and I'm skipping like a stone

So please call my missus, tell her not to cry
My goodbye is written by the moon in the sky
Hey, and nobody knows me I can't fathom my stayin'
And shiver me timbers I'm a-sailin' away

And the fog's liftin' and the sand's shiftin' and I'm driftin' on out
Ol' Captain Ahab he ain't got nothin' on me
So come on and swallow me, don't follow me I travel alone
Blue water's my daughter and I'm skipping like a stone

And I'm leavin' my family leavin' my friends
My body's at home but my heart's in the wind
where the clouds are like headlines on a new front page sky
And shiver me timbers I'm a-sailin' away

Written by: Tom Waits

Saturday, May 7, 2011

- from The Gardener, 1913




I am restless. I am athirst for far-away things. 
My soul goes out in a longing to touch the skirt of the dim distance.
O Great Beyond, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I have no wings to fly, that I am bound in this spot evermore.

I am eager and wakeful, I am a stranger in a strange land.
Thy breath comes to me whispering an impossible hope.
Thy tongue is known to my heart as its very own.
O Far-to-seek, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that I know not the way, that I have not the winged horse.

I am listless, I am a wanderer in my heart.
In the sunny haze of the languid hours, what vast vision of thine takes shape in the blue of the sky!
O Farthest end, O the keen call of thy flute!
I forget, I ever forget, that the gates are shut everywhere in the house where I dwell alone!

— from The Gardener, 1913
Rabindranath Tagore (May 7, 1861 - 1941)